Xenophon of Athens: A Socratic on Sparta 9781108479974, 9781108846875, 2021023799, 2021023800, 9781108810470, 1108479979

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XENOPHON OF ATHENS

Xenophon of Athens (c. 430–354 BCE) has long been considered an uncritical admirer of Sparta who hero-worships the Spartan King Agesilaus and eulogises Spartan practices in his Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. By examining his own self-­descriptions – especially where he portrays himself as conversing with Socrates and falling short in his appreciation of Socrates’ advice – this book finds in Xenophon’s overall writing project a Socratic response to his exile and situates his writings about Sparta within this framework. It presents a detailed reading of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia as a critical and philosophical examination of Spartan socio-cultural practices. Evidence from his own Hellenica, Anabasis and Agesilaus is shown to confirm Xenophon’s analysis of the weaknesses in the Spartan system, and that he is not enamoured of Agesilaus. Finally, a comparison with contemporary Athenian responses to Sparta shows remarkable points of convergence with his fellow Socratic Plato, as well as connections with Isocrates too. noreen humble is Professor of Classics at the University of Calgary. She has published numerous articles about Xenophon and the reception of Xenophon and Plutarch in Byzantium and the Renaissance, and is the editor of Plutarch’s Lives: Parallelism and Purpose (2010), and co-editor (with P. Crowley and S. Ross) of Mediterranean Travels: Writing Self and Other (2011).

XENOPHON OF ATHENS A Socratic on Sparta

NOREEN HU MBLE University of Calgary

University Printing House, Cambridge cb2 8bs, United Kingdom One Liberty Plaza, 20th Floor, New York, ny 10006, USA 477 Williamstown Road, Port Melbourne, vic 3207, Australia 314–321, 3rd Floor, Plot 3, Splendor Forum, Jasola District Centre, New Delhi – 110025, India 103 Penang Road, #05–06/07, Visioncrest Commercial, Singapore 238467 Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge. It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of education, learning, and research at the highest international levels of excellence. www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781108479974 doi: 10.1017/9781108846875 © Noreen Humble 2022 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2022 A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data names: Humble, Noreen, author. | Xenophon. Constitution of the Lacedaimonians. Greek (Humble) | Xenophon. Constitution of the Lacedaimonians. English (Humble) title: Xenophon of Athens : a Socratic on Sparta / Noreen Humble. description: Cambridge, United Kingdom : Cambridge University Press, 2021. | Includes bibliographical references and index. identifiers: lccn 2021023799 (print) | lccn 2021023800 (ebook) | isbn 9781108479974 (hardback) | isbn 9781108810470 (paperback) | isbn 9781108846875 (ebook) subjects: lcsh: Xenophon. Constitution of the Lacedaimonians. | Xenophon. | Constitutional history – Greece – Sparta (Extinct city) | Sparta (Extinct city) – In literature. | BISAC: LITERARY COLLECTIONS / Ancient & Classical | LITERARY COLLECTIONS / Ancient & Classical classification: lcc pa4494.d53 h86 2021 (print) | lcc pa4494.d53 (ebook) | dcc 938/.906–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021023799 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021023800 isbn 978-1-108-47997-4 Hardback Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Tiomnaím an leabhar seo do  Éilís Ní Choigligh  Agus a glúin máithreacha Éireannacha A chinntigh nach séanfaí ar a n-iníonacha  Mar a séanadh go minic orthu féin Fáil ar ardoideachas. 

Contents

Prefacepage ix Note on Spelling Conventions xiii List of Abbreviations xiv Introduction xv part i 1 Xenophon and His Literary Project

1.1 Introduction 1.2  The Autobiographical Approach 1.3  Xenophon on Xenophon 1.3.1 Pre-401 BCE 1.3.2  401–399 BCE 1.3.3 Post-399 BCE 1.4  Re-evaluating the Purpose of the Anabasis 1.5  Re-evaluating Xenophon’s Literary Project 1.6  Integrating the Spartan Material

2 The Lacedaimoniôn Politeia: Theories, Problems and Assumptions 2.1  Traditional Theories (and Minor Variations) 2.2  Problematic Passages for the Traditional Approach 2.2.1  On Theft (Lac. 2.6–7) 2.2.2  On Silver and Gold (Lac. 7.6) 2.2.3  On Spartan Collapse (Lac. 14) 2.3  The Straussian Approach 2.4  Deconstructing Assumptions about Sparta’s Power and Renown (Lac. 1.1) 2.5 Recapitulation

3

3 6 8 9 11 15 18 23 33

40 40 43 45 47 52 61 69 78

part ii 3 Reading Lacedaimoniôn Politeia 1–4 3.1  Lac. 1.1–2: Introduction and Purpose 3.2  Lac. 1.3–10: Begetting of Children

vii

83 83 93

Contents

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3.3  Lac. 2: Education of Boys 3.4  Lac. 3: Provisions for Youths 3.5  Lac. 4.1–6: Provisions for Young Men 3.6  Lac. 4.7: Provisions for Men over the Age of 30

98 108 113 121

4 Reading Lacedaimoniôn Politeia 5–10

126

5 Reading Lacedaimoniôn Politeia 11–15

163

4.1  Lac. 5: Common Messes 4.2  Lac. 6: Sharing of Goods 4.3  Lac. 7: Wealth 4.4  Lac. 8: Obedience to the Laws 4.5  Lac. 9: Cowardice 4.6  Lac. 10.1–3: Elders 4.7  Lac. 10.4–8: Public Practice of Virtue

5.1  Lac. 11.1: Transition 5.2  Lac. 11.2–10: Army Provisioning and Manoeuvres 5.3  Lac. 12: Encampment 5.4  Lac. 13: Kings on Campaign 5.5  Lac. 14: Deviation from Lycurgan Ways 5.6  Lac. 15: Kings at Home 5.7 Recapitulation

126 134 137 144 148 154 157

163 165 175 178 188 197 201

part iii 6 The Place of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia within Xenophon’s Literary Project

205

7 Xenophon, Plato and Isocrates

247

Conclusion

285

Appendix: Text and Translation of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia

291

Bibliography Index Locorum General Index

332 356 362

6.1  Spartan Leaders in the Anabasis and Hellenica 6.2 Agesilaus: Hellenica v. Agesilaus 6.3  Spartans as Types 7.1  Xenophon and Plato 7.1.1  Reconstructing a Dialogue: Difficulties 7.1.2  The Tyrannical Ephors 7.1.3  Republic 8.544c–550c 7.1.4  Who is Reading Whom? 7.2  Xenophon and Isocrates

206 221 237 249 251 255 258 269 275

Preface

This book is of long gestation. I first read the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia in 1985 as an undergraduate while writing a paper on Plato’s Republic for a political science class. I had chosen, having one introductory Greek history course under my belt, to argue against the view that Plato’s city-inspeech was Sparta in disguise. Soon realising that I knew a lot less about Sparta than I had thought, and needing some firm point of comparison to sustain the argument, I followed a lead which pointed me to somebody called Xenophon, who had written a small treatise describing Sparta in simplistic, glowing terms. Fantastic! Just what I needed. When I sat down to compare Xenophon’s description of Sparta with Plato’s city-inspeech, however, with no knowledge at all of who this Xenophon was, I soon became completely puzzled: if the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia was meant to describe Sparta and to do so in glowing terms, it seemed to me that it failed badly on both counts and so it must be doing something else. After reading my paper, my professor in the class, Leon Craig, directed me to Leo Strauss’ article on this work. I had no idea at that time who Strauss was or that there was a theoretical approach to political science which could be termed Straussian, and though I did not end up being drawn into that fold, my classes with Leon Craig were formative. Quite simply, no other professor challenged me to think so hard about things. His classes were both terrifying and joyful and there is no doubt in my mind that I am where I am today because of them. To him, then, I owe the first major debt of thanks. I veered through art history and literary studies before returning to Greek political thought, and that serendipitous path provided me with a different type of training for which I am very grateful: I was fortunate to study Greek and Latin poetry under Paul Murgatroyd at McMaster University and indeed to complete my MA dissertation on Apollonius of Rhodes under his supervision. It would not be an exaggeration to state that that training changed the way I look at all Greek texts and their ix

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literary quality. The strangeness of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia still niggled, however, and so when it came time to embark on doctoral work I returned to it. My supervisor, George Paul†, wisely insisted on a larger study of Xenophon and Sparta which ended up being focused on the Hellenica and Anabasis, with the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia playing only a supporting role. But the germ of the interpretation expounded fully in this monograph (though I still view this way of reading the text as a work in progress) was seeded in that dissertation. Not long into my doctoral studies, Christopher Tuplin’s Failings of Empire appeared. To say that after reading his book I realised that he had already said in such a thoroughly exemplary way what I had been thinking in vague terms in respect of the Hellenica would be an understatement. The importance of this monograph of his I think has still not been fully appreciated. His thorough and intelligent scholarship has been a model I have striven to emulate, and I have also been fortunate to be on the end of his bountiful generosity, collegiality and support. I finished off my dissertation at the University of Leeds, where Roger Brock not only helped me see the wood for the trees at a point when I was wondering whether a dissertation would ever emerge but also employed his keen eye to save me from many an infelicity. I was fortunate also at this time to meet Stephen Hodkinson, who was then based at the University of Manchester. His encouragement and interest in my work sustained me through the challenging years of slave-labour teaching, and his own meticulous scholarship, in which he relentlessly embraces multiple theoretical approaches to interrogate the ancient material from all angles, I have likewise striven to emulate. He too has been unfailingly generous with his time, expertise and encouragement, for which I am continually thankful. Various breaks from teaching along the way helped the gestation process. I am grateful particularly for an Irish Research Council for Humanities and Social Sciences post-doctoral fellowship in 2001–2, held at University College Cork, which paradoxically revealed to me that the path I was on was not the correct one. Over a decade later at the University of Calgary, a Calgary Institute for the Humanities Research Fellowship in 2013–14 was instrumental in setting me on the path that led directly to the shape this book has taken. The Institute, under the directorship of Jim Ellis, is a beacon of light at a time when the humanities are under more pressure than they have ever been. Jim, along with my colleagues in the Institute that year (Charlene, Christian, Meaghan, Richard and Shawn), provided a wonderfully collegial and intellectually

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stimulating environment, in which the seeds of Chapters 1 and 7 were sown. Indeed, Chapter 7 replicates in large measure arguments which can be found in 2018b (‘Sparta in Xenophon and Plato’, in G. Danzig, D. Johnson and D. Morrison (eds), Plato and Xenophon: Comparative Studies (Mnemosyne Supplement vol. 417) (Leiden: Brill), 547–75), and I am grateful to the editors for allowing me to reproduce much of that article here. Indeed, a number of my previous papers should be seen as background preparation for what appears here now: 1999 and 2002b on sôphrosynê and the Spartans, 2002a and 2004b on aspects of Xenophon’s biography, 2004a on Lac. 14, 2006 on Lac. 11, 2007 on the similarities between Xenophon and Aristotle on Sparta, 2008 on Xenophon’s standing in Athens in his later years, 2011 on the Anabasis as travel literature, 2014 on the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia as politeia literature, 2018a on what is Socratic about Xenophon’s writings, 2018c on Isocrates and Xenophon, 2020a on generic issues and interpretation of the Agesilaus, and 2020b on Xenophon as a biographer. This book owes much, therefore, to the many audiences who heard and discussed with me the ideas in these papers when they were in their infancy and to the many editors who included these papers in their volumes, improving them along the way. Many thanks, too, are due to Michael Sharp and his team at Cambridge University Press, as well as to the anonymous referees who had many perceptive observations on where I might improve my text. These I have tried to address in some form here, though some I am viewing, happily, as food for further thought. I owe many debts of thanks on all sorts of fronts, to students, colleagues and friends, from discussions over the years about matters Xenophontic, Spartan and beyond, to friendship and much-needed encouragement. If I have not fully acknowledged scholarly debts in particular at any point in this book it is not for lack of awareness of the importance of doing so but from the inevitable failings of memory. I regret, also, that I became aware too late of the wonderful work being done on Xenophon by colleagues in ancient philosophy in Buenos Aires. Properly taking on board their scholarship, however, will have to be the work of another day. At any rate, each of the following will, I hope, recognise their contribution: Gifty Ako Adounvo, John Barry†, Ken Belcher†, Jeff Beneker, Susan Bennett, Douglas Cairns, Sylvie Campion, Paul Cartledge, Craig Cooper, Pat Crowley, Elena Dahlberg, Gabriel Danzig, Anthony Ellis, Michael Flower, Anuradha Gobin, Jane Grogan, Kendell Heydon, W. E. Higgins, Roy Humble, David Kiely, Peter

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Krentz, David M. Johnson, Bruce Laforse, Lucie Laumonier, Dan Maher, Carmel McCallum-Barry, Murray McGillivray, Laura Milman, Ruth Morello, Don Morrison, Brian O’Connor, Sonya Nevin, Roberto Nicolai, Christopher Pelling, Pierre Pontier, Anton Powell†, Louise Sheehan, Natalie Sheehan, Graham Shipley, Philip Stadter†, Alessandro Stavru, Melina Tamiolaki, Frances Titchener, Matthew Trundle† and Michael Ullyot. The importance to intellectual thought of excellent espressos pulled by skilled baristas is not acknowledged as often as it should be. So for sustaining caffeine and superb conversation over any number of years now I want to thank in particular Monogram, Nathan from Communitea, Adam, Chris and Cindy at The Bicycle Cafe, and Fauzy and the gang at Fuel for Gold. The dedication, for those whose knowledge of Irish is, like mine, in its infancy, is to my mother, Elizabeth Humble (née Quigley), ‘and all the Irish mothers of her generation, who made sure their daughters were not denied, as they themselves so often were, the opportunity for higher education’. I am grateful to Éamon Ó Ciosáin for providing the elegant translation into the language my mother excelled in. No thanks are enough and no debt is greater, however, than that which I owe to my partner, Keith Sidwell. Without his encouragement and boundless wisdom and help, it is hard to imagine that this book would ever have seen the light of day.

Note on Spelling Conventions

For the most part, for the names of ancient Greek people and places I have endeavoured to use the most familiar anglicisations. I have transliterated certain Greek terms in instances where English translations bring inaccurate modern connotations to mind or are simply inadequate to convey the meaning of the Greek. These choices are discussed in the text.

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Abbreviations

For abbreviations, I have followed LSJ for Greek authors and texts, the Oxford Classical Dictionary for Latin authors and texts, and L’Année philologique for journal titles. For full titles of ancient authors’ works I have used the most common iteration for ease of comprehension. So, for example, in the case of Plato I use Laws rather than Leges. I list below the abbreviations and full titles used of Xenophon’s works herein. Xenophon Ages. Agesilaus An. Anabasis Ap. Apology Cyn. On Hunting Cyr. Cyropaedia Eq. On Horsemanship Eq.Mag. The Cavalry Commander HG Hellenica Hier. Hiero Lac. Lacedaimoniôn Politeia Mem. Memorabilia Oec. Oeconomicus Smp. Symposium Vect. Poroi pseudo-Xenophon Ath.

Athênaiôn Politeia xiv

Introduction

The title of this book is deliberately meant to recall a watershed in Xenophontic scholarship: W. E. Higgins’ groundbreaking 1977 study, Xenophon the Athenian, in which he argued that Xenophon was a careful thinker and writer, that he was, above all, a Socratic, and that his allegiance, though never partisan, was towards Athens.1 Higgins’ work aimed to challenge the long-standing image of Xenophon as a sort of Colonel Blimp character (a retired general who really should never have taken up writing because he had not much that was not bog standard to say), as a second-rate and uninspiring philosopher, and as a naïve and/or diehard laconophile.2 He boldly aimed to crisscross Xenophon’s large and diverse corpus to support his arguments and to do this he took as his theme ‘Xenophon’s understanding of the relation between the individual and the polis’ (p. xii). His work set off a quiet revolution in the field of Xenophontic studies, a revolution which has been building momentum ever since. His conclusions did not, however, find immediate or widespread acceptance. There are many reasons for this, not least the fact that because his assessment was at the time (and indeed in some circles is still considered) a radical one, it was easier to pick at the weaker points than it was to concentrate on the stronger aspects and to try to build further upon them. Problematic, too, for mainstream Classicists, was his acknowledgement of his debt to the work of Leo Strauss, a statement 1

In his introduction he remarks that ‘those who wish may therefore see in the epithet attached to Xenophon in the title the mark of a quiet revisionism’. That the revision on the point of Xenophon’s allegiance to Athens has succeeded in some quarters, see, e.g., Badian 2004 and Tuplin 2016. 2 Promoters of this Xenophon, such as George Cawkwell, who in his introduction and notes throughout the Penguin translation of the Hellenica (Cawkwell and Warner 1979) lambasts Xenophon for his biases and shortcomings as a historian, still find much to admire in Xenophon, though it is usually the ‘ex-military man, country gentleman’ image which escapes their criticism. Indeed, Cawkwell 2004: 47 rather charmingly attributes to himself Xenophono-philia.

xv

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which generally still tends to cause all but the hardiest instantly to shut their minds. Forty plus years on, some of the traditional views of Xenophon still hold significant sway. So in some regards I will be addressing the same general issues as Higgins did but from a different focal point: questioning Xenophon’s supposed laconophilia will be my primary goal,3 though I will be building on Higgins’ ideas in different ways to support the argument that Xenophon viewed himself, above all, as an Athenian and as a Socratic. The question of whether or not Xenophon is a laconophile is important for two reasons. First, where we perceive Xenophon’s biases to lie affects how we read all his works (not just those about Sparta). If we think he prefers Sparta to Athens, we read what he says about each polis through that distorting lens. The result in its simplest form runs along the lines of ‘he loves austere oligarchic Sparta, so he clearly hates licentious democratic Athens’. Quite a different picture results if we think he prefers Athens to Sparta, or if we decide that he is first and foremost a Socratic and that in some way all his works reflect this. We will, of course, disagree about which approach is the truer, but it is always worth exploring new angles when pieces of the puzzle do not seem to fit using existing approaches. And since I do not think that laconophilia is an adequate explanation for describing Xenophon’s writings on Sparta, this book is an effort to propose an alternative way of understanding Xenophon, his relationship with Sparta, and his literary project more broadly. Second, how we perceive the lens through which Xenophon views Sparta affects how we interpret what he says about Sparta. And what he says about Sparta needs to be assessed carefully if only because we have a dearth of information about Classical Sparta: there are no extant literary sources from Spartan hands for the fifth and fourth centuries BCE and all other evidence comes from outsiders, mostly Athenians, who are working during or under the shadow of the long Peloponnesian War at the close of the fifth century BCE or under the Spartan hegemony of the first three decades of the fourth century. It is true that Xenophon belongs to this group, but he differs in two important ways. First, he is the only author directly and explicitly to address the causes of Spartan hegemony: this is a stated aim of his Lacedaimoniôn Politeia 3

Though this was not specifically one of Higgins’ aims, he did provide significant evidence to question Xenophon’s supposed Spartan bias.

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(1.1–2).4 Second, as far as we can tell, Xenophon had closer ties to Sparta than any other author of the period who writes about Sparta. What do these ties consist of? We know from his own hand that he gained significant experience of Spartan commanders during the period 401–399 BCE, as described in his Anabasis, and that he, along with the remnants of Cyrus’ mercenary army, was hired by the Spartan Thibron in 399 BCE to aid the Spartans in campaigning against the Persian satraps Tissaphernes and Pharnabazus on behalf of the Greek cities of Asia Minor (An. 7.8.24). He also tells us that in 394 BCE he was with Agesilaus when he returned from campaigning in Asia Minor to fight a coalition of forces drawn from other Greek poleis, including Athens, whose express purpose was to challenge Spartan hegemony. We assume reasonably, therefore, that he spent the intervening five years on campaign in the pay of the Spartans in Asia Minor. After he was exiled from Athens (and here Xenophon does not explicitly give the reason, though we might reasonably infer it from his own reportage of the warning Socrates gave him before he set out to join Cyrus in 401 BCE, i.e. that, broadly speaking, campaigning with Cyrus, who had supported Sparta against Athens, would not be viewed favourably in Athens), he was given an estate by the Spartans, near Scillus in the NW Peloponnese (An. 5.3.7). Later sources do assert specifically that he was exiled for laconism (D.L. 2.51), that he had his sons educated in Sparta and was in Agesilaus’ entourage (D.L. 2.54; Plu. Ages. 20.2). These small details are frequently treated as facts by modern scholars and then typically read in the following sort of way: Xenophon consciously chose to follow the Spartans because he admired their military capabilities, particularly the leadership skills of his hero Agesilaus, so much so that he chose to fight on their side at Coronea in 394 BCE, against the Athenians; for this the Spartans rewarded him with an estate and he rewarded them in return with literary works which laud them unconditionally, promoting, in particular, the views of, again, his hero Agesilaus, and also sent his sons to be educated under their system which he so greatly admired. As a result, then, all four of Xenophon’s fourteen works in which Spartans figure prominently – the narrative history covering the years 410–362 BCE (Hellenica), the autobiographical account of his own time on campaign in Persia in 401–399 BCE (Anabasis), the short treatise setting out elements of Spartan life which led to them attaining 4

Plato examines Spartan hegemony indirectly when he looks at the inception and demise of a timocratic regime in his Republic, but this is not the prime aim of the work. Aristotle, too, writes about positive and negative aspects of the Spartan politeia, particularly, indeed, the latter in his Politics, but again assessing Spartan power is not his prime motivation.

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hegemony in the Greek world (Lacedaimoniôn Politeia), and the encomium of the Spartan king under whom he campaigned in 396–394 BCE (Agesilaus) – have been said, and continue to be said in many quarters, to provide uncritical adulation of the Spartans (particularly the latter two). One of the results of approaching his works as if they were written by a second-rate thinker, interested only in military matters and prone to uncritical adulation of Sparta, has been the tendency to prefer, automatically and without sufficient critical assessment, information from other sources. In particular, on the narrative construction of historical events, preference has usually been given, since discovery of the papyrus fragments in 1909, to the fragmentary anonymous Oxyrhynchus historian whose work clearly covered the post-Peloponnesian War period and who, the argument runs, is obviously less biased towards Sparta and therefore presents a more accurate account of events. For example, in setting down the battle near Sardis in 395, the Oxyrhynchus historian (11.4–6) describes a much more impressive victory for Agesilaus than Xenophon does (HG 3.4.21–4). There has been lengthy debate over whose account is more accurate, and though not all, to be fair, prefer the Oxyrhynchus historian’s account, almost all arguments for or against suggest that Xenophon’s account is favourable to Agesilaus.5 Most gloss over the fact that in Xenophon’s account the results of the campaign are quite clearly disproportionately inadequate in view of the massive preparations which preceded it.6 For social institutions and the inner workings of Sparta, preference has frequently been given to a work written over four centuries later: Plutarch’s Life of Lycurgus. Because Plutarch had virtually no secure personal information about the traditional Spartan lawgiver (even in Xenophon’s day Lycurgus was worshipped at a shrine in Sparta and biographical details were thin on the ground), his biography concentrated on the institutions Lycurgus was said to have set up. Thus, the Life of Lycurgus contains information on topics similar to those found in Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, and, indeed, Plutarch used Xenophon as one of his main sources. Only on the rarest of occasions, 5

In favour of the Oxyrhynchus historian over Xenophon: e.g., Bruce 1967; Cawkwell and Warner 1972: 405–6; Cartledge 1987: 215–16; Krentz 1995: 188. In favour of Xenophon over the Oxyrhynchus historian: e.g., Gray 1979; DeVoto 1988. Gaebel 2002: 19 reports all sides without committing himself. Rung 2004, by contrast, examines one event covered by both authors and finds the two versions complementary. For a recent reappraisal of the Oxyrhynchus historian, see Occhipinti 2016. 6 Tuplin 1993: 58 is an exception. Also Dillery 1995: 114, though he is reluctant to see this as open criticism of Agesilaus. Anderson 1974: 158, interestingly, argues in favour of Xenophon’s account but notes that if it had been fictitious it ‘might have been expected to increase Agesilaus’ glory’.

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however, is Xenophon’s view given precedence over Plutarch’s when the two present opposing information. For example, until Stephen Hodkinson’s magisterial monograph in 2000, Property and Wealth in Classical Sparta, Plutarch’s portrayal of Sparta as a society where wealth held no importance was repeatedly cited as fact, despite evidence quite to the contrary in Xenophon’s treatise. Likewise Plutarch’s depiction of the Spartans valuing and inculcating sôphrosynê was retrojected onto Xenophon, despite a quite clear avoidance by Xenophon of an association of sôphrosynê with the Spartans.7 Indeed, typical of this approach, which has held sway for a good couple of centuries, is the section on Lycurgan reforms in W. G. Forrest’s A History of Sparta 950-192 BC, published in 1968. Forrest makes no direct reference at all here to Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. Rather, Plutarch (both his Life of Lycurgus and Life of Agis) and Aristotle are the sources favoured, with Alcman, Tyrtaeus, Herodotus and Thucydides mentioned briefly. The description of the Council of Elders is based entirely on what Plutarch says in his Life of Lycurgus, with no attempt at all made even to integrate Xenophon’s different take on the institution (let alone explain why the later account has been privileged).8 Material from Xenophon is used occasionally when it supports the Plutarchan picture of Sparta but, interestingly, without attribution.9 This is, to be sure, an extreme example of the tendency, but it is, nonetheless, characteristic of an approach which has prevailed for a long time. The situation is improving in some regards. In the latest general overview of Sparta, Nigel Kennell’s Spartans: A New History, Xenophon’s evidence is given much more prominence. For example, the account of citizen training features Plutarch as a supplement to Xenophon rather than the other way around,10 though the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia is still  7

Humble 1999 and 2002b. Forrest 1968: 40–60.  9 Xenophon’s dating of Lycurgus to the time of the Heraclids is ignored in the section dealing with the date of the Lycurgan reforms (Forrest 1968: 55–8), despite the fact that Plutarch himself attempted to make sense of Xenophon’s date for Lycurgus in his Life of Lycurgus. While it is likely that the reforms did not have such an ancient pedigree as Xenophon suggests, no attempt is made to subject his opinion to critical analysis, because in Forrest’s view ‘the soldier Xenophon turned to hero-worship of the contemporary Spartan military machine and its military leaders, perfect products of a perfect and unchanging system’ (p. 17). 10 Kennell 2010: 172–3. Somewhat ironically, in view of the traditional approach, in the index under ‘citizen training’ (p. 207) Plutarch is mentioned, but Xenophon is not. Further, Kennell talks about Xenophon as a soldier and as a historian whose talents have undergone re-evaluation, but if his description were all we had to go on, we would have no idea that Xenophon was Athenian, that he was a follower of Socrates, or that he wrote more than two works which provide significant information on Sparta (e.g., the Agesilaus and Anabasis are not mentioned at all).  8

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characterised as ‘overwhelmingly positive’, ‘idealised and coloured by nostalgia’, and the Hellenica as full of failings by comparison with the fragments of the anonymous Oxyrhynchus historian.11 But in other ways scholarly opinion remains wedded to the traditional view, particularly in more general scholarship meant for a broader readership. For example, in an introduction to ancient historians Timothy E. Duff’s characterisation of the Hellenica as ‘an apologetic for the Sparta which Xenophon admired so much’ and his examples of Xenophon’s failures to deal with supposed anti-Spartan material, such as the alliance which led to the Corinthian War and the Second Athenian League, differ in no significant way from George Cawkwell’s assessment of the Hellenica, made nearly a quarter of a century earlier and which still accompanies the Penguin translation of that work.12 Yet there are good reasons to question the traditional viewpoint. Even for those who approach Xenophon’s works expecting to find, and therefore finding, apologies for Spartan behaviour, accounting for Xenophon’s presentation of certain episodes has always required special pleading. On two occasions, for example, less than brilliant Spartan commanders act on their own initiative in ways that cause multiple problems for Sparta and her international relations: the seizure of the Theban citadel by Phoebidas in 382 BCE (HG 5.2.24–36), and the attack of Sphodrias on Athens in 378 BCE (HG 5.4.20–33). In both cases Xenophon explicitly and lengthily notes that Agesilaus’ support of the two men saved their lives and was at odds with the majority opinion, first within Sparta (5.2.32) and then on the wider Greek stage (5.4.24). Scholars have deflected attention from Agesilaus’ role in both cases (in the latter case particularly by focusing on the fact that Xenophon does not recount the consequence of Sphodrias’ actions, which are said to have led to the Second Athenian League, because it was an anti-Spartan alliance) by arguing that Xenophon cannot possibly be criticising Agesilaus because in the encomium he considers him ‘a completely good man’.13 This argument is problematic, however, 11

Kennell 2010: 12–13. Rahe 2016: 7–35 is also an interesting approach which generally tends to give equal weight to Xenophon and Plutarch, but which does also at times privilege Xenophon’s evidence (e.g., p. 30 with the recognition that private property and family were not eliminated in Sparta). 12 Compare Duff 2003: 41–2 with Cawkwell and Warner 1979: 33–7. At least, however, Xenophon was deemed important enough to be included in Duff’s survey. Two years prior Marincola 2001, a slim volume on Greek historians which was part of an important introductory series (Greece & Rome: New Surveys in the Classics), chose not to deal with Xenophon at all. 13 See Cawkwell and Warner 1979: 279 for a classic statement of this view, the phrasing echoed by Flower 2012: 22 (‘a perfectly good man’), who likewise reads the encomium as proof of the intimacy between Xenophon and the Spartan king.

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from two angles: (1) it does not tend to address the very pointed language in the Hellenica which implicates Agesilaus in less than admirable behaviour; and (2) it does not take into account the very nature of the encomiastic genre which requires events to be given a positive spin.14 Another particularly problematic passage is the penultimate section of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia (Lac. 14). Here can be found very explicit condemnation of certain aspects of contemporary Spartan behaviour, particularly of leaders abroad. Multiple explanations have been posed, ranging from the rather drastic suggestions of expunging the offending material completely and/or attributing it to someone else, to the less drastic measure of suggesting that Lac. 14 was written much later and was originally meant to be at the end of the work and somehow in the manuscript tradition got misplaced,15 to the still less drastic (only in terms of keeping the section in the penultimate position), though more convoluted, explanation that Lac. 14 must have been written much later than the rest of the work (Lac. 15 then, of course, under this scenario also has to be a late addition). Almost all explanations rely on some variation of the notion that Xenophon was initially enthralled by the Spartans but over time (possibly after Phoebidas’ actions, almost certainly after those of Sphodrias, and definitely after the Spartan defeat at Leuctra in 371 BCE) became disillusioned (thus some minor criticisms of Sparta can be seen to work their way into the parts of his oeuvre written after this point), and/ or arguing that he could not possibly have written anything negative about Sparta while his hero Agesilaus was alive, down-dating even further any hints of criticism about Sparta to post-360 BCE and so sometimes resulting in arguments dating most of his literary output, and certainly the part concerned with Sparta, to the last five or six years of his life. These are only some of the more obvious problems with the laconophile tag and certainly, since Higgins’ work, there have been a number of challenges to various aspects of this analysis (hitherto considered watertight) of where Xenophon’s bias and loyalty lay. For example, the Spartans may have had other motivations for setting up the exiled Xenophon in Scillus than simply as a reward for his loyalty: the area was of political importance to Sparta and had only recently been acquired as a result of a major war against Elis (403–401 BCE).16 The evidence for 14

See Humble 2020a, and further in Chapter 6.2. A view somewhat surprisingly revived, given significant solid arguments for retaining the manuscript tradition as it is, in the introduction to Hobden and Tuplin 2012b: 27 n. 39. 16 Tuplin 2004c: 265–7, though he does not go so far as to suggest that this implies any possible tension between Xenophon and the Spartans, or more specifically Agesilaus. 15

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Xenophon educating his sons in Sparta is not as certain as it might appear.17 Strong cases have been made arguing for considerable criticism of Spartan individuals and the Spartan polis throughout the Hellenica18 and the Anabasis,19 and also for not regarding the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia as wholly positive even outside the critical penultimate section. 20 But equally there has been considerable resistance to a Xenophon who is not wholeheartedly behind Sparta, and on balance over the past twenty years those who argue for a pro-Spartan stance still outnumber those who do not. Strong reassertions of the pro-Spartan slant to the Hellenica continue to be made, particularly focusing on Xenophon’s inability to find anything wrong with Agesilaus’ behaviour.21 The latter argument still finds much support in citing the purely positive encomiastic portrait of Agesilaus as factual corroboration and disregarding unsupportive material in the Hellenica.22 The strongest resistance, however, has been to reading the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia in anything other than the traditional way: a treatise praising Sparta from the hand of a solid supporter of all things Spartan who – to account for the explicitly critical section – towards the end of his life became disillusioned at the direction Sparta was heading. The four latest commentaries, as well as a number of recent articles and the introductions to recent translations of the work, have all reiterated some version of this view.23 Part of the reason for such opposing views is, of course, the perennial difficulty in shifting received traditions. We are remarkably tenacious in clinging to traditional views even in the face of clear evidence pointing in the opposite direction. In Xenophon’s case questioning received tradition has been particularly challenging. Because of the vastness of his corpus and the fact that he ranges over so many different genres and topics it requires a particularly hardy soul to address his works in toto.24 What more frequently happens is that the study of Xenophon is carried out by 17

Humble 2004b. Proietti 1987; Tuplin 1993; Dillery 1995; Humble 1997: 108–86; Christesen 2016. 19 Primarily, Humble 1997: 46–107 and Millender 2012. 20 Proietti 1987; Humble 1999, 2004a, 2007, 2014; see also from different angles Tuplin 1994; Pontier 2006: 394–7; Farrell 2012; Collins 2018. 21 E.g., Riedinger 1991 and Schepens 2005. On the Anabasis, see Stronk 1995. More generally, see Cuniberti 2007 and Richer 2007. 22 Schepens 2005 is a good example. 23 Luppino Manes 1988; Rebenich 1998; Lipka 2002; and Gray 2007. Collins 2018 is an important exception to this rule though her reading draws heavily on that of Strauss 1939. 24 As Azoulay 2008 notes too. Delebecque 1957; Breitenbach 1967; Higgins 1977; and Gray 2011a should be singled out for their inclusive approach. Hobden and Tuplin 2012a is also perhaps the most overarching collection of essays to be published on Xenophon’s corpus. 18

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different groups who deal only with portions of his corpus, for specific reasons, and who are not always in conversation with one another. Ancient historians concentrating on Sparta, therefore, tend just to focus on one or more of the four works which deal with Sparta without always contextualising them within Xenophon’s corpus as a whole. Xenophon is judged as an historian and frequently found wanting in comparison with others, typically viewed as inferior to Thucydides and/or the fragmentary Oxyrhynchus historian, and, as noted (p. xx), frequently also inferior as a source on Sparta to Plutarch, whose vast distance from the actuality of Classical Sparta somehow confers upon him a more objective standing. The Anabasis is less often treated than the Hellenica for what it has to say about Xenophon’s view of Sparta, perhaps because it has tended to attract the attention most of those interested in military history and so on its own has spawned a huge body of scholarship.25 Ancient philosophers can be broken into groups as well, depending upon their manner of reading Xenophon’s Socratic works. The larger group has tended to privilege Plato and thus almost inevitably to judge both Xenophon’s portrait of Socrates and his philosophical acumen wanting,26 but there has also been a steadily increasing number judging Xenophon with care and on his own terms who are continuing to illuminate aspects of his philosophical thought. 27 Though this latter group rarely touches on Xenophon’s approach to Sparta, these re-evaluations of Xenophon as a philosopher are important not least because they treat Xenophon seriously as a thinker but also because of their examination of the core values and principles of Xenophon’s thought. There is one other distinct group of scholars who work on Xenophon: namely political scientists and philosophers who have been particularly influenced by the scholarship of Leo Strauss.28 Strauss himself published widely on Xenophon (1939, 1963, 1970, 1972, 1975) and indeed while he 25

E.g., Nussbaum 1967; Dalby 1992; Waterfield 2006; and Lee 2007 on various aspects of social organisation, logistics and the practicalities of the journey. Intrepid scholar-explorers have set out to recreate the route of the journey: Prevas 2002; Manfredi 1986 and 2004; Mitford 2000; Brennan 2005; and Waterfield 2006. Other works of Xenophon have been subject to this type of isolation too: ancient economists, for example, have frequently plucked Xenophon’s Poroi out of his corpus and dealt with it on its own. 26 E.g., Vlastos 1991 and Kahn 1996. 27 L.-A. Dorion has been central in this revival; see Dorion and Bandini 2000, 2011a, 2011b, and Dorion 2013a (a collection of his essays on Xenophon). Morrison (e.g., 1994, 2008, 2010); Danzig (e.g., 2005, 2010); and Johnson (e.g., 2005a, 2005b, 2009) have also been instrumental in this movement (combining forces indeed to edit the recent volume Plato and Xenophon: Comparative Studies, 2018). See also Johnson’s 2021 monograph, Xenophon’s Socratic Works. 28 E.g., Nadon 2001; Buzzetti 2008; and many of the contributors to Gish and Ambler 2009.

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focused most of his attention on the Socratic works, his earliest foray into Xenophontic scholarship was on the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. Strauss had many acute observations to make about Xenophon’s treatise on Sparta, and was alone, in a period dominated by scholarship treating Xenophon as a military memoirist and good old country gentleman, in insisting that Xenophon be read carefully and with seriousness. His conclusion, however, that the treatise was entrenched satire, resulted in his work being either treated with scorn or roundly ignored by Classicists.29 There is no doubt that his conclusion is problematic, partly because of his insistence on covert messages concealed in the narrative and partly because he tended to read Xenophon ahistorically, but because of his determination to view Xenophon as worthy of study he also made many trenchant observations, and I will come back to address these throughout my reading of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. Contemporary Straussian interpreters of Xenophon tend to follow the same approach, reading him in an ahistorical manner as a deeply ironic writer and reading so far between the lines that they sometimes lose sight of the actual text itself. Their approach has been used recently to criticise other scholars who do not fall into the Straussian camp but who argue that Xenophon needs to be read with more care and subtlety. So whereas in actuality there are three broad camps into which scholars can be put in terms of their understanding of Xenophon’s literary style – (1) simple and straightforward, (2) subtle and demanding of active reading, (3) so subtle that his real message is something entirely different to the surface message (i.e. the Straussian approach) – those in the first camp of late have been arguing against those in the second camp by lumping them into the third camp and deeming that grounds for not addressing their arguments seriously.30 Yet there is a considerable difference between the approaches 29

Dorion 2010 is unusual both in acknowledging the role Strauss’ scholarship played in the slow rehabilitation of Xenophon as an important thinker, and in addressing Strauss’ arguments in depth, even as he comes down decidedly in opposition. Johnson 2012, who also could hardly be regarded as Straussian, likewise treats Strauss’ views with care. 30 Thus, e.g., Schepens 2005 considers Tuplin and Azoulay Straussians; Hobden and Tuplin 2012b: 4 n. 5 place my work in this camp. Gray 2011a passim categorises all sorts of scholars as belonging to this group, citing, e.g., many of the essays in Tuplin 2004a. Most recently Christesen 2016: 378–81 has suggested that there are three main camps of thought regarding Xenophon’s view of Sparta in particular: (1) that he is ‘straightforwardly and consistently pro-Spartan’; (2) that his opinion, initially positive, became disillusioned over time; and (3) that he was consistently negative and even satirical, a view derived from Strauss 1939. Christesen puts my work in this third camp, yet it belongs in a fourth group, one that allows for both praise and criticism at the same time (and not chronologically driven as is argued by those in the second group) and does not rely on viewing Xenophon’s criticism of Sparta as hidden (see also Hodkinson 2005 for this view of Xenophon on Sparta).

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followed by the latter two groups (not to mention variations of approach within both groups).31 Favourite techniques which Xenophon employs and which require his reader to pay attention include the following: juxtaposition of opposing issues without explicit commentary, unanswered open-ended questions, competing lines of narrative and undiscussed paradoxes. Thucydides and Plato can be shown to be using these techniques without anyone who points them out being accused of over-interpretation,32 but there is more resistance when it is suggested that Xenophon employs them – either as if he is not capable or as if he is to be regarded apart from his contemporaries in this regard. But the more examination there is into how the ancients read, the more it can be shown that they expected their readers to read actively and to respond to the challenges deliberately posed by the texts.33 Indeed Xenophon himself, no less than Plato, shows awareness of the limitations of the written text.34 It is not likely that we are all going to come to complete agreement on the complexity of Xenophon’s writing any time soon, though a number of recent volumes reflect the increasing breadth and depth of current Xenophontic scholarship, showing overall that more care is being taken with his texts and opening up new and exciting lines of enquiry.35 I unabashedly fall solidly into the second group of scholars noted above – those who think that Xenophon is a careful writer who expects his texts to be read actively – and I will argue in this book that the traditional assertion of Xenophon’s preference for Sparta over Athens and his championing of Spartans’ ways and in particular of the Spartan king Agesilaus misses the mark. ◊ To do this I am going to start, in Chapter 1, by asking some questions about the nature of and motivation for Xenophon’s large and generically diverse literary project. Rather than attempt yet another set of arguments about the chronology of the works, however, I will focus instead upon the way in which Xenophon presents himself as a character in the Anabasis and in one vignette in the Memorabilia, on the grounds that he does so for a specific purpose (since, for example, there are events in the 31

As Johnson 2012 well sets out. E.g., Yunis 2003. 33 Konstan 2006. More specifically on Xenophon, see Johnson 2018b: 86–7 especially. 34 See Chapter 1.5 and n. 99 there. 35 E.g., Hobden and Tuplin 2012a; Danzig, Johnson and Morrison 2018; Tamiolaki 2018. 32

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Hellenica in which we are certain he took part but into the narrative of which he does not insert himself ). I will suggest that the combined portrait shows him examining his life in a Socratic fashion at a point when the soundness of Socrates’ advice to him has become apparent, i.e. after the consequences of his actions have led to his exile from Athens, when it is too late for him to turn back the clock. I do not think for a moment that he thought, as he was heading off with his friend Proxenus to join Cyrus, that he would end up in exile, but I do think that, finding himself in just that situation, he made the best of it, expediently cultivating support where he could find it. Further, his situation caused some soulsearching, the result of which he presented in the Anabasis, which, I argue, is in its own way heavily influenced by what Xenophon finally learned from Socrates. His headstrong younger self refused to heed the advice of Socrates and once he found himself in exile he had cut off all paths to the kind of political life he was aiming at before. His self-examination led to the decision that the way he could be most useful and beneficial to others, following Socrates’ example, was to help those who aspired to the political life to which he himself could no longer aspire. This he proceeded to do by composing philosophical and didactic treatises designed to help others to become better political beings themselves, both as citizens and as rulers. Because Sparta was the hegemonic power for the majority of his lifetime, the way that polis and her citizens handled such power was naturally of interest. 36 The unexpected path Xenophon’s life had taken had even given him considerable material for analysis in regard to individual Spartans (those Xenophon campaigned with and under) and he did not scruple to examine their behaviour critically. Thus this chapter essentially argues that Socrates and Athens were more central to Xenophon than Agesilaus and Sparta, and that his literary output bears all the hallmarks of what he had learnt from Socrates. His writings about Sparta, therefore, need to be read and interpreted through this lens, as analytical and philosophical, not as encomiastic and naïve. 36

And so, while leadership is not the only issue of concern to Xenophon, it is of central interest in his discussion of Sparta and individual Spartans. I do not here, however, follow the general approach to be found in, e.g., Gray 2011a and Buxton 2016b. Not wishing to downplay the importance of noticing patterns of behaviour or narrative patterning across Xenophon’s corpus (indeed narrative patterning in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia is going to be a key element in my interpretation), I still do not regard Xenophon’s leadership model as ‘universal’ (Gray 2011a: 44–51) or ‘monolithic’ (Buxton 2016b: 335) and reasserted through various of his ‘heroes’ across his corpus. Nor do I think that either Lycurgus or Agesilaus are, for him, positive paradigmatic figures as will become clear (contra Gray 2011a: 30–4).

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In Chapter 2, I begin to narrow the focus onto the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. Here I will tackle, first of all, the theories of other scholars, in particular the general assumption that the work was composed in order to praise Sparta. The first part of my analysis focuses on passages in the text which have been deemed problematic by those subscribing to the praise theory. I argue that it is not the text that is difficult to understand, but the praise hypothesis itself that causes the difficulties. I then look at the theory of Leo Strauss that the treatise is actually constructed as a satire, and show that this approach also does not resolve the interpretative problems adequately, and that the greater sensitivity he paid to the way Xenophon structured his narrative is often undermined by his tendency to treat the material in an ahistorical manner. This leads me into the last portion of this chapter, which consists of a discussion about what we can assume Xenophon means when he speaks of Sparta’s power and renown, as far as we can reconstruct it from the material available. A surprising disparity of views exists on this point and it is not negligible for interpretation of the treatise as a whole. Part II consists of a detailed reading of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, divided into three chapters. My reading will move through the treatise in a linear fashion, noting, as I go, the ways in which Xenophon appears to create two separate but interlocked lines of argument, one of which illuminates his initial answer to his opening question, about how a polis so under-populated as Sparta could have gained such power and renown, while the other draws the reader into further reflections upon the likely – and more negative – outcomes of the Lycurgan practices being described. My first point is that the opening of the treatise uses recognisably philosophical language to mark the enquiry not as any sort of eulogy but rather as intellectual enquiry. Given Xenophon’s Socratic credentials, then, such an enquiry is likely to follow Socratic methods and reflect shared Socratic values. In each of the sections dealt with here (begetting of children, education of boys, provisions for youths, for young men and for men over 30, i.e. Lac. 1–4), Xenophon focuses upon broad matters of principle and the unique aspects of the Spartan system but without giving many concrete details. What is notable about his narrative technique is the way in which he appears to show Lycurgan practices battling against human nature and, therefore, being constantly in need of adjustment for their successful implementation. Various questions addressed to the reader and unanswered by Xenophon tend to push the reader to consider further their implications: was the thinking behind this or that law sound or does the reader’s own experience and comparison with other

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systems suggest rather that the Spartan politeia was missing something vital? For example, was the tendency to focus narrowly on obedience through constraint rather than through inculcating the basic principles of justice a fatal flaw, as one might infer from the behaviour of real Spartiates described in Xenophon’s other works? In Chapter 4, the next six sections of the treatise (Lac. 5–10) come under scrutiny. These sections encompass Xenophon’s treatment of the Lycurgan diaita (‘daily life’), including the common messes, sharing of goods, wealth (most especially measures to discourage its accumulation), obedience to the laws, legislation against cowards, and the practice of virtue into old age. My examination of these sections again underlines how Xenophon employs various different narrative strategies in order both to highlight aspects of the system which have contributed to Sparta’s power and renown and, at the same time, to call some of them into question: for example, strategically placed engagement with an imaginary audience and the repeated use of the schema whereby an initial Lycurgan measure has to be propped up by further more stringent ones suggest the inadequacy of the first to counter normal human behaviour patterns. Further, Xenophon’s engagement with other readings of Sparta, where we can see these, tends to show how much more negative an approach he is employing: for example, Critias on drinking practices and Tyrtaeus on fighting to the death. In general, this part of the treatise continues to underscore how much public conformity enforced by an elaborate system of shaming and punishments underpins the Lycurgan system, while suggesting a critique to the reader’s mind of the inadequacy of such a regime for the making of individuals who can practise virtue willingly just as much in private. Chapter 5 covers the third and final part of the treatise (Lac. 11–15), the sections on various aspects of the Spartan army, the problems created for Sparta by its failure to adhere strictly to Lycurgus’ laws, and the honours given to the kings in times of peace, the last being the only aspect of the original system which in Xenophon’s view remains unchanged. My analysis starts by showing how closely all these sections are linked, both thematically and logically, with each other and Lac. 1–10 (reaffirming belief in the unitarian nature of the work). Once more, the criticisms inherent in the narrative presentation of the Lycurgan measures are teased out. Why is it that camps are set up to protect against ‘friends’? How flexible in response to emergencies was the well-oiled Spartan military machine? In what sense could the Lycurgan rule that kings were to lead military campaigns be reconciled with the increasingly imperialistic need for extra

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military leaders and harmosts, whose role was not, it appears, defined by the ancestral customs? Though comparative material from various parts of Xenophon’s own corpus has featured in my analysis to this point, it is here that Xenophon’s account of actual Spartan behaviour in the Anabasis and Hellenica begins to play an increasingly larger role, providing strong support for this new reading of the treatise as a considered and critical account of the strengths and weaknesses of Sparta’s politeia and the relationship of those weaknesses to its failure as a hegemonic state. In Part III, then, I turn back to Xenophon’s other writings about Sparta in order to place this philosophical treatise in its proper context. Chapter 6, therefore, examines depictions of Spartans in the Anabasis, Hellenica and Agesilaus. How far Xenophon intended these works to be read in conjunction with the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia is not a point that can be definitively resolved, but I argue that it is not unlikely that his thoughts about the workings of the Spartan polis are reflected in his depiction of Spartan leaders and, in turn, that his observation of Spartan leaders in the field (which I think can, with confidence, be placed before his literary career) to some degree influenced his analysis of the Sparta politeia. Thus, I first suggest that the ambivalence displayed in the treatise generally and the criticism made in Lac. 14 in particular are consistent with Xenophon’s depiction of Spartan behaviour in his Hellenica and Anabasis. This is substantiated by a close examination of Xenophon’s portrayal of harmosts and other Spartan leaders in those two works in light of the key points highlighted by him in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. Next I turn to the Agesilaus, and, after comparing the ways in which the king is depicted in the encomium and in the Hellenica – encomiastically (of course) in the first, but critically in the second – I show that the Agesilaus is following norms for the encomiastic genre already in place by this period and argue that no contemporary would have been deceived into preferring this account to the one in the Hellenica were they looking for Xenophon’s true assessment of Agesilaus’ life, character and achievements. Finally, I show how tightly Xenophon’s treatment of real individuals in the Anabasis and Hellenica fits with his philosophically structured investigation in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. Not only is the treatise very far from reflecting Agesilaus’ vision of all that is good in Sparta but Xenophon’s portrayal of Agesilaus and Lysander in particular reveals that both of them embody the nature of the system as described in the treatise. In the final chapter, I situate Xenophon’s view of Sparta more broadly within fourth-century BCE political thought and speculate a little about the audience for whom Xenophon was writing. My approach here is to

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examine the possibility of literary conversations between Xenophon and Plato and Xenophon and Isocrates, by comparing the attitudes of all three towards Sparta and noting the close agreements we can detect – whichever way round the conversations are seen as going – on major points of importance. These intersections of interest and viewpoint, I shall argue, strongly suggest that Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia (and by extension, in all probability his whole corpus) was aimed at and read in Athenian intellectual circles, and in particular, that the slight distance between Xenophon and Isocrates, measured against the closeness of viewpoint between Plato and Xenophon – notably their striking agreement on major internal deficiencies in the Spartan system – argues for the most important reception to be located among the Socratic circle.

pa rt i

chapter 1

Xenophon and His Literary Project Those who obeyed him [Socrates] profited, but those who did not obey him regretted it. (Mem. 1.1.4)

1.1 Introduction Xenophon’s literary output is extraordinary for the number of genres it appears to cross, and we can agree on that even if we do not agree on how precisely to categorise some of his writings: Sokratikoi logoi (Memorabilia, Apology, Oeconomicus, Symposium), encomium (Agesilaus), history (Hellenica), autobiography (Anabasis), didactic treatise (On Hunting, The Cavalry Commander, On Horsemanship), economic pamphlet (Poroi), political philosophy (Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, Hiero, Cyropaedia).1 He is not the only literary experimenter of his generation. Plato, though his generic framework is generally always the Sokratikoi logoi,2 plays with and satirises other types of writings within his dialogues: for example, the funeral oration in the Menexenus, and encomiastic writing in the Symposium. 3 Likewise Isocrates, though broadly speaking his works are either oratorical or epistolary in form, explores manifold rhetorical approaches.4 Xenophon is, however, (on the basis of our limited knowledge) the only one of his contemporaries who attempts such radically different structural approaches in his writing. This fact is why we have such 1

This rough categorisation is my own, though it will become clear that I think that Xenophon’s works are more interconnected than this list implies. E.g., see Humble 2018a on the thread of Socratic elements running through his corpus. See also Humble 2020b, which explores Xenophon ‘as a pioneer experimenter in biographical forms’ (the quotation coming from Momigliano 1993: 47). 2 Excepted by some is the Apology on the grounds that it is a (quasi-)historical document; see, e.g., Guthrie 1962–81: 3.349 and Kahn 1996: 88; arguing for its inclusion, see, e.g., Morrison 2000: 239; McCoy 2007: 24–5; and Dorion 2012: 419–20. There are many discussions of the nuances and problems of how to define Sokratikoi logoi. For a range of views, see, e.g., Clay 1994; Kahn 1996: 1–35; Rossetti 2004, 2011. 3 The bibliography on this aspect of Plato’s works is vast. Nightingale 1995 is particularly good; see also briefly Clay 1994: 41–7; more broadly and with different approaches, see, e.g., Kahn 1996 and Rowe 2007a. 4 Nicolai 2004 and 2018.

3

4

Xenophon and His Literary Project

difficulty finding an easy label for him: is he a historian, a (Socratic) philosopher, a rhetorician, a memoirist, a biographer? We have no such difficulty, by contrast, with Plato (a philosopher) or Isocrates (an orator). Whether or not Xenophon had an overarching purpose to his whole literary project is a question not always asked, partly of course because we look at his corpus in such a fragmented way. It has certainly been noted repeatedly that his works are united by an obvious interest in leadership,5 but why he should be so interested in leadership is not usually addressed. Perhaps this is because for the most part we think the answer is obvious: he himself had experience as a leader; he was part of the Socratic circle and good leadership was one of the topics that circle debated; he was in close community with other leaders, Spartan and Persian and Athenian, so his observation of them in action led to further enquiry, etc. This may be as close as we can come to answering this question, though I am going to explore an additional reason below. Two problems have hampered investigation of this sort of broad topic, one of our own devising, the other inherent in the study of most ancient literature. First is the fact that, at least until very recently, Xenophon’s literary works have not been deemed particularly worthy by comparison with his seemingly more illustrious contemporaries, and that where we perceive references to the views of others (such as Isocrates or Plato) these are invariably thought to be Xenophon’s reworkings, borrowings or responses rather than the other way around (i.e. that the conversation is viewed as being one-way). Secondly, there is no way of determining with any degree of certainty when he wrote most of his works and in what order. Regarding the first problem, I think it is possible to show that Xenophon’s literary project was both serious and also deemed so by his contemporaries (and this second task will be the particular focus of Chapter 7).6 The second problem is not solvable, but it is difficult to avoid joining the debate since chronological speculation has played a key part in the study of Xenophon’s view of Sparta in general. Understanding of works which contain significant Spartan material has frequently been predicated on elaborate dating schemas put in place to explain perceived shifts in focus or approach.7 The following is a simple example of this 5

Breitenbach 1950: 47–104 is still a classic. Recent explorations include Gray 2011a; numerous essays in Hobden and Tuplin 2012a; Sandridge 2013; Buxton 2016a and 2016b. 6 Even if again issues of dating, particularly in the case of Plato, mean that it is important to examine perceived conversations from both sides. 7 Delebecque 1957 has been the most detailed attempt to reconstruct Xenophon’s life and works. It is an impressive construct, which includes suggestions that works were written piecemeal over numerous years with revisions at various periods, but it is far from unproblematic, not least

Introduction

5

phenomenon: section 14 of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia has been argued to have been written separately from the rest of the work, after Xenophon became disillusioned with Sparta, i.e. after the battle of Leuctra in 371 BCE, or possibly slightly earlier, after what are deemed the worst excesses of Spartan imperialistic hybris, Phoebidas’ seizure of the Theban citadel in 382 BCE and Sphodrias’ attempted invasion of Attica in 378 (as if there were no egregious acts of Spartan imperialistic hybris prior to this period, or Xenophon had somehow missed them).8 It is, in fact, notable that it is the perceived shift in Xenophon’s view on Sparta which is one of the key factors governing this tendency to split his works up and argue that portions of them were written at different times, and thus the works most affected are those which deal most with Sparta, primarily the Hellenica and Lacedaimoniôn Politeia.9 In the end, we simply do not have enough information to be certain one way or another, and no definitive answer regarding the relative or actual chronological order of his works is going to be attempted here. It has, however, always struck me in reading his corpus that none of his discussions of Sparta or Spartans is consistently praiseworthy, apart from the Agesilaus, which we would expect to be so since it is an encomium. Thus, while I would not want to suggest that his opinion of Sparta was because it is based on the twin assumptions that Xenophon is pro-Spartan and that he is less of an intellect than some of his contemporaries. Richer 2007: 429–32 has recently revived interest in Delebecque’s chronology. Lipka 2002 surpasses Delebecque, however, for the complicated compositional schema he proposes for the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. 8 Hooker 1989: 137 is a classic example: ‘Xenophon makes no secret of his partiality towards Sparta, but he is not the uncritical admirer of everything Spartan that his biography of Agesilaus might lead one to suppose. It is rather that he cannot help contrasting the present actions of Sparta with the ideal she formerly professed. In his narrative in the Hellenica, Xenophon regards the year 382 as the turning point. It was then that the Spartans seized the acropolis at Thebes, contrary to international law as enshrined in the Peace of Antalcidas, and in doing so they committed an act which (in Xenophon’s view) led directly to their downfall eleven years later (V 4.1). A similar sense of disillusionment explains the apparent contradiction in Xenophon’s Constitution of the Lacedaemonians. This work ... is a paean of praise in 13 chapters for the whole Lycurgan system. The harsh indictment in chapter 14 is all the more telling.’ 9 See Chapter 2.2.3 for further discussion of the problems of dating the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. The unity and date of composition of the Hellenica have both been subjected to significant debate, with stylistic considerations being central. Generally, most would now (and see Henry 1966 for earlier and often more complex approaches) fall either on the side of viewing the work as a whole with a late date of composition (e.g., Gray 1991) or as composed in two parts (with the break most often being argued to come at HG 2.3.10), the first part written early in Xenophon’s career, the second written later (e.g., Tuplin 1993: 11; likewise Dillery 1995: 12–15, who gives a good succinct survey of the different approaches). A perceived change from an Athenian to a Spartan point of view at the beginning of Book 3 is often part of the argumentation. The Agesilaus is safe from being split apart because it was obviously written after Agesilaus died, c. 360 BCE, and before Xenophon died, c. 354 BCE. Delebecque 1957: 199–206 argued that the Anabasis was composed in two halves with the break coming at An. 5.3.6, but his view has not gained any real traction.

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Xenophon and His Literary Project

completely static over time (something impossible to determine with certainty anyway under our current state of knowledge), it does not seem to me that we can regard him as ever having been, as some have put it, a naïve laconophile, but rather that he ought to be regarded as a critical external observer of a powerful polis which, during the course of his own lifetime, was first at war with his own polis, Athens, then in a position of hegemonic power over it, and finally in an uneasy off-and-on alliance with it as Thebes briefly took over the hegemonic role.10

1.2  The Autobiographical Approach To turn to (auto)biographical details to help to clarify Xenophon’s view of Sparta and the bigger question of what his literary project was all about is a task fraught with pitfalls. On the whole, despite his fourteen extant works and a circa third-century CE biography by Diogenes Laertius, we know rather less about Xenophon’s life than most modern biographical sketches of him imply, and the risk of circular argumentation is high when we use his works and much later biographical details to fill out his life story.11 Thus, for example, it is argued that because he campaigned under Agesilaus and wrote an encomium of him, Agesilaus is one of his heroes and above criticism – a line of argumentation which does not sit well with the frequently critical portrait of Agesilaus in the Hellenica. Or, similarly, Diogenes’ comment that Diocles reported that Xenophon had his sons educated in Sparta12 is used to support the argument that he was a committed laconophile who admired the Spartan education system, as shown in how he lays it out in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia – a line of argumentation which requires glossing over the peculiar presentation of Spartan education in this work, with its focus on fear and punishment, educational techniques which are diametrically opposed to those Xenophon champions in other works such as the Memorabilia and On Hunting.13 10

See Rowe 2007a: 39–49 for a brief discussion about the dating of Plato’s works as well as the ‘developmental’ reading of Plato’s theory of forms, which Rowe rejects, and which can be compared to the ‘developmental’ reading of Xenophon’s view on Sparta, which I am rejecting. 11 See Humble 2002a for examples of how biographical details are manipulated to support readings of Xenophon’s works, usually to his disadvantage. 12 D.L. 2.54, where the first-century BCE Lives of Philosophers by Diocles is cited as the source; cf. also Plu. Ages. 20.2. 13 See Humble 2004b for an examination of how easily this detail about the education of his sons could have been inferred from his writings at a later date and for different motives. Despite the problematic nature of this point, however, it is frequently accepted as fact: e.g., David 1989: 4; Cartledge 2001b: 83; and Richer 2007: 405.

The Autobiographical Approach

7

We are, in fact, not really any better off than ancient biographers were and, as these two examples show, tend to rely just as heavily as they did on using his written works in one way or another to fill in biographical details and argue for points of interpretation.14 The following example about a supposed antagonism between Plato and Xenophon is even more instructive. The notion that they were engaged in some sort of rivalry, like the notion that Xenophon had his sons educated in Sparta, is based not on any independent contemporary evidence that this is so, nor indeed on any direct statement one of them makes about the other, but on the following: (1) the observation that both wrote an Apology and a Symposium; (2) a reading of Plato’s criticism of Cyrus the Elder’s education in the Laws (3.694c–695b) as an implicit, and critical, response to Xenophon’s Cyropaedia; and (3) the observation that Plato never mentions Xenophon and Xenophon only mentions Plato once. These points are all adduced by three Imperial-era authors who, if not using one another, are certainly drawing on a common source: Aulus Gellius (NA 14.3.2–4), Athenaeus (504f–505a) and Diogenes Laertius (2.57). Interestingly, they all come to different conclusions. Gellius attributes the rivalry to later partisanship and considers Xenophon and Plato as rivals only on the field of virtue, being of equal eminence, ‘two stars of Socratic charm’. Athenaeus, on the other hand, does believe there was a rivalry, but puts it down to Plato’s jealous nature. Diogenes also agrees there was a rivalry and though he does not explicitly make the same judgement as Athenaeus, the place where he provides details is where he notes numerous rivalries of Plato (D.L. 3.34–6). Modern responses to the very same material have also produced a range of different conclusions, most of them less flattering towards Xenophon than the ancients were. J. K. Anderson, for example, dismisses Gellius’ assessment of both men standing above rivalry as absurd not least because ‘Xenophon himself probably knew that he was not in the same class as Plato’. This fits with Anderson’s assessment that Xenophon stood only on the fringes of the Socratic circle, an assessment which happens not to be shared by any of these three Imperial-era sources.15 Gabriel Danzig, however, finds that close reading of the respective Symposia of Plato and Xenophon does support the 14

Lee 2016 is a good example of another common approach, which surveys the historical events during Xenophon’s life (many described in Xenophon’s more historical writings) and speculates where Xenophon fits into them, using later biographical details cautiously. This is an important exercise, however, since, even when we cannot be sure where he fits, to dehistoricise Xenophon gets us nowhere. 15 Anderson 1974: 28–9. Holford-Strevens 2003: 268–9 likewise accuses Gellius of ‘perverse ingenuity’ on the grounds that it is clear that Xenophon had no partisans.

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Xenophon and His Literary Project

notion that they engaged in attacking one another, not by name but through literary responses to one another’s views.16 A. Swift Riginos, by contrast, argues that the supposed rivalry was a fabrication of Alexandrian scholars.17 Though we are aware enough of how indiscriminately ancient biographers inferred personal details from literary works, that this assertion of rivalry comes solely from a particular reading of the works of Xenophon and Plato does not, of course, mean that it is not true. Yet the range of responses to the same details serves as an important reminder of the difficulties attendant upon engaging in this sort of biographical reconstruction. Mindful of these difficulties,18 I want to review here one type of (auto) biographical material, i.e. what Xenophon says about himself. Although no certain conclusions can be drawn, a different scenario can at least be proposed which sheds different light on his literary project as a whole and, therefore, will, by extension, problematise the traditional view about his relationship with Sparta.

1.3  Xenophon on Xenophon Classical Greek authors do not tend to talk too much about themselves, or when they do, they frequently do so in the third person, which puts the modern reader, at least, in a bit of a quandary, wondering in what way they are being (mis)led by such a practice.19 Xenophon does not give us anything substantial to go on in the first person, but he does, in two different works, present himself as a character. Almost all of the pertinent material can be found in the Anabasis, Xenophon’s autobiographical account of approximately two years of his life (c. 401–399 BCE). Within this work he twice deviates notably from his chronological narrative to provide us with a brief snapshot of certain events in his life before the expedition (An. 3.1.4–7) and a brief snapshot of certain events after the expedition (An. 5.3.6–13).20 Apart from this there is only one other occasion in his corpus where he provides any similar material: in the 16

Danzig 2005, and also 2014, where he reads the negative portrait of Critias in the Hellenica as an attack on Plato’s milder portrait of Critias in the Charmides. Johnson 2018b: 73, in discussing responses in Xenophon’s works to Plato’s works, does not commit to commenting on the tone of the literary conversation. 17 Swift Riginos 1976: 108–10. 18 Thus, like Cartledge 1987: 57, I am ‘making assumptions explicit and confessing openly to speculation’, as there is really no other viable approach. 19 Most 1989 is still a useful and salutary discussion of the problems, and see Nicolai 2018: 201–3 for Isocrates’ discussion in his Antidosis on the difficulties of, and his solutions for, how to self-eulogise. 20 As well as a brief second reference near the end of the work to note that he is not yet exiled (An. 7.7.57).

Xenophon on Xenophon

9

Memorabilia, where he depicts his pre-Anabasis younger self in conversation with Socrates (Mem. 1.3.8–13).21 It has not gone unnoted that the autobiographical nature of this material confers singular status upon it: when Xenophon chooses to put himself forward as a character within his own corpus of writing he is doing so for a specific purpose. What the purpose is, however, has been vigorously debated, and I will come back to it after some comments on this material. 1.3.1   Pre-401 BCE It is not possible to know whether the Memorabilia preceded the Anabasis or not, but for my purposes it does not much matter, as the two glimpses Xenophon gives us of his life prior to the Anabasis were both probably written after he had been exiled and together they present a striking and coherent picture. In the Memorabilia Xenophon shows himself in conversation with Socrates about sexual passion (Mem. 1.3.8–13). Socrates asks him his opinion on the sanity of Critobulus, who has rashly indulged himself by kissing Alcibiades’ son. Xenophon portrays himself as scoffing at the notion that kissing beautiful young boys is dangerous. Socrates then emphasises his point by means of an extended metaphor comparing such a kiss to the bite of a scorpion. Xenophon follows along but does not give us any evidence that he was convinced about the point, i.e. he does not give himself the last word in the conversation to show that he has learned the lesson Socrates intends.22 Nor is there any indication that Critobulus learnt anything from this encounter, as other passages confirm (Mem. 2.6.32–3; Smp. 4.10–18).23 21

There are, of course, also the first-person assertions that he was present at certain conversations Socrates had with others both in the Memorabilia (1.3.1, 1.4.2, 1.6.14, 2.4.1, 2.5.1, 4.3.1) and, less assertively, in the Symposium (1.1), or at least this is how they are usually read, though Bevilacqua 2010: 18–20 argues for a distinction here between author and narrator. On this hermeneutic approach, see more broadly McCloskey 2017 (whose conclusions I generally agree with though I am not always convinced by the arguments which lead there) and Rood 2018: 186–90. See Johnson 2018b: 76 for reasons why we should regard the first-person narrator in the Memorabilia as Xenophon, despite the anachronisms. For the moment I want to deal only with how Xenophon presents the character Xenophon. See also the good discussion in Brown Ferrario 2012: 361–73 on the relationship between Xenophon the character and Xenophon the author vis-à-vis historical agency and historical memory. 22 And, as Gray 1998: 95 notes, he fails also in a broader sense when compared with the role assigned to secondary interlocutors in conversations generally in the Memorabilia. Hindley 2004: 127 reads this passage in a completely different way: as evidence that Xenophon is publicly, and seriously, disagreeing with Socrates on this point of male love. 23 Nails 2002: 18 suggests that the Memorabilia passage is ‘Xenophon’s own invention’, which may of course be true, but the passage nonetheless presents a particular picture of Xenophon himself which is not particularly flattering.

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Xenophon and His Literary Project

In the Anabasis, at the point at which Xenophon starts to play a greater role in events (i.e. after Cyrus and three of the main Greek generals have been killed and the remnants of the Greek mercenaries find themselves abandoned deep inside Persian territory), we are transported back to events leading up to his departure from Athens and to another conversation with Socrates; in fact, we get a mini Socratic dialogue reported by the anonymous narrator (An. 3.1.4–7). Here we learn that Xenophon had asked Socrates about whether or not he should take up the offer of his friend Proxenus to pursue friendship with Cyrus. Socrates advised Xenophon that friendship with Cyrus might not be viewed favourably in Athens because Cyrus had supported the Spartans in their victory over Athens in the Peloponnesian War, and suggests that Xenophon ask the god at Delphi whether or not it would be advisable to head off with Proxenus. Xenophon, however, having made up his mind already that he wanted to take up Proxenus’ offer, partially ignores Socrates’ advice: he does go to Delphi but asks not whether or not he should go on the expedition but to which gods he should sacrifice and pray to ensure a good journey and a safe return. When he tells Socrates what he did, Socrates chastises him for not asking the correct question of the god but says he had better proceed on the basis of the question he had asked, so Xenophon sacrifices appropriately and heads off to join Proxenus in the camp of Cyrus. In both these passages, Xenophon shows himself an intimate of Socrates, and in both, also, he shows himself to be rather headstrong in nature, asking for or listening to the advice of Socrates but reluctant to take it if it interfered with his youthful pleasures and ambitions. He represents himself, that is, as one of those clever young men who associate with Socrates but who are never quite reined in by him, not quite, perhaps, an Alcibiades (whom Xenophon does not actually present in conversation with Socrates in the Memorabilia but rather shows him taking the role of Socrates and brazenly cross-examining his guardian Pericles, Mem. 1.2.40–6), but equally not a Euthydemus (another handsome and ambitious young man whom Xenophon presents as thinking he is wise, but who, once he is shown by Socrates not to know as much as he thought he did, immediately becomes a devoted follower of Socrates, Mem. 4.2.1–40).24 24

It is worth pointing out that Diogenes Laertius, who at the start of his biography characterises Xenophon as modest and exceedingly handsome (αἰδήμων δὲ καὶ εὐειδέστατος εἰς ὑπερβολήν, D.L. 2.48), only draws on Xenophon’s autobiographical anecdote from the Anabasis (2.49–50) and not that from the Memorabilia, preferring to cite an anecdote from Aristippus’ On the Luxury of the Ancients which was not in fact originally about Xenophon at all (2.48–9).

Xenophon on Xenophon

11

Xenophon’s portrait of his younger self thus revolves around his encounters with Socrates, and it is not particularly flattering: he does not depict himself as one who actually learns properly from or heeds the advice of Socrates.25 1.3.2   401–399 BCE As a character in the Anabasis, Xenophon fares somewhat better overall. He appears only a few brief times in the narrative before Book 3. His first appearance shows that the aim of setting out – to pursue the friendship of Cyrus alongside his friend Proxenus (An. 3.1.4) – had been met:26 just before the battle of Cunaxa, Xenophon depicts himself as on close terms with Cyrus; he approaches Cyrus as the latter rides up and down the drawn up battle lines and asks if he can do anything; Cyrus asks him to spread the word that the sacrifices and omens were in their favour (1.8.15).27 After the battle of Cunaxa and the death of Cyrus comes Xenophon’s second appearance in the work. Here he depicts himself on an evening stroll with Proxenus when a messenger comes with the news of Persian double-dealing (2.4.15). Not long after, he joins two other generals, Cleanor and Sophaenetus, when they set out to find out what has happened to Clearchus, Proxenus and Menon, who have not returned from a meeting with Tissaphernes; Xenophon says he joined the other two out of concern for his friend Proxenus (2.5.37–41). They learn from the Persian Ariaeus that Clearchus has been killed on grounds of perjury, but that Proxenus and Menon are still alive and being treated well. Again, though Xenophon appears to have had no defined role within the mercenary group at this point (as he states at 3.1.4), his friendship with Proxenus, and hence with Cyrus, has clearly conferred upon him an acceptance among the highest echelon of the command structure of the whole group, and it is he who, after Cleanor rails at Ariaeus for his 25

See Gray 1998: 95–8 for a discussion of these two passages in terms of how they fit in with the agenda to praise and excuse Socrates. Haywood 2016: 90 n. 17 reads both passages likewise as contrasting the naïveté of Xenophon with the wisdom of Socrates, but in arguing that Xenophon was ‘unable to appreciate the nuances of oracular consultation’ I think he underestimates Xenophon’s deliberate manipulation of the oracle. 26 Contrary to Tsagalis 2009: 451–2, who argues that Xenophon ‘is nothing more than a mere name’ and ‘has deliberately erased his presence’ in the early stages of the work. If that were the case, why bring himself into the picture at all? And why allocate himself direct speech, which is generally an indication of the importance of a scene? 27 Further, later at An. 3.1.9 he reports that Cyrus, upon meeting him, had personally urged him to join in the campaign which was at that time said to be against the Pisidians.

12

Xenophon and His Literary Project

double-dealing, urges the Persians to let the Greek generals return.28 He thus gives himself the last and most important word in this diplomatic meeting.29 Confirmation that his plea went unheeded is provided by the obituaries of Clearchus, Proxenus and Menon which follow directly in the narrative (2.6). Only months after he left Athens, therefore, Xenophon found himself in a position he could not possibly have anticipated: both Proxenus and Cyrus are dead and he and a relatively small and not wholly united body of Greek mercenaries are isolated in the middle of the Persian Empire surrounded by hostile forces. Quite naturally they are all in a state of hopelessness. Yet Xenophon shows himself prising off the grip of despair by encouraging himself to take charge of affairs. His series of questions to himself shows him coming to the realisation that he is now actually in the sort of situation that he had hoped to find himself in one day (albeit more fraught and probably more dangerous than expected, since only a few sections before he reminded the reader that the expedition had been thought originally to be against the Pisidians, and with every chance of being successful and short, 3.1.9), i.e. in a position to take command (3.1.13–14). Having already worked his way in an unofficial capacity into the commanding circle, he depicts himself shrewdly and confidently conferring with Proxenus’ captains and promising either to follow where they lead or to take on a leadership role himself. They urge him to take over as general of their contingent (3.1.26), presumably swayed not just by this display of proactiveness, his keen assessment of the situation and his rhetorical skills but also by what they had experienced of him over the course of the expedition to this point. From now on Xenophon is front and centre in the events he recounts and he plays a significant role in guiding the Greek mercenaries out of the heart of Asia and back to Asia Minor again.30 It is not my intention here to go over all his actions in detail but rather to highlight a selection in order to show the complexity of the way in which he presents himself. It is certainly primarily a positive portrait, but 28

See on this Lee 2007: 53–4, with his speculation that Xenophon might in reality have been Proxenus’ hypostrategos. 29 And, as Flower 2012: 121 notes, makes ‘so clever an argument for Proxenus’s and Menon’s release that the Persians are unable to answer it’. 30 Flower 2012: 120–30 has a good overview on how dominant the character Xenophon is in the narrative at this turning point. See also his pp. 130–40 on the positive aspects of Xenophon’s presentation of himself as a leader.

Xenophon on Xenophon

13

not universally so.31 In general the character Xenophon is highly adaptable, has a talent for innovative strategising, is a skilled rhetorician, accessible to the ordinary soldiers under his command and aware of the benefit of sharing in their burdens. He does not shrink from recording mistakes, though he tends also to show that he is able to learn from them. Thus, for example, early on when his contingent suffers significantly from a smaller group of Persian slingers, bowmen and cavalry, and his own response to try to retaliate fails dismally, he responds to reasonable criticism from his fellow generals by working out a way to create contingents of slingers and cavalry (3.3.6–20). But his mistakes are not always thus mitigated. His decision, while marching through Carduchia, to attack uphill to secure a safe route for his contingent and the baggage train only partially works (4.2.10–21). The enemy do retreat and allow the Greeks to capture three hills, but they are more cognizant of the overall situation and return to the first hill and defeat the Greeks who had been left behind there, killing two captains. Xenophon negotiates a truce, but more enemy gather and attack as the Greeks descend from the final hill. The episode ends better than it ought to have, given Xenophon’s lack of foresight and overall planning, but equally he could, as Flower notes, easily have omitted this episode since it does not reflect well upon him.32 It is notable too that Xenophon’s greatest successes as a leader occur when the army is in the direst of straits. This, it appears, is the lot that awaits commanders of all different styles.33 Once the relative safety of the Black Sea region is reached, Xenophon is less able to influence how the army behaves, or they are less likely to obey without questioning his motives. Here, for example, he is accused of hybris by the soldiers, for striking them during the march across Anatolia (5.8.1–12).34 Xenophon interrogates the first of his accusers and it turns out that the man had been struck because he was trying to bury a sick man in the snow. 31

Many have argued that the character Xenophon is among his own ideal leaders (including myself in my 1997 dissertation, a view I have clearly now modified), e.g., Due 1989: 203–6; Cawkwell 2004: 60; and Gera 2007, or have tended in this direction even when seeing realism in other aspects of the work, e.g., Lee 2007: 16 (‘Xenophon may have exaggerated his prominence amongst the Cyreans, but if he wanted to distort the realities of life on the march he could have presented in the Anabasis an army with perfect logistics and planning’), though he also notes that Xenophon does not disguise his limitations. As well as Tuplin 2003: 152–3 on the ambivalence of Xenophon’s self-portrait, see also Tamiolaki 2012 for a salutary corrective to the prevailing view. 32 Flower 2012: 131. See also Seelinger 1997 on Xenophon’s successes and failures with Seuthes. 33 Compare what Xenophon said about Clearchus’ leadership style: his harshness was tolerated in times of danger, but troops would abandon him when the danger lessened (An. 2.6.11–12). In view of his own experience, this might be less of a criticism than usually thought. 34 This episode is well unpicked, from two different angles, by Lee 2007: 102–3, 246–7 and by Brown Ferrario 2012: 372–3.

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Xenophon and His Literary Project

Xenophon manages to convince the soldiers that his behaviour was justified because it saved the life of one of their comrades. Again if we consider how he portrays his pre-Anabasis self, his ability to turn a situation to his advantage – and there are many other instances of this – is not surprising. Once the soldiers arrive back in the environs of the Greek world, however, his skills are insufficient to prevent the army from fragmenting. He has no special authority with the Spartan admiral, Anaxibius, or the Spartan harmosts at Byzantium, Cleander and Aristarchus, nor does he find any successful way of negotiating with them. His explorations into the possibility of founding a new colony along the south coast of the Black Sea go down like a lead balloon (5.6.15–8.26).35 Certainly in many of these instances he manages to extricate himself from deeper trouble by means of his excellent rhetorical skills and his ability to reassess quickly the mood of the men around him. It is in this regard that he most excels. Though his rhetorical triumphs have traditionally been read as exaggerations or internal justifications to external pressures, we might equally view them as reasonably frank assessments of his strengths, which sit side by side with his reasonably frank assessments of his failures. I highlight the less positive aspects of Xenophon’s self-portrayal here also to counter assessments that tend to downplay them, but there is no doubt that overall Xenophon has depicted himself as very capable of leadership in very difficult circumstances. The work ends with Xenophon successfully conducting a raid for booty and then noting that the remains of the mercenary group was taken over by the Spartan Thibron who added it to his forces to make war on the Persian satraps, Tissaphernes and Pharnabazus. At the time the work ends, then, Xenophon has not yet been exiled. He has proved himself to be (or at least depicted himself to be) about as successful in the field as a young commander could be expected to be. Like Alcibiades, he has shown himself to be a headstrong but creative general, who has a knack for inspiring his troops partly by his ability to share in their experience when necessary, partly by siding with them when expedient. Unlike Alcibiades, he does not take offence when his views are not heeded. He can only at this point have been looking forward to translating this experience into political success back in his home polis of Athens, to which he repeatedly says he had tried to return (7.1.4; 7.1.38–40; 7.2.8-9; 7.8.55–7). That on the first three of these occasions he is thwarted by Spartan leaders needs to be read together with his repeated comments that the Spartans had to be heeded 35

On this episode, see Flower 2012: 142–6.

Xenophon on Xenophon

15

because they were the hegemonic power in the Greek world: he turns down the offer of sole leadership of the mercenaries on these grounds (6.1.26–9); he states outright that ‘the Lacedaemonians ruled all the Greeks’ at the point when Cleander, the harmost at Byzantium, is threatening to forbid any polis to admit the mercenaries (6.6.9) and expands on the futility of crossing the Spartans in a speech following on this episode (6.6.12–14); and later, when the mercenaries overrun Byzantium, Xenophon restores order among them and reminds them again in a speech that it is futile to cross the Spartans (7.1.25–31; cf. HG 3.1.3). 1.3.3 Post-399 BCE In the middle of Book 5, when he is discussing how some funds raised by selling prisoners of war were being divided up, Xenophon digresses to talk about how he later disposed of the booty that came his way (5.3.5– 13). Here is the only real glimpse he gives us of his life after the circumscribed period of the Anabasis. We learn the following: (1) that he had the share of the booty which belonged to Apollo made into a dedication which had his own and Proxenus’ names inscribed on it and which was deposited at Delphi (5.3.5); (2) that when he returned to Greece with Agesilaus on his campaign against Boeotia (394 BCE), he left the portion of the spoils which was due to Artemis with one Megabyzus in Ephesus (along with instructions of how to dispose of it under various circumstances) because of the potential danger of the journey back to Greece (5.3.6); (3) that Megabyzus delivered the portion to him after he was in exile and living in Scillus, near Olympia, having been settled there as a colonist by the Spartans (5.3.7); and (4) that he spent the money by buying land and dedicating it to Artemis, building an altar and temple and instituting a festival (5.3.8–13). The festival and its location are described in great detail, ending with a verbatim recording of an inscription which was set up next to the temple. The majority of the digression seems designed to show that he fulfilled his duties to the gods (in terms of booty dedication) despite the difficulty of his own circumstances and even though it took many years. If he was slightly flippant in terms of his manipulation of the gods for his own purposes before the expedition, he is not so afterwards.36 More importantly, long before the end of the text, Xenophon the author lets the reader know what the character Xenophon does not yet know, that he will end up being exiled from Athens, and 36

His piety in this passage is ‘impeccable’, as Gray 1998: 103 n. 16 notes.

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therefore acknowledges here in Book 5 that Socrates had been correct to warn him that associating with Cyrus might lead to trouble with the Athenian authorities, thus also neatly tying together the two extra-­ chronological passages in the work. As Christopher Tuplin has well noted, the literary effectiveness of Xenophon’s narrative here is seductive and as such fewer questions are asked about this digression than perhaps should be.37 Indeed, one of the most startling aspects of Xenophon’s enterprise, which Tuplin notes is rarely remarked upon, is just how striking his actions must have been: an individual establishing (for the first time as far as we can tell) a cult of Artemis in mainland Greece, the grounds of which mimicked the wellknown sanctuary in Ephesus itself and lay only 20 miles or so from another of the Greek world’s great sanctuaries at Olympia.38 Insufficient interrogation also has been made of the two points which are important for deciphering the nature of his relationship with Sparta: that he returned to Greece with Agesilaus for the campaign against the Boeotians (5.3.6; i.e. the Battle of Coronea in 394 BCE); and that when he was in exile the Spartans established him as a colonist at Scillus (5.3.7).39 Within the broader context of the passage about his share of the spoils and how he disposed of them, these two points are subordinate, serving structurally in both cases as temporal markers. He could, however, have marked the time in less precise ways, or at least in ways which did not mention the Spartans, had he wanted to downplay completely his relations with them. Since he had control over what he included we need to ask why these two points were necessary. One way of answering this question is, of course, to say that his association with the Spartans was of singular importance to him, particularly his association with Agesilaus (which in turn explains the motivation later on for the Agesilaus),40 and 37

Tuplin 2004c: 251. Tuplin 2004c: 260. 39 It is always assumed that Agesilaus was behind the granting of the estate (e.g., Higgins 1977: 76; Cartledge 1987: 56; and Tuplin 2004c: 266–8). While this is very likely, given that at this point Agesilaus’ power in Sparta was undoubtedly in the ascendant, with the death of Pausanias in 395 and his successor, Agesipolis, being still underage, it is still notable, I think, that Xenophon here uses the generic ‘by the Spartans’ (ὑπὸ τῶν Λακεδαιμονίων) rather than ‘by Agesilaus’. 40 Pontier 2010a, for example, argues that the two most important things in Xenophon’s life were his campaigning with the mercenary army and ‘la fréquentation du roi spartiate Agésilas à peu près à la même époque, lors de son expédition en Asie mineure et sans doute tout au long des années d’exil à Scillonte’ (‘his association with the Spartan king Agesilaus at nearly the same period, after his expedition in Asia Minor and without doubt during all the years of his exile at Scillus’). Cuniberti 2011: 74–7 in a different fashion presents a reading of HG 3–4.1 as revealing that ‘the historian, or better the soldier, has found in the Lacedaemonian king the man who can realize a lawful amid faithful [sic] hegemony of Sparta towards the allies ... so Agesilaus’ Sparta can reach 38

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to regard these comments as marking significant and positive moments in his life. Equally, however, they may be marking other things, particularly if, as I am suggesting, he had had political ambitions in Athens. He specifically says that he returned with Agesilaus to campaign against the Boeotians, yet we know that the Athenians were part of the contingent opposing Sparta at the Battle of Coronea. The phrasing is marked, and presumably apologetic. Did Xenophon know that he would be opposing his own countrymen when he started back with Agesilaus? Or was Agesilaus perhaps acting in the same way that Cyrus had been when he had misled his Greek mercenaries as to the object of the expedition? Xenophon, after all, does note that while they were just reaching Boeotia, Agesilaus, upon hearing of the naval defeat at Cnidus of his brother-inlaw Peisander by Pharnabazus and Conon, lied about the outcome of the battle to maintain troop morale (HG 4.3.13–14).41 If it is an apology, it is certainly muted, but the reading is, nonetheless, possible, particularly given the repeated comments as the Anabasis progresses about the futility of crossing the Spartans in their hegemonic position in the Greek world. Secondly, the comment about being settled at Scillus by the Spartans could be read as reinforcing what must at the time have seemed an irreversible consequence of his youthful refusal to heed fully Socrates’ advice about setting out on campaign with Cyrus: not only had he been exiled but he found himself in a situation where he had no option but to accept the terms offered him by the Spartans, the final nail in the coffin, as it were, to his political ambitions in Athens. Once again the trajectory of this period of Xenophon’s life shares elements with that of Alcibiades: as Alcibiades headed out against advice on the expedition to Sicily, so Xenophon heads off to join Cyrus despite Socrates warning him that such an action might be viewed unfavourably in Athens; like Alcibiades, he ends up exiled from his native polis and under Spartan patronage (if not quite in the same way). Xenophon, in fact, implicitly encourages us in this comparison later in the Anabasis when Seuthes promises to give to Xenophon three fortresses on the Propontis, two of which had belonged to Alcibiades (7.5.8).42 The loose freedom, autonomia and, in the end, eudaimonia’. It may just be coincidental but when the anti-Spartan alliance is first mentioned it is simply said that the ‘largest poleis’ (τὰς μεγίστας πόλεις) had come together against the Spartans (HG 4.2.1; cf. 4.2.5, where they are said to be returning from Asia Minor to campaign ‘against the Greeks’ (ἐφ᾽ Ἕλληνας). It is not until the description of the battle itself that an Athenian force is singled out in the narrative (4.2.17). 42 See Flower 2012: 153–4, who remarks that contemporary readers would have noticed the coincidence concerning the fortresses but does not pause to draw out potential implications of the 41

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comparison ends there. Xenophon never gets possession of these fortresses; he also does not find himself back in Athens participating in political life, unless possibly much later,43 in a sort of elder statesman role.44 Instead, as far as we are able to tell, he settles into his life in the NW of the Peloponnese on this estate given him by the Spartans,45 and at some point starts writing and composes fourteen literary works, four of which are Sokratikoi logoi, in which in various ways he explicitly and vigorously defends Socrates, not least against the charge of corrupting the young.

1.4  Re-evaluating the Purpose of the Anabasis Apart from the one passage in the Memorabilia, the Anabasis, therefore, is the locus of Xenophon’s presentation of himself. Why? And why specifically did he pick these two years of his life to write about as opposed to any other period? For example, if, as Pierre Pontier has argued, Xenophon’s association with Agesilaus, along with his experiences in Asia, was a key, defining element in his life, why did he not write up an account of his campaigns with Agesilaus with himself as a character? We might agree that by the ‘leader of the Cyreans’ (HG 3.2.7) Xenophon is implicitly referring in the Hellenica to his own position under Dercylidas’ command,46 but if this is correct, he can hardly be said to be foregrounding himself. Indeed, it looks far more as though he is downplaying his association with the Spartans in these years. At the same time, comparison. Tuplin 2016: 341–2 also contemplates parallels between the character Xenophon and Alcibiades. Dreher 2004: 67 rightly notes that there are problems with the evidence for a formal end to Xenophon’s banishment but also that the only other actual example is, again, that of Alcibiades. 44 Even if it is not meant to be practicable but rather utopian philosophising (as Azoulay 2004a: 445 and Schorn 2012: 719, e.g., have concluded), the Poroi might still be read in this light, even possibly, it might be posited, in support of a particular political faction. The proposals do not all have to be implementable to be of use as political rhetoric; cf. Isocrates’ On the Peace, which is another response to the same historical situation in Athens which is both practical and theoretical (see Davidson 1990). Cf. Cecchet 2015: 164–70 on both these works as working against the mainstream favouring of imperialism. Further, on Xenophon’s potential Athenian political connection at this time with Eubulus (whose actual measures bear some resemblance to those proposed by Xenophon in the Poroi), and, further, the possibility that he sponsored the painting in the Stoa of Zeus of the cavalry battle at the Battle of Mantineia which featured Xenophon’s son Gryllus (as described by Pausanias 1.3.4), see Humble 2008: 363–4. See also Chapter 7.2 and n. 61 there. 45 Until at least 370 BCE, but the biographical information for this period of his life is fraught with problems. See Humble 2002a: 82–5. 46 As a rule it is agreed that Xenophon is referring to himself here (e.g., Breitenbach 1967: 1574; Krentz 1995: 168; Cuniberti 2011: 73), and that he might also be referring to himself later as the ‘one other’ whom Agesilaus put in charge of the cavalry with Xenocles in 397 BCE, when command of the Cyreans was given to Herippidas (HG 3.4.20). Some (e.g., Krentz 1995: 189–90) are less certain that we are meant to understand a reference here to Xenophon. 43

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complicating how we interpret the portrait of the character Xenophon in the Anabasis is the assertion in the Hellenica (3.1.2) that the Anabasis was actually composed by one Themistogenes of Syracuse (see further Chapter 6.1 and n. 6 there). As Roberto Nicolai notes, there is a ‘high degree of self-awareness’ here and by placing multiple filters between himself and the character Xenophon in the Anabasis, Xenophon is behaving much more in the fashion of Plato than of his historiographical forebears, Herodotus and Thucydides.47 What to make of this may not be entirely clear, but it is important to keep in mind when trying to assess the significance of the self-portrait. The purpose of the Anabasis has been long debated, and part of the difficulty in coming to any agreement may be of course because Xenophon had more than one motive and purpose.48 Specific, practical motives have been suggested. For example, some argue that the Anabasis was written in response to another, now lost, account of the expedition by Sophaenetus, one of the older Greek generals in the group (An. 1.1.11, 1.2.9, etc.). This lost account, it is posited, did not portray Xenophon’s actions as favourably or correctly as he thought they should be portrayed so he composed his own version of the expedition to right the record.49 It is simply not possible to be certain one way or another if this is true. The only evidence for an Anabasis by Sophaenetus comes from the sixth century CE, and it is as easy to imagine that these references come from a post-Xenophontic forgery (perhaps even a rhetorical exercise) as it is to accept the existence of an earlier work to which Xenophon is responding.50 It has also been read as a sort of curriculum vitae, advertising Xenophon’s talents to a market no longer directly within our sights,51 though if this was the case it was, as far as we can tell, a singular failure. Likewise, if it was meant as a manual of advice with important topographical information for potential expeditions against Persia, it seems not to have had an immediate takeup.52 47

Nicolai 2018: 200. Flower 2012: 31. Flower also here gives a brief overview of the major interpretative streams. 49 E.g., Stronk 1995: 7 and Cawkwell 2004: 60–2. 50 See the speculations of Rood 2006: 54. Also, Westlake 1987: 251–2 argues that it was a forgery; Stylianou 2004 also argues against the existence of a work by Sophaenetus. Flower 2012: 32–3 treads a middle path, suggesting that an earlier account of the expedition by Sophaenetus did exist but that Xenophon would scarcely have bothered to address it so long after the fact on the grounds that it was a minor work. 51 See, e.g., Robert 1950: 58–9, who argues that between the Battle of Leuctra and 365 BCE Xenophon thought there might be an expedition against Persia and wanted a part in it. 52 See Luccioni 1947: 39 n. 60 for this theory, on which the repeated parasang measurements, details about well-stocked parks, the size of rivers, etc., are all meant to help others in a similar situation. 48

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Common to most theories is the observation that there are elements of the work that suggest an apologetic or defensive aim of some sort.53 For example, the fact that Xenophon repeatedly makes it clear that Clearchus was the only person in Cyrus’ army who was privy to Cyrus’ true intention to overthrow his brother (An. 3.1.10) is reasonably deemed to be his response to an accusation of working against Artaxerxes, who at the time was an ally of Athens.54 Further, it has been argued that by showing that he did not receive pay and was true to aristocratic principles of philia, he is reacting to the accusation that he lowered himself to engage in mercenary service.55 More pertinent still for the theme under analysis here is the fact, noted earlier, that he repeatedly comments on the Spartan hegemony and the inability to move freely without their cooperation. This can certainly be read as a defence against a charge of laconism,56 though whether we read it as such because of Diogenes Laertius’ later suggestion that laconism was one of the reasons he was exiled,57 or because of the assumption that he has long been held by scholars to be a laconiser is a point that requires consideration. In any case apologising on this front stands rather at odds with the widely held view that the Hellenica and the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia are works of a committed laconophile. More recently it has been recognised that there does seem to be an introspective element to the work. Attempts to categorise the Anabasis generically as a type of forerunner of the modern war memoir,58 or of travel writing,59 gravitate towards this element in the work, and even if There is, however, on the one hand, too much that is singular to this expedition alone to make this stick as a primary motive, and on the other not enough precision of details to allow the Anabasis to be of much use as a guide, as Rood 2010: 63 notes, with the further added observation that the account might even be ‘designed to deter invaders’. See McGroarty 2006 for arguments against the common modern assumption that Alexander knew well and used Xenophon’s Anabasis. 53 Erbse 1966 is a classic example of this viewpoint. 54 Most recently Flower 2012: 124-5. 55 Azoulay 2004b. This adds sophistication to an earlier strand of interpretation which read Xenophon (particularly An. 6.4.8) as responding to comments made by Isocrates that the mercenaries were an ignoble lot: i.e. at Panegyricus 4.146 (a speech dating c. 390–380 BCE) Isocrates describes the mercenaries as ‘chosen not according to merit, but who, because of want (διὰ φαυλότητα), were unable to live in their own poleis’. Flower 2012: 31 follows this line of argumentation. But the Xenophontic passage does not wholly dispel the notion that at least some of the mercenaries had signed up out of want (An. 6.4.8), and Isocrates’ aims may not have been antagonistic; on which, see Humble 2018c: 57. 56 Humble 2002a: 80. 57 D.L. 2.51: ‘around which time he was exiled by the Athenians for laconizing’ (παρ᾽ ὃν καιρὸν ἐπὶ Λακωνισμῷ φυγὴν ὑπ᾽ Ἀθηναίων κατεγνώσθη). Diogenes also, however, later (2.58 = Anth. Pal. 7.98) quotes an epigram of his own in which he says friendship with Cyrus was the cause of exile. 58 Laforse 2005 and Lee 2005; also Dan 2012. 59 Roy 2007 and Humble 2011; briefly, Cartledge 2002b: 59 and Gray 2011b: 6–8. Rood 2010 is a thoughtful analysis of Xenophon’s use of parasangs throughout the work which leads him in the

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such approaches in the end are unsatisfactory as sole reasons for its composition – the work resists precise generic categorisation both by modern and ancient standards; indeed on the evidence available to us it appears sui generis60 – their focus on the notion that an exploration of identity in one way or another is central to the work is important.61 I would like to take this notion that the work is introspective a bit further and suggest that Xenophon’s self-portrait (including the important vignette in the Memorabilia) is a trenchant self-examination of the pivotal period in his life which sent him in a direction he could not possibly have predicted – exile from Athens – and which was wholly at odds with the future he had planned for himself. I cannot, of course, prove that before the start of his Asian adventure his general plan was not to write about political participation but rather to practise it, when the time was right, in Athens, but in the brief vignettes he provides of himself prior to the expedition he appears to be self-associating with the type of ambitious, headstrong young Athenians who, desirous of political success, gather around Socrates either because he has seen their potential (e.g., Mem. 4.1.2–5, along with the following example of Euthydemus, 4.2.1–40) or because they have ascertained his usefulness to their goals (e.g., Critias and Alcibiades, Mem. 1.2.13–16). In the Anabasis itself Xenophon reveals that he actually had a flair for leadership, and despite setbacks and failures, was capable of learning on the fly and had all the necessary rhetorical skills to succeed in Athenian political life. The sentence of exile, when it came, terminated any such aspiration. The precise cause and date of his exile, therefore, as well as being tricky to pin down,62 are not strictly crucial. Whether campaigning with Cyrus was the sole or immediate reason for Xenophon’s exile,63 or was the reason end to define the Anabasis as ‘a complex travel narrative that is also a powerful work of political analysis’ (p. 64). 60 Or ‘an untaggable work’ as Nicolai 2018: 197 so aptly phrases it. 61 Higgins 1977: 96 indeed pointed out that no further explanation for Xenophon’s central role is really needed since the work is fundamentally about him. Cf. also Gray 1998: 94–104, especially 102: ‘his process of memory comes close to being a kind of Socratic self-examination’. Flower 2012: 34–6 has an interesting discussion of the work as a ‘memory place’ in which Xenophon exerts control over how these events are remembered. 62 As the many discussions about it reveal: e.g., Rahn 1981; Tuplin 1987; Green 1994; Humble 2002a: 79–80 (following Tuplin’s conclusion of a date c. 394, with laconism and association with Cyrus as likely charges); Dreher 2004; Brennan 2011: 60–4 (following Green, though for different reasons, with an early dating of 399 BCE). 63 Some dismiss the connection between Socrates’ warning about becoming a friend of Cyrus and the accusation against Xenophon, because Cyrus dies so soon after the expedition begins and so long before Xenophon is actually exiled. But Socrates of all people is aware of how early accusations can stick around whether they are true or relevant, as the recurrence of the comic portrait of Socrates by Aristophanes (Clouds), Plato (Apology) (18a–c, 19b-c) and Xenophon (Sym. 6.6, Oec. 11.3) shows.

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insofar as it led to further campaigning with the Spartans and to Xenophon being on the wrong side at the battle of Coronea,64 the more important point is that he set out on this expedition after not heeding Socrates’ advice and that Socrates was quite right about it leading to trouble for him in Athens.65 In light, therefore, of his own self-portrayal as a headstrong young man who was part of Socrates’ circle and who clearly had leadership potential but who was not prepared yet to be reined in by Socrates’ good advice, it is hard to think that Xenophon is not referring also to himself when he says at the beginning of the Memorabilia (1.1.4): ‘those who obeyed him profited, but those who did not obey him regretted it’. It has been noted that in the course of the Anabasis Xenophon shows that he has learnt the lesson Socrates was trying to teach about how to pose questions to the gods: for example, twice in the later books when he sacrifices on a question of staying or going he asks whether it is better to stay or better to go, and not to which god(s) to sacrifice for safety (An. 6.2.15, 7.6.44).66 This certainly shows a maturity that he had not manifested at the beginning of the expedition, and is probably part of the introspection engaged in here. But while Xenophon the author can and does show how Xenophon the character matures during the course of the expedition, from his authorial vantage point he also knows that at this point it matters not how many times Xenophon the character now asks the correct question; the damage is already done and he will soon find himself in exile, confirming Socrates’ foresight.67 Once exiled, Xenophon was barred from full political participation in his home polis. Another way of reading the Scillus digression, therefore, is to note that it shows that the extent of Xenophon’s participation in civic life in his new place of settlement is the hosting of a festival to Artemis, hardly what a man of his talents could have hoped for.68 64

All possibilities still go back to the fact that he set out initially with Cyrus; see Rood 2006: 59 on the various permutations. By contrast, Rood 2006: 59 thinks that the ‘continuing uncertainty over the circumstances of Xenophon’s exile makes it hard to judge his presentation of Socrates’ advice’. 66 Flower 2012: 124 suggests that Xenophon shows he learnt the lesson Socrates was intending because he never again undertakes any important action without first consulting the gods (cf. also Haywood 2016: 90), but the point is not that he did not consult the gods or follow their advice; rather it is that he deliberately did not pose the question Socrates had advised. Further, it is notable that apart from this point there is often a striking lack of interest in Socrates’ relationship with Xenophon in analyses of the Anabasis. 67 Dreher 2004: 60 sees the pre-eminent function of the vignette as highlighting the wisdom of Socrates but downplays the importance of it for the question of Xenophon’s exile. 68 Higgins 1977: 98 in effect noted this too, i.e. that Xenophon’s life at Scillus was in a word ‘deficient’, but he thinks that it is only after he has had to leave the ‘contented peace of his estate’ at 65

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1.5  Re-evaluating Xenophon’s Literary Project What does all this have to do with his literary project? Everything, I think. Though we cannot date most of Xenophon’s works with any certainty, and disagree radically when we do propose dates, there are few who place any of the corpus before the Battle of Coronea in 394 BCE. This may be completely wrong, of course, but there is no way at present of knowing for certain (though the position presented here works in favour of this scenario). But there is an argument to be made that Xenophon’s literary turn is closely connected with his exile, and with his realisation that his flippant manipulation of Socrates’ advice left him unable to pursue a political career in Athens (for which, as the Anabasis shows, he would have been well suited),69 and also with his wider understanding of Socrates’ own mode of guidance and constant exhortations towards self-examination and self-awareness.70 Socrates, he repeatedly notes, was useful and beneficial to those who associated with him and encouraged others to be so also through his own example (Mem. 1.3.1):71 ‘it seemed to me that he [Socrates] also benefitted those who spent time in his company both by actually revealing the sort of man he was and through his conversations’ (καὶ ὠφελεῖν ἐδόκει μοι τοὺς συνόντας τὰ μὲν ἔργῳ δεικνύων ἑαυτὸν οἷος ἦν, τὰ δὲ καὶ διαλεγόμενος). From his position of exile Xenophon engages not only in a process of self-reflection in light of where his choices have led him, particularly because of his inattention to Socrates (as evidenced by the Memorabilia passage and the Anabasis), but also he sets out openly to defend Socrates further (most obviously in the Apology and Memorabilia, but also the Oeconomicus)72 and to practise being useful and beneficial himself insofar as his circumstances allow him, i.e. through literary composition. His whole corpus, therefore, under the theory being proposed here, could be considered essentially a defence of Socrates, in the sense that it represents Scillus and returned to Athens that the self-reflection contained within the Anabasis was possible. The argument being made here requires only the fact of exile to bring Xenophon to the realisation that Socrates’ fears had been quite correct. 69 Waterfield 2012: 297 leans in this direction; see also Humble 2018a: 589–91 for an earlier exposition of the views presented here. 70 Griswold 2011 is good on this last aspect in Plato’s presentation of Socrates. But it holds true also for Xenophon’s Socrates; see, e.g., the exchange with Euthydemus (particularly Mem. 4.2.30; on which, see further n. 94). 71 See, e.g., Mem. 3.1.1 (quoted on p. 30), 3.10.1, 4.1.1 (‘Socrates was so useful in every situation and in every way’, οὕτω δὲ Σωκράτης ἦν ἐν παντὶ πράγματι καὶ πάντα τρόπον ὠφέλιμος), 4.8.11. 72 See Danzig 2010 for an extended look at this theme across Plato’s Apology, Crito, Euthyphro and Lysis, as well as Xenophon’s Apology, Memorabilia, and Oeconomicus.

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Xenophon’s transformation of Socrates’ lessons into action.73 That one of the dominant themes throughout his works concerns the nature of leadership reflects, then, in part the transference of his own ambitions to a different sphere. Or to put it another way, he could not benefit others by actually engaging fully in political and civic leadership, but he could at least do so at one remove, through writing about aspects of such with reflective hindsight and philosophical intent.74 Such a scenario, therefore, accounts for the fact that in all his works – notwithstanding any other aims they may have or the complexity of their generic affiliations – an interest in different aspects of leadership can be seen and all can be regarded as didactic in one way or another.75 This is particularly clear in the non-Socratic works. On Horsemanship and On Hunting are addressed to future leaders and the latter in particular focuses on the applicability of skills learnt while hunting to good management of one’s household and to usefulness in the civic sphere. The Cavalry Commander advises a theoretical leader on all aspects of leading successfully and improving the Athenian cavalry. Poroi, still concerning Athens, advises those in power (see further p. 31) on political and economic, rather than military, leadership. The Lacedaimoniôn Politeia examines what lies behind the hegemony of Sparta, as indeed does the Hellenica, though the sweep there is wider and takes in the unsuccessful hegemonic ventures also of Athens and Thebes, and thus both works, among other things, examine not just individual contemporary leaders from various poleis but also poleis as leaders. The Anabasis also deals with issues of military leadership but from different angles again, examining mercenary, polis, and non-Greek leaders, most of whom Xenophon himself dealt with on a personal level. 73

Brennan 2011, interestingly, also argues that the Anabasis is a defence of Socrates, but I would not go so far as he does in suggesting that Xenophon has done this ‘by presenting the outstanding success and piety of one of his [Socrates’] pupils’, i.e. Xenophon himself, and by Xenophon creating a character which embodies ‘an ideal, philosophical form of leadership’, as that line of thinking requires a more wholly positive reading of Xenophon’s self-portrait in the Anabasis than I think can be sustained (both quotations come from pp. 246–7, but see also pp. 59 and 200). 74 This is not to presume, of course, that he might not have turned to writing if he had not been exiled. Critias, for example, seems to have combined politicking with literary aspirations. Alcibiades did not. Plato, of course, does not appear to have pursued a political or military career, though our main evidence for this (Ep. 7.324b–326a) is problematic in terms of authorship (and regardless does not imply Plato completely refrained from political involvement). I think, too, that Morrow 1960: 42 is right to speculate that Plato, like Xenophon, served in the Athenian cavalry. 75 That the Anabasis is didactic has long been noted, though there is not total agreement always about the message. For recent discussions, see, e.g., Tuplin 2003 (arguing that the work is more didactic than apologetic), Rood 2006 (suggesting part of the didacticism is seen in Xenophon’s portrayal of himself as an ideal leader) and Brennan 2011 (taking this further in suggesting that the didacticism has apologetic ends, all tied in with the character Xenophon being the ideal philosophical leader).

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The encomium, Agesilaus, presents a wholly positive, rhetorically constructed model of a leader. Famous leaders from the past are also examined: the Cyropaedia examines what made the Persian Cyrus such a successful leader of a vast empire in the sixth century BCE and the Hiero confronts tyranny in early fifth-century BCE Syracuse. Even famous mythological leaders are given brief coverage in On Hunting. The leadership theme is far from absent in the Socratic works as well and indeed Xenophon’s understanding of Socrates’ usefulness in this regard is key to his own investigation of leadership.76 In the first place, Socrates embodies all the qualities necessary for possession by anyone who is going to be successful in any sphere, including leadership roles. Early in the Memorabilia, among the list of topics that Xenophon says Socrates conversed about are ‘what a statesman is, what rule of men is, what makes one capable of ruling men’ (Mem. 1.1.16), and in response to a question posed by Antiphon about Socrates’ own avoidance of politics, Xenophon has Socrates answer: ‘In which of these two ways, Antiphon, might I preferably engage in political affairs, by engaging in them by myself alone or by taking care that as many as possible should be competent to engage in them?’ (1.6.15). Indeed, there are few conversations in the Memorabilia, quite apart from the opening section of Book 3 which presents seven conversations with leaders or would-be-leaders (Mem. 3.1–7; see further p.  30), which cannot be shown to relate in some way or other to this theme, whether directly or indirectly. For example, being a good leader is predicated upon the practice of virtues such as self-control (enkrateia), as the discussion with Aristippus at the beginning of Book 2 shows (2.1.1–34; cf. also 1.5.1–6), and prudence (sôphrosynê) and piety (eusebeia), as the conversation with Euthydemus in Book 4 shows (4.3.1–18). The Oeconomicus is all about leadership in a household setting (and its connection with civic leadership),77 and even in the Symposium, which would at first glance seem to be deliberately eschewing all discussion of politics, political elements have been discerned.78 This interest in leadership is actually characteristic of the Socratic circle more generally. It would, indeed, be wrong to under-emphasise how often the theme of leadership comes up in the works of the other Socratics, as Voula Tsouna has argued: ‘no one can 76

For different discussions about Socrates as a political educator, and/or thinker, see, e.g., Pangle 1994; Rowe 2007b (from the Platonic angle); Chernyakhovskaya 2008 (who approaches the discussion fruitfully from the opposite angle) and Tamiolaki 2010: 371–94. 77 This connection between domestic and civic leadership is also made in the Cyropaedia and in On Hunting. 78 See, e.g., Pangle 2010 and Alvino 2018.

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quarrel with the historical claim that many members of the Socratic circle had a keen theoretical interest in city governance, the nature of the laws, and their relation to ethics’.79 And though there has been some difference of opinion about whether or not Plato depicts Socrates’ intimate companions as being active politically, Tsouna points out that ‘several Socratics’ evoked by Plato’s fiction correspond to individuals with remarkable political careers’: for example, Laches, Nicias, Critias, Alcibiades, Crito, Phaedrus, and Chaerephon.80 Socrates himself (or at least the Socrates of the Sokratikoi logoi) does not strive after political leadership but he is certainly not apolitical,81 and he is frequently depicted as leading his companions towards a particular vision of leadership.82 David Wolfsdorf, too, has recently argued speculatively, but persuasively to my mind, that ‘Socrates’ practice of philosophy had a political goal’.83 The fact that Xenophon’s works address issues of leadership in such a diverse number of ways and do not, like current management manuals, constantly highlight and summarise key points, but require their reader to think carefully about what lessons are being presented, points to a number of facets of Socrates’ approach to teaching which Xenophon has absorbed.84 Philosophical enquiry is a process, best approached through conversation, carefully tailored to suit the interlocutor(s) and audience and, above all, requires active engagement.85 Xenophon shows Socrates in action thus in his Sokratikoi logoi,86 but he also himself employs the same principles frequently in his other works.87 79

Tsouna 2015: 9 (with a list of examples in n. 17). Again Tsouna 2015: 9–10, with 11–17 focusing on Critias and Alcibiades. 81 See, e.g., Griswold 2011 on the political philosophy of Plato’s Socrates. 82 See Waterfield 2012: especially 296–7. 83 Wolfsdorf 2017: 44. 84 I am thus clearly of the opinion that Xenophon was a serious disciple of Socrates. Dorion 2000, especially xviii–xcix, exposes well the flimsiness of the arguments of those who doubt this relationship (and who come not just from the field of ancient philosophy: e.g., Stronk 1995: 4: ‘he felt himself a pupil and friend of Socrates ... one of Socrates’ intimate friends. It is doubtful, however, whether he really belonged to Socrates’ intimates’). 85 Wolfsdorf 2017 likewise highlights these points and the fact that, even with the difficulties recreating Socrates’ thought, it is clear that the process of employing dialectic and of using different strategies for different interlocutors were key behavioural features (which he further notes, p. 44, are, of course, much easier to do in conversation than in writing). 86 It is always a challenge to know whether or not we are dealing with the Socratic Socrates, the Xenophontic Socrates or the Platonic Socrates – and there is much disagreement among scholars on this issue. It seems to me that, because these general characteristics are present in both Xenophon’s and Plato’s depictions of Socrates, there is a reasonable chance that they reflect at least approximately the real Socrates’ practice, even when due regard is given to the fictional status of the conversations in the Sokratikoi logoi in general; see further Humble 2018a. 87 Compare the broad assessment by Hobden and Tuplin 2012b: 16–17: ‘leadership is thus a theme that pervades Xenophon’s corpus, but ... its individual articulations are dialogic and interrogative. They interact with one another ... they invite the reader to question what they are shown.’ 80

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For example, it is a commonplace about philosophical enquiry that it stems from a sense of wonder. Plato has Socrates say in the Theaetetus (155d): ‘this feeling, wondering, is a real token of the philosopher; for there is no other starting-point for philosophy than this’ (μάλα γὰρ φιλοσόφου τοῦτο τὸ πάθος, τὸ θαυμάζειν: οὐ γὰρ ἄλλη ἀρχὴ φιλοσοφίας ἢ αὕτη);88 and throughout their Sokratikoi logoi both Plato and Xenophon have Socrates employing the term θαυμάζω in this way.89 Xenophon indeed has Socrates describe succinctly to Critobulus the whole philosophic process – observation leading to wonder, followed by consideration leading to discovery – in the Oeconomicus (2.17–18): καταμαθὼν γάρ ποτε ἀπὸ τῶν αὐτῶν ἔργων τοὺς μὲν πάνυ ἀπόρους ὄντας, τοὺς δὲ πάνυ πλουσίους ἀπεθαύμασα καὶ ἔδοξέ μοι ἄξιον εἶναι ἐπισκέψεως, ὅ τι εἴη τοῦτο. καὶ εὗρον ἐπισκοπῶν πάνυ οἰκείως ταῦτα γιγνόμενα. For having observed well once that as a result of the same sets of actions some men were very poor, while others were very rich, I was struck with wonder, and it seemed to me to be worthy of consideration why this might be the case. And through my consideration I discovered that these things came about quite naturally.

Further, Xenophon, in his own voice, employs this very pointed rhetoric at the opening of the Memorabilia, the Cyropaedia, Poroi, and, most pertinently for the discussion to hand, the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia.90 The verbal similarities at the opening of all these works have not gone unnoticed, but what they signal – that these works should be understood as philosophical enquiry – has not, I think, been fully appreciated,91 partly 88

The principle is echoed in Aristotle’s Metaphysics (982b10–15): ‘For it is because of wonder that men now begin – as they did at first also – to philosophize, from the outset wondering about the strange phenomena in front of their noses, and then little by little progressing thus and raising problems about larger issues’ (διὰ γὰρ τὸ θαυμάζειν οἱ ἄνθρωποι καὶ νῦν καὶ τὸ πρῶτον ἤρξαντο φιλοσοφεῖν, ἐξ ἀρχῆς μὲν τὰ πρόχειρα τῶν ἀτόπων θαυμάσαντες, εἶτα κατὰ μικρὸν οὕτω πρoϊόντες καὶ περὶ τῶν μειζόνων διαπορήσαντες). 89 For an earlier and more detailed exposition of these ideas, see Humble 2014. 90 I will elaborate further on these passages in Chapter 3.1. 91 It is true that the concept of wondering as ‘a stimulant of deeper reflection’ has a much broader pedigree: e.g., Baragwanath 2012: 631–3 argues for a strong Herodotean influence on Xenophon in this regard. There can be no doubt that Xenophon was influenced by Herodotus on a number of fronts, but there are many different layers to and levels of wonderment. It is one thing to record and ponder upon wonders and another to engage in philosophical enquiry in order to explain and even dispel wonder. It is not just the fact that at significant points in Xenophon’s corpus observation, usually of something paradoxical, elicits wonder that is in turn followed by consideration and understanding, but also the fact that Xenophon (and Plato) has Socrates employ this sort of rhetoric, that distinguishes the Xenophontic from the Herodotean usage in these instances. (I owe thanks to David M. Johnson for his insights on this issue.)

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because the radically different literary forms Xenophon uses in his nonSocratic works do not immediately suggest that they have some similarity of purpose. His deliberate use of this particular language signals, however, that he is approaching this material from a philosophical angle, using a framework of enquiry that he acquired from Socrates.92 Secondly, dialectic is the fundamental method Socrates uses to pursue philosophical inquiry, and though in Plato’s works Socrates’ dialectic appears more often to break down his interlocutors’ pretensions than in Xenophon’s, overall dialectic, elenctic or otherwise, is characteristic of Socrates’ method,93 and a key procedure in the process of self-examination.94 But Xenophon himself also uses dialectic in novel ways, outside his Sokratikoi logoi,95 as one of a number of different tools to encourage active, thoughtful reading. The Hiero is the fullest example. It looks like a Socratic dialogue but Socrates makes no appearance, and the two interlocutors, Hiero and Simonides, are each given a turn at driving the questioning.96 The choice of an epinicean poet, whose very livelihood depended on his ability to convince tyrants to employ him, to argue ways in which a tyrant might become more beloved, is not an accident,97 and the aporetic ending highlights the applicability of the dialogic form for philosophical enquiry in the sense that it encourages the active engagement of the audience to continue the dialogue about the issues raised.98 Dialectic plays a role in other ways in his more narrative works. Like Plato, Xenophon understands the limitations of writing,99 so he makes full use of a number of literary techniques to encourage active reading, 92

McCloskey 2017 argues from a different angle (Xenophon’s use of anonymous narrators) for Xenophon’s corpus to be viewed as primarily philosophical rather than historical. 93 Most discussions of Xenophon’s use of dialectic focus on the Memorabilia: e.g., Johnson 2005b and Gourinat 2008. Gera 1993: 27–44 likewise starts from the Memorabilia but ranges further across Xenophon’s other Socratic works and, of course, the Cyropaedia. For useful expositions of approaches to understanding Plato’s use of dialectic that in turn provide helpful ways for analysing Xenophon’s use, see Gill 2002: especially 150, and Rowe 2007a: 7–15. Rossetti 2004: 89 tends towards viewing elenchus as closer to the approach of the real Socrates and argues that there are more examples of elenchus in Xenophon than meet the eye. See also Rossetti 2008. 94 As again the example of Socrates’ conversation with Euthydemus shows (Mem. 4.2). See in particular Dorion in Dorion and Bandini 2011b: 96–7 on Mem. 4.2.30–1, building on Johnson 2005b: 66. 95 And even within the Oeconomicus he experiments. Socrates is not always leading the discussion. In the inner portion of the work Ischomachus takes over and uses all the common dialectical techniques that Socrates uses: hypothesis, analogy, maieusis, etc. 96 See Gera 1993: 44–7. 97 Thus I would argue, contra Gray 2007: 34, that Simonides is meant to be understood as a specific individual rather than as a generic wise man. See further n. 104. 98 Gill 2002: 148 argues for this in respect of Plato’s dialogues. See also Rossetti 2004: 86 for arguments that a hermeneutical approach was characteristic of Sokratikoi logoi in general. 99 Johnson 2005b: 50–5.

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dialectic being but one of these.100 So, for example, there is the complex dialogue, which has everything to do with leadership, between Cyrus and Cambyses early in the Cyropaedia (1.6.1–46), in which Cambyses employs a number of Socrates’ dialectical approaches, including elenchus.101 While this dialogue has its natural place in the context of the early life of Cyrus, it also discusses many issues that Xenophon presents Socrates taking up with various figures in the Memorabilia. This rehashing of topics of importance (dealing with the gods, how to rule men, etc.) is a feature of Xenophon’s work that has long been observed, usually to his detriment. The point, however, is that engaging in dialectic on the same issues in entirely different settings with different interlocutors allows for different angles to be examined. Since this approach is one found also in Plato’s dialogues, it is likely to have represented a key aspect of Socrates’ methodology.102 A dialectical approach is also, I would argue, employed in a novel way in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. Along with signalling at the start that he has subjected the nature of Spartan power and renown to philosophical analysis, Xenophon frequently interrupts the narrative by posing questions or by anticipating objections or questions from imaginary interlocutors. In this way he recreates his own dialectical process and at the same time more ably encourages his audience to engage actively with the subject under discussion.103 Thirdly, Xenophon shows that Socrates was careful to tailor his approach to each individual to try to lead his interlocutors to see for themselves the lessons he was trying to impart.104 The first half of Book 3 100

That he had plenty of other literary strategies to accomplish this goal is apparent. On competing synchronic narrative strands, see Bradley 2001; on structuring the narrative so that his choices of events ‘speak for themselves’, see Tuplin 1993: 77. Cf. also Johnson 2005a: especially 204: ‘Xenophon recognized, following Socrates, that his audience would best learn lessons by having to think them through for themselves.’ 101 Gera 1993: 50–72 provides an insightful analysis. Even more complicated are the dialogues concerning the Armenian sophist (Cyr. 3.1.14–40). 102 Again Gill’s (2002: 156–61) analysis of Plato’s use of the dialogic form is instructive, particularly his emphasis that each dialectical encounter be viewed on its own terms. Thus further exploration is needed not just of the similarities between the topics discussed by Cambyses and those Socrates discusses in the Memorabilia, but also of the differences, not least because none of Xenophon’s Socrates’ other interlocutors goes on to lead a vast empire. See also Rowe 2007b: 29. 103 See on this Humble 2014. And compare Schofield 2006: 17–18 (following Sedley 2003: 1–2) for the idea that the Platonic dialogues may ‘constitute externalizations of Plato’s own thought processes’, i.e. that they are, therefore, essentially ‘Plato thinking aloud’, but that they do not automatically represent his final views. 104 ‘But Socrates did not approach everyone in the same way’ (Mem. 4.1.3). Plato likewise has his Socrates adapt his message and approach for different interlocutors. There is, however, a considerable divide among scholars as to whether Plato’s interlocutors, even when named, are individuals or types. For example, Rowe 2007a: 11–12 argues that they are types (thus Laches is a general, not the Athenian general active during the Peloponnesian War). This is a feature of some analyses of

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of the Memorabilia (3.1–7) reveals this particular practice on a small scale particularly well, since it comprises seven conversations with different interlocutors about various aspects of leadership.105 Xenophon leads into this section of the work with the following remark (Mem. 3.1.1): ‘that he benefitted those who were aiming at noble ends by making them take a great deal of care about the kinds of ends at which they were aiming, I will now describe’ (ὅτι δὲ τοὺς ὀρεγομένους τῶν καλῶν ἐπιμελεῖς ὧν ὀρέγοιντο ποιῶν ὠφέλει, νῦν τοῦτο διηγήσομαι). The seven conversations which follow are first with three anonymous interlocutors (a wouldbe general, an ex-general, a cavalry commander), then with four named figures (Nicomachides after he had failed to be elected general; Pericles the younger, who had just been elected general; a young Glaucon, brother of Plato and desirous of political leadership; and Charmides, Plato’s uncle, a man of political experience but who did not want to engage publicly).106 Each conversation is about a different aspect of leadership (some broad, some specific) and each interlocutor has a recognisably different character and blind spot concerning his own leadership capacity. Although a composite picture of the varied skills needed by leaders in general emerges, in each individual case Xenophon has depicted Socrates leading (or attempting to lead, at least) his companion to a self-awareness of the particular weaknesses in his skill base. In those of Xenophon’s works where we can determine at least with some certainty the audience addressed, we can see Xenophon likewise tailoring his approach to them and showing an understanding of the Xenophon’s Hiero too. For example, Gray 1986 argues that the characters Hiero and Simonides are simply meant to represent a wise man and his advisor, not the actual Syracusan tyrant and the poet from Ceos with the reputation for being both wise and mercenary (for a contrasting view, see Zuolo 2018: 574–5). It seems to me, however, that, even if it is hard for us to reconstruct, we cannot dismiss the possibility that Xenophon knew his audience would bring certain preconceptions about these two characters to a reading of the work, preconceptions which Xenophon was free to play with and/or adhere only loosely to according to his literary intentions. Thus I agree essentially with Blondell 2002: 34–6 (replacing ‘Plato’ with ‘Xenophon’): ‘Plato’s characterizations do not exist in a historical vacuum ... his original audience not only knew in advance what would happen to the principal characters, but also knew much more than we do about his mise en scène. ... He must have assumed that his audience was aware of, for example, notorious political events in the lives of such famous (or infamous) characters as Alkibiades or Kritias or Charmides, some of which he alludes to more or less directly. But that does not mean he expects his representations to be read as careful portraits that would cohere with every other shred of ancient evidence.’ 105 See, above all, Johnson 2018a: 482–90 for a clear overview and assessment of this set of conversations. Also see Chernyakhovskaya 2008: 38–40 on the conversation with Charmides. 106 Apropos the point in n. 104, I think it is no coincidence that the personalities of Xenophon’s Charmides and Glaucon are easily compatible with the portraits of both found in Plato’s Charmides and Republic.

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blind spots particular to each. If he intends his works to be useful, as I think he does, he needs to be persuasive and win over his audience, and different audiences need different means of persuasion.107 For example, in the Poroi the audience is a group of Athenians with some power over the management of the polis (Vect. 6.2).108 Those he wishes to convince of his analysis of the best way for Athens to pursue a path to prosperity are the very ones who are pursuing destructive and unjust policies. In order to gain their good will he must temper his criticism; otherwise he loses them from the start. Including himself, through the frequent use of the first person, as a member of the group who are responsible for the problems and for finding solutions is one way he manages this (e.g., Vect. 4.39).109 In the On Hunting, too, Xenophon keeps the real aim of his exhortation of the benefits of hunting from taking centre stage until he has won the goodwill of his audience of young men, 110 whose attention, Xenophon notes elsewhere, is prone to wander.111 To attract their attention he does not start with the dull proposition that hunting will make them good estate managers and citizens112 but with a reminder that all the great heroes of the past had studied hunting under the guidance of Chiron (1.1–18). More particularly he notes the rewards these heroes received: women, great victory in battle, great fame, and immortality dominate the list. Not all, to be sure, are as a result of the heroes’ hunting skills (nor does Xenophon actually suggest this), but mention of these heady rewards is meant to ensure that he gains the attention of his youthful audience. Once he has their attention he can deal with the practical 107

See Johnson 2016: 119–20 on how the way in which Xenophon goes about defending Socrates in the Apology and Memorabilia shows that he had two distinct audiences in mind. 108 There is considerable disagreement over whether a specific body is to be understood, such as the ekklêsia or boulê, or even an imaginary group of Athenians. For a summary of views, see Schorn 2012: 691 n. 12. 109 Jansen 2007: 56–104 has an astute examination of the complex rhetorical structure of this work, and, though he does not consider the opening rhetoric of examination and reflection in terms of signalling philosophical enquiry, it is interesting that he concludes from his own analysis that the work was meant to stimulate dialogue. 110 See Cyn. 1.18, 13.17, though there is disagreement about who these young men (οἱ νέοι) are: young men in general? Athenian youths? Xenophon’s sons? 111 E.g., Mem. 1.2.16, 4.1.3–4; Lac. 3.1–2. Compare Morrison’s (1994: 185–91) analysis of how Xenophon shows Socrates carefully leading Euthydemus to the point where he can actually start engaging him profitably in dialectic Mem. 4.2. 112 Though Xenophon does not ignore his overall aim in his opening salvo (‘through the heed they [the heroes of old, Chiron’s pupils] paid to hounds and hunting and the rest of their education they excelled greatly and were admired for their virtue’, Cyn. 1.5; and ‘therefore I urge the young not to despise hunting or any other education’, 1.18), he keeps the focus firmly on hunting until he has his audience well and truly hooked (my italics).

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matters of hunting (2.1–11.4). Only at this point, and by focusing first on how hunting is good training for war (12.1–9), does he then get to the broader, more fundamental points that hunting is, in fact, good training for being a useful citizen, being an excellent manager of a household, being law-abiding, and, above all, being in possession of great virtue (12.10–22). In the final section Xenophon reiterates how skill in hunting benefits the polis, and is unusually explicit about his aims, particularly about his desire to be ‘useful’ (13.7):113 καίτοι γέγραπταί γε οὕτως, ἵνα ὀρθῶς ἔχῃ καὶ μὴ σοφιστικοὺς ποιῇ, ἀλλὰ σοφοὺς καὶ ἀγαθούς· οὐ γὰρ δοκεῖν αὐτὰ βούλομαι μᾶλλον ἢ εἶναι χρήσιμα, ἵνα ἀνεξέλεγκτα ᾖ εἰς ἀεί. And yet I have written in this way, so that my work might be correct and make people not just wise-seeming but really wise and good. For I do not want this work to appear rather than actually to be useful, so that it may remain for ever unrefuted.

Finally, Xenophon repeatedly shows that the benefits of Socrates’ company could not be reaped from simply associating with him: learning from Socrates required active and self-aware engagement. This is revealed clearly at the beginning of the Memorabilia not only with the examples of Critias and Alcibiades but even through that of Xenophon himself, who, as noted earlier, gives us no indication that his younger self was really listening at all to what Socrates had to say. Compare, for example, the light-bulb moment which comes to Euthydemus in Book 4 of the Memorabilia when Socrates succeeds in making him see what has been holding him back (Mem. 4.2.40). Throughout Xenophon’s whole corpus, therefore, there is an engagement with the theme of leadership from multiple vantage points broadly following Socratic methods of enquiry, i.e. he makes use of a philosophical process of observing, wondering and examining, which ideally would be carried out by means of conversations which are always individual to the specific interlocutors involved and which require active engagement and self-awareness for advances to be made, but which he adapts to his own circumstances. One way, therefore, of explaining his literary experiments and adaptations of genres can be to see them as attempts to explore different ways of addressing complex problems for different audiences in an effort to be as useful as possible. Xenophon’s own self-portrait 113

See L’Allier 2012: 493 particularly, for a different (but I think complementary) reading of this passage.

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is key to understanding his aims. It centres around Socrates and his younger self ’s flippancy in the presence of Socrates. The autobiographical Anabasis both excuses Socrates for Xenophon’s behaviour (as he himself excuses Socrates in the Memorabilia for the behaviour of Critias and Alcibiades) and is a perceptive self-examination of the pivotal moment in his life where his flippancy led to exile and the inability to participate in an active political life. It shows that he would have made an able politician back in Athens, not without flaws, but with an ability to learn from his mistakes under pressure. It, and indeed his whole corpus, thus shows every evidence of a sort of delayed appreciation and understanding of what Socrates was trying to impart to his companions, and a desire to be, like his mentor, as useful as he could to others. It is Socrates and Athens, therefore, and not Sparta and Agesilaus, who are central to his own selfportrait.114 On the scenario posed above Xenophon saw himself as aiming at political life in Athens; where he found himself was in exile under Spartan patronage.

1.6  Integrating the Spartan Material To be sure, in proposing a different framework for trying to assess what Xenophon thought he was doing with his literary project as a whole, I am using material within this very literary project as evidence, and indeed using his own complexly layered, autobiographical outpourings which concern almost exclusively his pre-exile days to interpret his postexile views as expressed in the very corpus of writings itself, which probably belongs to the post-exile period. I am far from unaware of the precarious nature of this type of argumentation, but in the end all we have is Xenophon’s writings, so any approach, even the most entrenched and traditional, is doing the same thing – only we sometimes forget to interrogate long-held views because they are so entrenched. This applies, in particular, to Xenophon’s view of Sparta. There is a far greater tendency among modern scholars, for example, to label Xenophon a laconophile based on the facts that he campaigned with the Spartans, received an estate from them, and wrote three works in which Sparta dominates (and which, by extension, many would say praise Sparta), as well as the Anabasis in which there is a constant Spartan presence, than there is to call him a Socratic based on the facts that Socrates is central to his 114

See also Rood 2018: 188 for the interesting narrative techniques Xenophon uses in the Anabasis to present himself as Athenian.

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self-portrait – two reported conversations, one in which Socrates aptly predicted the trouble that eventually caught up with Xenophon – and that he wrote four Sokratikoi logoi in which there can be no doubt he is praising and defending Socrates. If the reading proposed above can be sustained, then his whole corpus is, broadly speaking, a type of defence of Socrates since it shows that upon mature reflection he has learnt the lessons Socrates was trying to teach and himself is trying to practise being useful in turn in the best way he can be, by writing.115 Sparta, by contrast, figures in Xenophon’s self-presentation quite differently. Within the time frame of the period narrated in the Anabasis Xenophon shows himself interacting with several Spartan commanders, both within the mercenary group (Clearchus and Cheirisophus) and external to it (Anaxibius, Aristarchus and Cleander). He certainly reports conversations he had with them, but he also reports conversations he had with non-Spartans, all of which are integral to and situated within the chronological period of the Anabasis, unlike his extra-narrative reporting of the pre-expedition conversation with Socrates. Further, he makes it perfectly clear in the Anabasis that the Spartans control the Greekspeaking world and that he, even with, or perhaps especially with, an army at his disposal, is at the mercy of their whims. Until the Spartans can find a use for this armed force, with Thibron and the campaign in Asia Minor, the mercenaries have a difficult time surviving in the Spartan-dominated world. The post-expedition passage gives us evidence of a closer relationship with Sparta than the actual events recorded in the Anabasis, but the way in which Xenophon records this is laconic to say the least. As noted on p. 16, the key pieces of information are presented as temporal markers subordinate to the bulk of the passage which focuses on the disposal of booty to the gods and the festival Xenophon set up on his estate. The description of that estate does not include any statement of indebtedness to the Spartans or even to Agesilaus (though it has been read that way), nor any mention of biographical details which emerge in the much later tradition: for example, a bestowal of proxenia by the Spartans, or that his sons participated in the Spartan education system.116 Again this does not mean that these things did not happen, though I would argue that the last point in particular is probably an invention of the biographical tradition surrounding Xenophon,117 but it seems to me significant that very little of Xenophon’s self-presentation points towards 115

See Hobden and Tuplin 2012b: 7–8 for a suggestion along these lines. Both the latter points are mentioned in Diogenes’ biography (D.L. 2.51 and 2.54). 117 See n. 13. 116

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his relationship with the Spartans being central to his own understanding of himself. How then do his Sparta-dominated works fit into this proposed explanation of and focus for his literary project, i.e. that one of its main aims is to be useful to others who are striving for positions of leadership, and that Xenophon does this by writing about it from different angles in a philosophically engaged way in order to get his readership thinking about the complexities of the subject and improving themselves through active engagement with his works? I realise that suggesting such an overarching aim for the three works under question might be met with some raised eyebrows. After all, whatever is thought about the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, the Hellenica is generally considered a straightforward politicomilitary history of events in the Greek world between 410 and 362 BCE, following on, if not as smoothly as we might like, at least fairly obviously, from where Thucydides left off his history, and the Agesilaus is quite clearly an encomium, even if the generic features of both types of writing, history and prose encomia about recently deceased historical figures, are still in flux in this period.118 Neither of those observations, however, needs exclude either work from being part of an overall project of the sort I am speculating about. Xenophon’s strength and calling card are the fact that he explores his ideas not just from different angles but also using manifestly different literary forms. If we consider some of the analysis which has been done on the Hellenica, for example, it is only a small step to see that it fits quite well with the proposed aim even if it looks generically the least like some sort of philosophical enquiry. It would be agreed, I think, that despite the frustrating lack of programmatic statements, there are many didactic elements in the work and that it was not written for purely annalistic reasons.119 Some would restrict the didactic element to particular episodes, but Tuplin has ably shown that the examination of poleis in pursuit of 118

See, e.g., Nicolai 2006: 693–9 for a review of different assessments of how to define the Hellenica. His overview is a salutary reminder that generic distinctions were still very fluid at this period even in the broad field of historiography. Regarding encomia, we are hampered by the fact that we know of a significant number of other contemporary encomia which are no longer extant, so there is a temptation simply to judge the Agesilaus solely in light of Isocrates’ Evagoras (see, e.g., Hägg 2012: 30–51). Humble 2020a offers a different approach to the assessment of the generic features of the Agesilaus. 119 All the major works on the Hellenica in the past thirty years have commented in one way or another on its didactic elements, e.g., Gray 1989; Tuplin 1993; Dillery 1995. See also Pownall 2004: 65–112. Some indeed have gone as far as either denying or at least questioning the work’s historical status – for an overview of these strands in the scholarship, see Tamiolaki 2008, sections 1–3 – but most of these would still argue for some moral or didactic strand in the work.

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hegemonic power is a larger theme in the work. That Sparta dominates is, therefore, hardly surprising, since she competed for, held, and tried to regain hegemonic status during this period. Yet, as Tuplin points out, ‘there continues to be a surprisingly strong tendency to confuse this bias in selection of material with a partisan bias in favour of Sparta’, particularly given that throughout the work there is ‘a consistent lack of interest in praising Sparta’s record’.120 It is not difficult, I think, to imagine that Xenophon, observing Greek poleis’ struggle for hegemony and seeing how some managed to achieve it but mismanage and then lose it, wondered about this issue and considered it closely. That he chose, in this instance, to explore the issue in a historical narrative which carried on from where Thucydides left off is a feature of his literary inventiveness, and requires us to examine the work both as it stands within that tradition of writing – for he certainly shows awareness of his predecessors in this genre of writing even if he has no programmatic statement to that effect to compare with Thucydides 1.21–2 – and as it stands within his own literary project with its basis in Socratic forms of inquiry. There has been growing agreement with Tuplin’s view that Spartan behaviour in the Hellenica is more often than not depicted in a critical way, but with this agreement has come a corresponding entrenchment in viewing Agesilaus as exempt from this criticism, with the encomium of the king being held up as proof of Xenophon’s partisanship.121 If this was a literary tribute from a grieving friend or a commission by the Spartan polis (or even by Agesilaus’ son Archidamus), it might be argued that we ought to view this work apart from the rest of the corpus.122 Yet even if this is the case and even though Xenophon is constrained by generic principles – encomia are not known to be critical documents – it can hardly be that he was not assessing Agesilaus’ leadership while composing it, given the length of Agesilaus’ reign and the fact that when he came to power Sparta was at the height of her hegemonic status, whereas at his death she had lost that as well as half her territory. In particular we should not overlook the different portrait he draws of Agesilaus and his actions in the Hellenica.123 Whatever the actual impetus for its composition, it is not difficult to speculate on how Xenophon might have viewed the work 120

Tuplin 1993: 163. Much of the material in this paragraph draws from his conclusions. See, e.g., Hodkinson 2000: 25–6. There is no way of being certain what the impetus for its composition was. There are no unequivocal clues inside or outside the text to help on this front. It may even just be a literary exercise with a particular didactic/philosophical purpose. On this hypothesis Xenophon could be showing how to spin the career of a successful but ruthless and not always scrupulous commander to present a model for imitation. 123 The issue of which work was composed first (or which parts of each work were composed in what order) is complicated. Tuplin 1993: 193–7 is a judicious overview of the problems. 121

122

Integrating the Spartan Material

37

as useful. For example, if the scenario that the encomium was commissioned by the Spartans is correct, the fashioning of standard encomiastic features to present in a positive way the virtues valued in Sparta (even though Xenophon realised that they were inculcated in a negative fashion, as the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia shows) could be Xenophon’s way of attempting to be useful to and educate the primary Spartan audience, given that the broader aim of prose encomia of historical figures in general seems to have been to provide ethical paradigms for imitation. The problem of the nature of the encomium with respect to the rest of his corpus may not be solvable, but it is crucial to examine it for any discussion of Xenophon’s view of Sparta because it is primarily from the encomium that evidence is drawn to maintain the view that Xenophon is loath to criticise Agesilaus. A good example of this approach can be found in an article by G. Schepens, who though he concedes that there is more balance in the portrait of Agesilaus in the Hellenica, nonetheless argues that Xenophon’s overall view of Agesilaus is positive: one page of general comments about why the Hellenica is as flattering as the encomium is then followed by a detailed historiographic analysis of the encomium.124 Given the wholly positive nature of the encomium, it is not surprising that Schepens reaches the conclusion he does. By contrast, Tuplin uses passages from the encomium not to supplant the negative picture of Agesilaus in the Hellenica, but to highlight how critical Xenophon has actually been in the Hellenica by showing how the particular event could have been presented in a more positive manner.125 Only occasionally does a scholar make mention of the lack of truthfulness of the encomiastic genre in general as a warning not to supplant the version in the historical work with the version in the encomium,126 even though, of course, truth is often a casualty in historical writing as well. 124

Schepens 2005: 31, 50–1, though he is far from the first to use this type of approach. See, e.g., Hamilton 1991: 7–39, who in fact argues that we have to look to Plutarch’s Life of Agesilaus to find a balanced account of the personality of the king, Xenophon either not understanding his complex personality or ignoring aspects of it. See Humble 2020a: 291–2 for a deconstruction of this approach, and p. 307 n. 3 for other examples of scholars privileging the narrative in the encomium over that in the Hellenica to support the view that Agesilaus is one of Xenophon’s heroes (to which list can also be added Cuniberti 2011: 75 with n. 34). See further also Chapter 6.2. 125 See Tuplin 1993: 52–3, 57, 84, etc. For other examples of this interpretative strategy, see, e.g., Higgins 1977: 106; Proietti 1987: 96–7; Dillery 1995: 114–18; Laforse 1997: 216–61; Humble 2020a. Hirsch 1985: 164 n. 19: ‘even a casual reading of the Hellenica proves that he [i.e. Xenophon] was aware of Agesilaus’ failings’. 126 For a fine example of this second interpretative method, see Henry 1966: 150–2, who carefully and easily picks holes in W. Meyer’s interpretation of Xenophon’s opinion about the Battle of Coronea. Henry does not, however, undertake a sustained, close analysis of the Agesilaus in terms of generic considerations since his primary aim is discussing the composition of the Hellenica. Laforse 2013 is also sensitive to this issue.

38

Xenophon and His Literary Project

But even more of a sticking point towards conceding that Xenophon is not biased towards Sparta has been the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, even though of the three ‘Spartan’ works this is the one which most clearly signals philosophical intent by the language in the opening sentences. It is a short treatise – fifteen sections (less than twenty-three pages in the Oxford Classical Text edition) – which opens with Xenophon wondering at how such a thinly populated polis as Sparta attained such great power and renown. He says that upon investigation he discovered how this happened and so ceased to wonder: it was accomplished because the Spartans followed the institutions of Lycurgus, which were opposite those in other poleis (Lac. 1.1). There follows then an account of these particular institutions which were exceptional to Sparta and the topics seem naturally to fall into the following main divisions: (1) Lac. 1, which, after the opening statement, discusses specific regulations concerning women and childproduction; (2) Lac. 2–4, which deal with the public practices in place for males from around the age of seven to the age of thirty; (3) Lac. 5–10, which deal with certain aspects of the daily life of Sparta’s male citizens (with a summary of the general effect of and principles behind the peculiar practices in the second half of Lac. 10); (4) Lac. 11–13, which deal with the army on active service; (5) Lac. 14, which points out that Lycurgus’ ordinances are no longer obeyed and Spartan hegemony is under challenge; and finally, (6) Lac. 15, which lays out what has not changed over time: the honours accorded the kings and the compact sworn between the kings and the polis. The penultimate section of the work, which contains explicit censure of contemporary Spartan behaviour at home and abroad, presents, in most readings, an unsettling contrast to the rest of the work, which is more or less always regarded as praise of the Spartan practices described. Problems of interpretation have tended to centre on how to explain the critical section (Lac. 14) since it appears so at odds with the rest, what with Xenophon’s lauding of Sparta elsewhere (and here we come back circularly to the Agesilaus and Hellenica, even when some of the latter is admitted to be less positive towards Sparta than previously allowed).127 There are other problems, too, but I will address these in the next chapter. The text looks somewhat different and less problematic, however, if we shift our starting point and take Xenophon’s opening rhetoric to mean not that he is a wholehearted supporter of the Lycurgan practices which 127

Higgins 1977: 66 noted long ago (as Farrell 2012: 18 recently emphasised) how circular argumentation dominates interpretation of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia.

Integrating the Spartan Material

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brought Sparta to such a point of power and renown, but simply that he is embarking upon a philosophical (and hence critical) enquiry into a phenomenon he has observed and which he knows also no longer holds true in order to impart some useful lessons to an audience not made explicit.128 One lesson is certainly similar to that found also in the Hellenica in that both works show how and why Spartan hegemony failed, despite her power and renown.129 Thus in good Socratic fashion Xenophon examines the same phenomenon from different angles: the Hellenica from a politico-military angle and Spartan behaviour in the Greek world at large; the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia by examining internal social practices and Spartan behaviour at home. As I will show in Part II, Xenophon’s opening rhetoric, the strategic use of imaginary interlocutors mimicking at least in part a dialectical process, as well as the narrative patterns throughout are all signals to read actively and attentively, signals which his original audience would undoubtedly have recognised. 128

There are no obvious clues as to who the audience for the work is and, therefore, there have been numerous different suggestions. To the list of possibilities and their proposers presented by Farrell 2012: 18–19 can be added Cuniberti 2007, who argues for a Spartan audience. Farrell’s own view of the work is closer to that presented here in that he reads it as didactic and Socratic and argues that the audience is ‘young Athenians aspiring to advise and lead the Athenian democracy’ (p. 11), but in general he reads many passages in a more positive light than I will be doing. 129 Thus the works complement one another, although not in the way Proietti 1987 argued (see further Chapter 2.3).

chapter 2

The Lacedaimoniôn Politeia: Theories, Problems and Assumptions

Before presenting a close reading of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia in conjunction with the principles elucidated in the previous chapter, I want to examine in a bit more detail the traditional – and mainstream – view of the work and some of the problems which arise from this interpretative approach. I also want to address Straussian responses to the work, not only because they tend to have been disregarded but also because, although I think that in the main they are misguided, there are points of interpretation in them which are important because of the questions they require us to ask of the text.1 Finally, I also want to spend a bit of time fleshing out, as far as possible, what Xenophon’s contemporary readers would have understood Sparta’s power and renown to consist of. These are not aspects Xenophon spells out, though they seem to be taken for granted by commentators. It is important, however, to examine this point to understand as far as possible Xenophon’s starting point and to observe how he uses, and reacts to, this reputation of Sparta throughout the treatise.

2.1  Traditional Theories (and Minor Variations) While the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia does not fall obviously into any of the broad general categories into which Xenophon’s other works are usually placed – history, Socratic dialogue, didactic treatise, etc. – it is most frequently regarded as encomiastic in tone.2 There have been four significant commentaries on the work in the past thirty years (Luppino Manes 1988, Rebenich 1998, Lipka 2002, Gray 2007),3 and while all have their own particular merits and minor variations, none of them significantly 1

Cf. Hobden and Tuplin 2012b: 4–5 with n. 7, and, particularly, Johnson 2012 for adopting aspects of Strauss’ hermeneutic approach. 2 Some of the material below was dealt with from a slightly different angle in Humble 2004a. 3 As well as a number of articles: e.g., Meulder 1989; Bianco 1996; Farrell 2012; Ducat 2014.

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Traditional Theories (and Minor Variations)

41

deviates from the standard modern view of the work that, barring section 14, the rest of the treatise is meant to praise, idealise or defend the Spartan way of life.4 Differences are on smaller points of detail. Emma Luppino Manes (1988) proposed a more elaborate version of François Ollier’s (1934) basic premise of praise with her suggestion that the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia was written as a project of reform aimed at the Spartans in support of Agesilaus, in the face of the changes proposed by Lysander and his faction.5 Stefan Rebenich (1998) works also from the starting point that the bulk of the work idealises an earlier Sparta from which contemporary Spartans had strayed, and that Xenophon wrote it in order to help Agesilaus prop up his waning influence.6 He does not have a very positive opinion of Xenophon’s critical abilities, commenting often on what Xenophon does not discuss rather than on what he does discuss,7 though allowing that he eventually, and reluctantly, gained some critical distance concerning Sparta. Rebenich’s assessment of the Hellenica as superficial and uncritical concerning sources and causes, with omissions, inaccuracies and a pro-Spartan bias, confirms the baseline from which he works.8 Michael Lipka (2002) produced the most comprehensive of the newer commentaries. He regards the work as a mixture of ‘historical, encomiastic and ideal-philosophical elements’ with the main purpose being didactic (though also with apologetic tendencies), written by a confirmed laconophile and fervent admirer of Agesilaus and aimed 4

See, e.g., Luppino Manes 1988: 27 (who also sees it as a programme of reform); Rebenich 1998: 18; Lipka 2002: 31–2 and Gray 2007: 43–4 (a model for imitation; cf. also her 2011a: 248). The significantly earlier influential French commentary of Ollier also falls firmly in the praise camp (1934: xiii). Other scholars who have touched more or less on the treatise for different reasons do not deviate far from the views expressed in these commentaries. The following list (which includes introductions to translations intended for broader audiences) is not meant to be comprehensive but indicative, and also provides some idea of the range of secondary purposes distinguished under the praise umbrella. (And I leave out here the Straussian approaches to the work, which will be dealt with separately below.) Praise: Morrow 1960: 43; Mitchell 1964: 203; Tigerstedt 1965–78: 1.162–9; Breitenbach 1967: 1751; Nickel 1979: 60; David 1981: 51; Bordes 1982: 165; MacDowell 1986: 8; Cartledge 1987: 56–7, 416 and 2001b: 82–3; Hooker 1989: 137; Tatum 1989: 51; Hodkinson 1994: 190–5; Dillery 1995: 15–16, 192–3 (by implication); Kennell 1995: 16; Azoulay 2004a: 187, 382; d’Alessandro 2009: xxiii. Defence: Luccioni 1947: 162; Den Boer 1954: 246–7; Moore 1983: 71; Ducat 2006a: 20–1 and 2014: 101. Propaganda: Delebecque 1957: 194; Toynbee 1969: 317; Carlier 1984: 253–5. Programme of reform: Bianco 1996: 24. Utopian: Ruzé 2010. Notable exceptions who find a mixture of praise and criticism are the following: Tuplin 1994; Hodkinson 2000: 25 and 2005 (having modified his earlier view); Farrell 2012 and Christesen 2016. 5 This view then, not surprisingly, is often taken up in Italian scholarship; see, e.g., Gianotti 1985: 97 and Bultrighini 1999: 104. 6 Rebenich 1998: 25–34. 7 A frequent practice of those examining the Hellenica as well, e.g., Cawkwell and Warner 1979: 35–43 and Pownall 2004: 65–76. Cuniberti 2011: 64–8 argues that the omissions reveal that Xenophon was writing for an ‘ideologically-oriented public’, i.e. a pro-Spartan audience. 8 Rebenich 1998: 12.

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The Lacedaimoniôn Politeia: Theories and Problems

at reinforcing the laconophilia of his fellow Athenian aristocrats; like Rebenich, he too is fairly dismissive of Xenophon’s critical abilities and his writing ability.9 Vivienne Gray (2007), without breaking from the traditional view that Xenophon is praising Sparta, approaches the work more positively than Lipka. She counters some of Lipka’s criticism about the jejune style of the work: where he sees tedious repetitions – for example, in the lengthy sentence with ten verbal adjectives describing the disgraces heaped upon cowards in Sparta (Lac. 9.5) – she sees effective rhetorical tactics.10 But her interpretation of the critical Lac. 14 is simply another variation on the notion that the brief criticism of contemporary Sparta reinforces the praise of the Lycurgan programme: ‘the connection of their disobedience with their loss of success proves the excellence of the laws, which is the main theme of the work’.11 It appears in some ways, therefore, that the more scholarly work that appears reassessing Xenophon’s other works, the more entrenched becomes the need to hold on to the traditional view of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. The role of the treatise in the argument over the depth of Xenophon’s laconophilia is, therefore, central. Because it is most often viewed as praise, this confirms his fervent bias, which in turn leads to a particular reading of the rest of his corpus. If one thinks that the treatise shows that12 to Xenophon Sparta was of existing states the nearest to his ideal of a disciplined society in which the anonymous masses were led by and submissive to their betters, and most Spartans were ideally at least essentially good men raised in a climate conducive to what Xenophon counted as virtue

it will be difficult not to read this into any account of Sparta and Spartans in the rest of Xenophon’s corpus, which is indeed the very thing that happens. It is this view which leads to reading his concentration on Sparta in the Hellenica as laconophiliac bias (and not, for example, on the fact that for most of the period he is writing about the Spartans actually were the hegemonic power in the Greek world) and from there to disparaging his credentials as a historian.

 9

Lipka 2002: 17, 31–2, and throughout the introduction in general, as well as 53–5 on Xenophon’s sloppy style. 10 Gray 2007: 25–6. 11 Ibid.: 182. 12 Cartledge 1987: 62.

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2.2  Problematic Passages for the Traditional Approach I want to look at three particular points in the text which are problematic (or should be problematic)13 for those adhering to some version of the traditional approach. These are not the only problems with viewing the text as untrammelled praise,14 but they are nicely illustrative of the difficulties facing interpretation of the work. The most obvious obstacle has always been how to explain the explicitly critical section 14, but I want to deal first with two other perhaps less obvious points first, which were noted by Ollier in the introduction to his 1934 commentary on the work:15 Après avoir affirmé que Lycurgue avait complètement extirpé dans l’âme de ses concitoyens l’amour des richesses, il déclare que l’on punissait les Spartiates qui, à la suite de perquisitions, étaient trouvés possesseurs d’or ou d’argent. Cette contradiction, qui lui aura échappé dans la hâte de la rédaction, montre qu’il n’ignorait pas le pouvoir que la cupidité conservait toujours sur certains Spartiates. Lycurgue, selon lui, a eu raison d’autoriser les jeunes garçons à dérober de la nourriture; pourtant, comme il raille cet usage dans l’Anabase, et même le condamne dans la Cyropédie, il est permis de concevoir des doutes sur sa sincérité dans la République des Lacédémoniens.16

The first problem refers to section 7 of the work, which unfolds in the following way. Xenophon explains how Lycurgus forbade citizens to have anything at all to do with moneymaking (in contrast to other poleis, where men strive to make money in various professions, as farmers, ship-owners, merchants or craftsmen) and instead made freedom for the poleis the chief concern. Why, Xenophon asks, would wealth be zealously pursued there when equal food contributions were required and a similar way of living meant that there was no yearning after luxuries? Money for extravagant 13

It will become clear in what follows that some commentators address all these issues while others do not. Or, as Luppino Manes 1988: 27 puts it, ‘lode senza limite’ (‘praise without limit’). 15 Ollier 1934: xxxii–xxxiii. He does in fact note a third point as well: that whereas Xenophon praises the formations of the Spartan army (Lac. 12), he shows himself adopting Athenian formations in the Anabasis and he has Cyrus adopt Athenian formations, not Spartan, at the battle of Thymbrara (Cyr. 7.1.1–49). 16 ‘After having asserted that Lycurgus had completely extirpated from the souls of his fellow-citizens love of wealth, he declares that those Spartans who, as a result of searches, were found in possession of gold or silver, were punished. This contradiction, which will have eluded him in the haste of his editing, shows that he was not unaware of the power which greed still retained over certain Spartiates. Lycurgus, according to him, was justified in authorising young men to steal food; however, since he mocks this practice in the Anabasis, and even condemns it in the Cyropaedia, it is permitted to conceive doubts about his sincerity in the Republic of the Lacedaemonians.’ 14

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clothing was pointless since a healthy body was considered the best adornment and money to spend on one’s friends was equally unnecessary since bodily toil on behalf of them was more honourable. Lycurgus, moreover, put in place other measures to prevent moneymaking by unjust means. First, the coinage was so incredibly bulky that it was impossible to accumulate large amounts without notice. Secondly, there were searches for gold and silver resulting in punishment in the event of discovery. Xenophon then ends the section by posing another question: ‘Why would moneymaking be a matter of zealous pursuit there, where possession yields more pains than use pleasures?’ The contradiction is clear – why indeed would moneymaking be taken seriously, which it must have been if searches for gold and silver existed, if wealth was of no concern? – and so striking that the only explanation Ollier can come up with, which fits his belief that this part of the work praises Spartan ways, is hasty editing. The second problem to which Ollier draws attention pertains to section 2 of the work in which Xenophon sets forth various aspects of the public education system for boys. After setting out how it was arranged that boys were given just enough food so that they would never be too full but would have some experience of want (for in this they would build up endurance, not crave fancy food, and be healthier, taller and more slender), Xenophon reports that it was also arranged that the boys were allowed to steal so that they did not go hungry (Lac. 2.6–7). He then proceeds to clarify that it was not because there was not enough food to go around that the boys were required to steal, but the intention was that stealing would be good training for staying awake at night, being deceptive by day, and making use of spies, all of which, Xenophon concludes, must be because Lycurgus wanted to make the boys more capable of contriving to get provisions and more warlike. Ollier finds it peculiar, and indeed even insincere, that Xenophon could find it in himself to praise such a practice here since elsewhere in his corpus he shows quite different responses to thieving: in the Anabasis he mocks his fellow-commander, the Spartan Cheirisophus, about the Spartan talent for thieving (An. 4.6.14–15), and in the Cyropaedia during the description of the education of young boys in Persia theft is condemned outright (Cyr. 1.2.6). These two issues, exasperating as they are to him, do not deter Ollier from his confirmed view of Xenophon as an unreconstructed laconophile,17 but accommodating them within the bounds of praise 17

Ollier 1934: xxxii: ‘La République des Lacédémoniens marque vraiment chez Xénophon le point culminant dans l’idéalisation de Lacédémone.’ (‘The Republic of the Lacedaemonians truly marks in Xenophon the culminating point in his idealization of Sparta.’)

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required him to question Xenophon’s motives and literary craftsmanship. I want to examine, therefore, how others, who share the general view that sections 1–13 and 15 of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia are meant to be viewed wholeheartedly positively, have treated these problems. 2.2.1  On Theft (  Lac. 2.6–7) Ollier concluded that Xenophon was being insincere in his supposed praise of the Spartan practice of encouraging young boys to thieve. In his notes he adds that Xenophon clearly must have had to exaggerate in order to counter those who were hostile to this practice.18 His observation of the contrasts between Xenophon’s praise of the Spartan encouragement of thieving here, his mocking of it in the Anabasis, and the clear condemnation of thieving in the non-Spartan context of an educational system in the Cyropaedia, however, does not seem to have troubled most later commentators.19 Two recent and opposing views, however, are worth noting. Gray does deal with these passages (possibly in response to Ollier though she does not say) but provides a completely different interpretation of the material. For her the Anabasis passage confirms Xenophon’s praise of this Spartan practice,20 and instead of comparing (roughly speaking) like with like regarding Xenophon’s accounts of early education for boys in Sparta and in Persia (Cyr. 1.2.6), as Ollier does, she brings in a later passage in the Cyropaedia (Cyr. 1.6.31–4) to show that stealing from enemies is considered appropriate, thus attempting to turn all three passages into evidence that Xenophon approved of educating children in thieving practices.21 She somewhat blurs, however, the contexts of the two Cyropaedia passages. The later of the two, in fact, reiterates strongly that it is disastrous to teach boys any kind of stealing because they do not have the moral wherewithal to keep the distinctions clear. It is only after lengthy training in justice, and around the age of 17 or so that they are 18

Ollier 1934: xxxiii, and 28 on 2.6–8. One might ask, however, why Xenophon bothered to include the issue of stealing at all if it was so difficult to represent reasonably. 19 E.g., Rebenich 1998: 95 n. 26 spends more time on Plutarch’s version of the same practice (Lyc. 17.3–18.1) and Isocrates’ later attack on the practice (Panathenaicus 12.211–14, dating to 339 BCE; on which, see further Chapter 7.2) and eschews reference to any of Xenophon’s other works or to Ollier’s observations. Lipka 2002: 125 on 2.6 does at least note both the Anabasis and Cyropaedia passages but draws no connections and makes no reference to Ollier’s difficulties either. 20 She is alone in not regarding the Anabasis passage on some level as banter. Compare the slightly different take of Ducat below. Cf. Masqueray 2009: 34 n. 2 (‘ironie’). 21 Gray 2007: 155 on 2.6–9. Her argument that ‘Xenophon engages his readers in the first person in his praise of this custom because it was controversial’ (my emphasis) seems to point to Ollier’s discomfort with the passage without actually addressing it.

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brought around to the suggestion that stealing may sometimes be acceptable. Jean Ducat, on the other hand, both acknowledges Ollier’s position and more carefully thinks through what the two other passages might actually tell us about Xenophon’s opinion on Spartan stealing. Too much, he argues, can be read into the friendly banter in the Anabasis between Cheirisophus and Xenophon on the subject of who is best trained to steal from the enemy a part of the mountain ahead of them: the Spartans (Xenophon suggests) who steal from a young age and are admired for this and flogged if they get caught, or the Athenians (Cheirisophus counters) who are well known for stealing public funds. The extended discussion in the Cyropaedia between the 18-year old Cyrus and his father, however, about why it is inappropriate to teach young boys to steal, he suggests, is more likely to represent Xenophon’s personal opinion on the subject. I would agree that this is a logical inference, but it clearly raises problems for the traditional approach, and Ducat’s accounting for what he argues are opposing views in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia and Cyropaedia still relies on the basic assumption that everything bar section 14 in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia praises Sparta. Faced with this dichotomy of opinion, like Ollier he doubts Xenophon’s sincerity but attributes his rhetoric to his apologetic aim and desire for coherence: ‘wherever it departs from the common Greek way of doing things, Spartan practice is right’.22 Ducat’s approach is certainly preferable because it does not skew what Xenophon himself says: in the Cyropaedia Xenophon quite clearly sets out a different view than he does in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia of when and how stealing should be allowed and taught. Explaining what this means in terms of Xenophon’s own views and his opinion of Spartan practice is, however, more difficult, and Ducat’s conclusion raises some uncomfortable questions. For example, how would Xenophon’s audience accept his apology as serious if they knew that he believed there was no educational value at all in teaching children to steal? That he wanted his work to be coherent, on the other hand, I do think is true, but he never actually suggests that the Spartan practices are ‘right’ – that is simply an assumption by those who view the work as praise.23 His overall premise is 22

Ducat 2006: 9–10. The very fact that proponents of the praise theory find it difficult to see how Xenophon can be sincere in his discussion about stealing should be a signal that fulsome praise is not the aim. Among other approaches, Moore 1983: 100 argues that Xenophon is rationalising the practice; Whitehead 1988: 47 argues that Xenophon thinks a good general should be a thief (Mem. 3.1.6; Cyr. 1.6.27), but Xenophon does make a distinction between stealing or deceiving enemies and doing the same to friends (Cyr. 1.6.31–4), and though skills in deception are necessary for a

23

Problematic Passages for the Traditional Approach

47

that while adhering to certain practices, contrary to those in other poleis, the Spartans gained great power and renown despite their low population. There is still room, therefore, for a tighter explanation of the discrepancies between what Xenophon appears to present as his own opinion in the Cyropaedia and elsewhere, and what he says here in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. 2.2.2  On Silver and Gold (  Lac. 7.6) Ollier’s conclusion that only hasty editing can explain the contradiction between the supposed elimination of desire for wealth and the secret hoarding of wealth is made in the introductory remarks to his commentary. Later in the detailed notes he focuses on evidence from Plutarch (Lysander 16–17), which dates the inception of searches for gold and silver to the end of the Peloponnesian War. Lysander, we are told, sent back to Sparta all surplus money and gifts he had been given; Gylippus, who was in charge of transporting these riches, broke open the sacks and took an amount of silver from each which he then hid away in his house upon his return. Unbeknownst to him Lysander had provided a strict accounting of how much was in each sack so it was known immediately that some was missing; Gylippus was subsequently betrayed by a servant. The ephors are said to have deliberated on the matter and one of them (and here both Theopompus and Ephorus are mentioned as sources on this incident) proposes that gold and silver coinage ought not to be received in the polis. Lysander’s supporters protest this and in the end the decision is made to allow for the public use of gold and silver coinage but to punish by death (ζημίαν ὥρισαν θάνατον, 17.4) anyone who is found to possess such coinage in private. Plutarch then comments rather extensively, and with more than a hint of Platonic influence, on the obvious repercussions of such a policy: if the polis honoured such coinage how could it request its citizens not to do the same? Public practices affect private life much more quickly than individual practices can affect entire poleis (Lys. 17.6): οἱ δὲ ταῖς μὲν οἰκίαις τῶν πολιτῶν, ὅπως οὐ πάρεισιν εἰς ἀυτὰς νόμισμα, τὸν φόβον ἐπέστησαν φύλακα καὶ τὸν νόμον, αὐτὰς δὲ τὰς ψυχὰς ἀνεκπλήκτους καὶ ἀπαθεῖς πρὸς ἀργύριον οὐ διετήρησαν, ἐμβαλόντες εἰς ζῆλον ὡς σεμνοῦ δή τινος καὶ μεγάλου τοῦ πλουτεῖν ἅπαντας. general, there seems to be no suggestion that they are necessary for young children. Powell 2001: 235–6 sees the encouragement of stealing as related to the guerrilla warfare the Spartans engaged in against the helots.

48

The Lacedaimoniôn Politeia: Theories and Problems And so as a guard over the houses of their citizens, to stop coinage from entering there, they set up fear and law, but they did not watch over their actual souls, to keep them untroubled by and insensible to money, rather thrusting them all towards a zeal for wealth, as a truly noble and great end.

The conclusion drawn by Ollier, and many others, is that Xenophon’s references to searches for gold and silver must refer to this law set up in 404 BCE, which on Plutarch’s evidence was to punish by death anyone found in possession of silver and gold coinage; consequently Xenophon is wrong to attribute the law to Lycurgus.24 Ollier further argues, then, that either Xenophon did not know this fact or that he was simply following Spartan tradition that had already attached the law to Lycurgus to give it more weight and authority.25 These additional points only attempt to explain Xenophon’s apparent error about the origin of the searches and are not entirely satisfactory. That Xenophon did not know about the consequences of the influx of wealth into Sparta in 404 – if Plutarch is to be believed – seems unlikely. He certainly notes that Lysander handed over to the Spartan authorities captured prows, 470 talents left over from the money Cyrus had given him and the rest of the war booty at the end of the summer of 404 (HG 2.3.8–9). The second suggestion is, in general terms, reasonable. Attributing even late legislation to an early lawgiver was a perfectly common practice and the contemporary trend was to consolidate legislation in various poleis under the auspices of one wise lawgiver. These lawgivers generally belong to the archaic period so such a practice confers upon new legislation the feel and weight of antiquity. 26 For example, Andocides in De mysteriis, a speech delivered c. 400 or 399 BCE, attributes to Solon a decree which is known to belong to 410 BCE (1.95–6),27 and the third-century BCE revolutionaries in Sparta sought legitimacy 24

The Plutarchan evidence is the focus of Rebenich’s note on the passage (1998: 115 n. 82), though again he does not address the problems Ollier raised. Compare MacDowell 1986: 116–20, who actually uses Xenophon’s evidence to confirm the new law in 404. Lipka 2002: 168 argues that the searches cannot be Lycurgan. Gray 2007: 164–6 is as laconic as Rebenich on the issue and likewise does not address Ollier’s concerns (or indeed Lipka’s or Hodkinson’s analyses; on which, see pp. 49–52). Her assessment of section 7 is that it ‘shows that wealth was not necessary for success, and so there was no point in profiteering’, which does not account for why, then, gold and silver were apparently still somehow accumulated, necessitating the searches. Opinions on this front are coloured and swayed by the Plutarchan view of Spartans as disdainful of money – a view which Hodkinson (2000: especially 19–64 and 151–86) has shown is very much a post-Classical image. 25 Ollier 1934: 44–5. Ducat 2014: 105 goes further, suggesting that here Xenophon has manipulated history. 26 Calling a measure Lycurgan is, therefore, little more than a literary device, equivalent to saying ‘Spartan’. On the tendency to consolidate legislation in this way, see Morrow 1960: 68; Tigerstedt 1965–78: 1.73; and Raaflaub 2006: passim. 27 MacDowell 1986: 3. See also Lefkowitz 1981: 40–8 and Hansen 1989. On the mythologising of Greek lawgivers, see, e.g., Szegedy-Maszak 1978 and Hölkeskamp 1999: 54–8.

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for the new legislation they tried to bring in by suggesting that they were simply reintroducing Lycurgan ways.28 Those who point to Xenophon’s naïvety and pro-Spartan bias in attributing all the measures he discusses to a Lycurgus who dates to the time of the Heraclids (Lac. 10.8, and thus so much earlier than any other ancient source posits)29 are, therefore, insisting on a literality to which the ancients themselves did not adhere.30 Given contemporary practice, it seems more likely that Xenophon uses the figure of Lycurgus as a convenient peg upon which to hang all Spartan legislation which differs from that elsewhere. Whether he does this because it was common practice, or because the Spartans did so themselves, or because it suited his narrative strategy remains open to question,31 though there is no contradiction in assuming an affirmative answer to all three hypotheses. There is another argument concerning what Xenophon is up to with the comment about the searches for gold and silver. Because the verb for search is passive and in the present tense (ἐρευνᾶται), in contrast to the two previous verbs which are in the past (aorist) tense, it is argued that in fact Xenophon is not attributing this particular measure to Lycurgus but is referring to current practice which is Lycurgan in spirit.32 This would certainly rule out the theory that Xenophon was ignorant of the legislation of 404, but such an explanation creates other problems. Just before mentioning the searches for silver and gold. Xenophon says the following 28

See on this, from various angles, Hodkinson 2000: 43–5; Flower 2002; and Humble 2002b. Ancient sources on the date of Lycurgus are in complete disagreement. Prior to Xenophon we have the conflicting evidence of Herodotus, who first states that Lycurgus lived in the reign of Leon and Hegesicles (i.e. the beginning of the sixth century BCE, 1.65.1) but that Spartan tradition made him the guardian of Leobotes (which placed him in the ninth century BCE, 1.65.4). Aristotle settles on c. 766 BCE (frg. 533; cf. Pol. 1271b, where he says Lycurgus was the guardian of Charilaus, i.e. in the first half of the eighth century BCE). Plutarch details various other suggestions (Lyc. 1). See Lipka 2002: 187 for further references about the Heraclids. 30 Hölkeskamp 1999: 54–8 argues that Xenophon was the first to attribute the whole politeia to Lycurgus, yet in some ways he is not really very different from Herodotus who, though their ‘order’ (κόσμον) is said to have come from Delphi or from Crete, suggests that it is after the changes which Lycurgus put in later (the enomotiai, bands of thirty, common messes, ephors and council of elders) that eunomia is said to have come about (Hdt. 1.65–6). Lipka 2002: 36 argues that Xenophon differs from Herodotus because he wants to make Lycurgus the creator also of the Spartan kingship. Yet there is nothing in the treatise to suggest that this is so. Lac. 13 and 15 presume the kings are already in place and attribute the regulation of their powers and the types of honours they receive to Lycurgus. 31 For example, it has been suggested that Xenophon is responding to contemporary political struggles within Sparta by supporting Agesilaus’ view of Lycurgus and his reforms in response to a challenge by King Pausanias. Van Wees 1999: 18 argues that Xenophon has done this because he is responding to a pamphlet produced by Pausanias which argued that the ephors were not of Lycurgan origin. Lipka 2002: 35 leans towards this type of explanation, though he does not think the work’s purpose was such a response. See further Chapter 6.3. 32 Hodkinson 2000: 166, followed by Lipka 2002: 168 on 7.6[1].

29

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(Lac. 7.5): ‘he [Lycurgus] hindered moneymaking by unjust means also in the following kinds of ways’ (τό γε μὴν ἐξ ἀδίκων χρηματίζεσθαι καὶ ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις διεκώλυσε). Immediately the plural τοῖς τοιούτοις prepares the reader for more than one means of hindrance. He proceeds, then, to note that common currency was made ridiculously bulky and again the way he presents this point, starting by saying ‘first, on the one hand’ (πρῶτον μὲν γὰρ), leads to the expectation that another Lycurgan measure is to follow. There is, to be sure, no answering δὲ or ἔπειτα δὲ, but the γε μὴν ... καὶ particle combination which introduces the point about the searches is used frequently elsewhere by Xenophon to fulfil the same function.33 Further, the narrative pattern found here of an ideal measure of Lycurgus being followed by two increasingly punitive measures to ensure compliance with the ideal is a distinctive pattern in the middle third of the treatise.34 In view, therefore, of these counter-arguments (the plural τοῖς τοιούτοις, the adverb πρῶτον, the progressive particle combination γε μὴν ... καὶ, and the observable narrative pattern) the more logical inference is that Xenophon did intend to attribute the gold and silver searches to Lycurgus (in the sense that Lycurgus stood for established, traditional practice), and thus to belong to the period before 404. The present tense can be explained as a historic present: the searches were established in the past but are very much still going on.35 Further, as will become clear, this point is one of the key elements in Xenophon’s assessment of why the Spartan system collapsed.36 A further complicating point which is never raised is the fact that it is always assumed that Plutarch and Xenophon are referring to the same law. Yet it is equally possible that they are referring to two different regulations, since there are some significant differences in their details. First, Xenophon is speaking of measures Lycurgus put in place in order to hinder moneymaking by unjust means, i.e. he does not speak of a Lycurgan prohibition on private possession of silver and gold coinage, which is what emerges from Plutarch’s account. The prohibition under 33

Denniston 1954: 347–9. Xenophon would, therefore, be guilty of hasty editing indeed if he meant that the searches about to be described were not a logical part of the Lycurgan legislation to prevent moneymaking by unjust means. 34 See Humble 2014: 218–22 for a concise exposition of this strategy, expanded in the coming chapters. 35 During the Theban incursion into Laconia in 370 BCE, the invaders found much to plunder in ‘houses full of many good things’ (πολλῶν κἀγαθῶν μεστὰς οἰκίας, HG 6.5.27). This is always understood to be hoarded wealth of some sort or other; see Cartledge 1987: 178 and Flower 1991: 90. See further Chapter 4.3. 36 Whether or not he is correct on this point is another matter altogether, but as I will show in Chapter 7.1.3 Plato too certainly agrees with him on this point.

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examination by Xenophon in Lac. 7 is on Spartans engaging in moneymaking professions. Indeed it is as clear from Xenophon’s whole treatise that wealth and attendant inequalities in its possession are present in Sparta as it is from material gathered elsewhere in the historical and epigraphical record.37 What, we might ask, does moneymaking by unjust means imply? Bribery, perhaps, or ill-gotten gains while serving abroad?38 Secondly, in Xenophon searches for gold and silver (presumably carried out when there was a suspicion that it was accumulated unjustly) result, if any is found, in a penalty for the possessor. What the penalty is, is not specified, though the verb used here, ζημιόω, frequently refers to punishment by means of a fine. Thus a scenario could be posited that someone who was suspected of having been bribed would have to acquiesce to having their property searched, and if silver or gold were found, a portion was taken away as a fine. If Xenophon’s evidence is read in this way, it does not contradict Hodkinson’s conclusion that the prohibition of private ownership of silver and gold in 404 was a new measure which restricted previous practice. It simply means that there could have been a lesser form of restriction in place before 404 which did not prohibit possession of silver and gold but attempted to discourage private accumulation of the same by unjust means.39 It is notable that discussions about this section of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia singularly fail to deal with Ollier’s basic objection that somehow Xenophon did not see the contradiction in what he was saying between the supposed elimination of a concern for wealth and the searches put in place to prevent hoarding of wealth.40 It is also notable that in all cases Plutarch’s evidence is used as the factual baseline against which Xenophon’s is then made to fit.41 Thus instead of trying to account for the differences between what Xenophon and Plutarch are saying, 37

See Hodkinson 1989: 95–100, 1993: 150–2 and 2000: passim. Hodkinson 2000: 172 gives examples, among which is the avarice Gylippus showed during his tenure abroad in Sicily in 414–413 BCE. 39 Which would also explain why Xenophon did not need to mention, as later authors do, the repercussions of the influx of wealth into Sparta in 404 BCE in his Hellenica. 40 Lipka 2002: 163–8, especially 165 on 7.3[1], accepts the fact that a ‘superficial equality of life cannot conceal the individual striving for wealth in Sparta’ and prefers to see Xenophon not as being bizarrely careless, as Ollier does, but as being slightly hypocritical and idealistic. Thus the contradiction for him is rather that the wealthy, landowning Xenophon preaches the Socratic doctrine of the superfluity of striving for wealth. Further Lipka’s translation of σπουδαστέος as ‘pursue’ rather than something like ‘pursue zealously’ is a bit disingenuous, since he lists a number of references to avarice in Sparta. 41 It is notable that on both these issues (Lac. 2.6 and 7.6) Rebenich, who does show awareness of Ollier’s comments elsewhere, does not address Ollier’s concerns and spends more time on the Plutarchan evidence in his notes. 38

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a­ rguments, which are frequently less than flattering about Xenophon’s compositional skills, are sought in the attempt to reconcile Xenophon’s account to Plutarch’s. The starting point is never how to reconcile Plutarch’s evidence to Xenophon’s. Certainly Hodkinson’s proposal that Xenophon’s view represents an invented tradition which arose out of the political controversy in Sparta surrounding the figure of Lysander at the end of the Peloponnesian War is the most nuanced, but it still relies on privileging Plutarch’s evidence, and on the assumption that Xenophon is referring to the same piece of legislation.42 But if Xenophon is saying something altogether different and that in Sparta pre-404 BCE there were searches hindering unjust accumulation of gold and silver, then we may have missed an important piece of information about the role of wealth in Classical Sparta (and a piece of information which does not contradict Hodkinson’s other findings) because of this tendency to privilege Plutarch. 2.2.3  On Spartan Collapse (  Lac. 14) In contrast to the two previous problems, which have for the most part been brushed aside, explaining how to account for section 14 has been front and centre in all analyses of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. Its penultimate position and its content – outright criticism of contemporary Spartan behaviour – have been difficult to reconcile with the praise theory; indeed so difficult that there has been a singular lack of consensus about how to explain the section. The most drastic solution has been to assert that the whole work is not by Xenophon at all.43 This view has some ancient support. At the end of his biography of Xenophon Diogenes Laertius lists Xenophon’s works, the last of which is entitled ᾽Αθηναίων καὶ Λακεδαιμονίων Πολιτείαν 42

Hodkinson 2000: 166. This conclusion obliges Hodkinson to argue that the normally perceptive Plato also falls prey to this invented tradition that the ban on private ownership goes back further (2000: 166–7). It is certain that Xenophon and Plato are at one on this point (as will be shown in Chapter 7.1.3) and it may indeed be the case that they are both following an invented tradition (or indeed invented it themselves). Whichever is the case, Hodkinson’s argument that Xenophon is here reflecting Agesilaus’ views (e.g., 1994: 212 and 2000: 166) can hardly apply to Plato. See Chapters 6.2 and 6.3 for arguments that Xenophon is not acting as a mouthpiece for Agesilaus in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. 43 E.g., Talbert 2005: 192–3 argues that it is so muddled that even Xenophon could not have written it. Note, interestingly, that Rawson, who declines to attribute definitively the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia to the authorship of Xenophon, in fact considers the Cyropaedia Xenophon’s ‘most serious attempt at political literature’ and a work which ‘allows us to see that his attitude to Sparta was not unlike that of his fellow-Athenians’ (1969: 33–4, 51).

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(‘Athênaiôn and Lacedaimoniôn Politeia’), which, Diogenes reports, Demetrius of Magnesia (fl. c. 50 BCE) said was not by Xenophon (D.L. 2.57). Complicating assessment of Demetrius’ comment is the linking (whether by Demetrius or Diogenes or someone else) of what are undoubtedly two separate works under one title,44 and arrival at a satisfactory explanation is hampered by the many unsolved mysteries surrounding the Athênaiôn Politeia, which, though it survived with Xenophon’s works, has long been considered not to be from his hand.45 Two scholars in the last sixty years have argued strongly that Demetrius’ statement is correct, i.e. that Xenophon is not the author of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. The earlier of the two suggested that the work could not be by Xenophon because there is no criticism of Sparta in the Hellenica, but there is criticism of Sparta in Lac. 14.46 The theory explains the stylistic similarities between the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia and the rest of Xenophon’s work by suggesting that Xenophon must have had the treatise in front of him when writing his other works and was clearly comfortable using the style of its unknown author because both he and this author were pupils of Socrates.47 This theory, like many readings of Xenophon’s corpus, takes as its starting point the understanding that Xenophon was an uncritical laconophile. The later attempt uses computer-generated correspondence analysis of Xenophon’s language to argue that Demetrius was correct,48 but its findings are compromised by the fact that from among Xenophon’s works only the Hellenica is used as a point of comparison, a work with as many compositional and dating problems as the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. In general, however, it is the very similarities in thought and style with the rest of Xenophon’s corpus 44

E.g., it is even possible, though unprovable, that Demetrius made the statement about an Athênaiôn Politeia and Diogenes made the error of joining it with the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. It is not always possible to tell whether Diogenes copied an error from one of his sources or introduced it himself. On Diogenes and his use of sources, see Mejer 1978: 1–59 and Hägg 2012: 305–18. And on the value of his evidence on Xenophon, see Humble 2002a: passim. 45 Conventionally the author is cited as the Old Oligarch on the basis of the perceived political stance of the author, but I will refer to the work here as pseudo-Xenophon Athênaiôn Politeia. For recent discussions about authorship, see Gray 2007: 54–5; Marr and Rhodes 2008: 6–12; and Coşkun 2012. Sordi 2002 and McBrayer 2018b are the most recent attempts (to the best of my knowledge) to argue that Xenophon is the author. Concerning the issue of dating, Marr and Rhodes 2008: 31–2 summarise a number of views ranging from the 440s to after 400 BCE, to which add Coşkun 2012: 58–61, who argues for a date c. 446–443. Hornblower 2000 suggests that the work could belong to the fourth century and to the genre of sympotic literature. 46 Chrimes 1948: 25. Talbert 2005: 191–3 concurs with Chrimes on both fronts, i.e. an unwillingness to ascribe the work to Xenophon and a belief that Xenophon was devoted to Sparta in his other works. See also Flower 1991: 90 n. 68. 47 Chrimes 1948: 35–40, who goes on to suggest Antisthenes as a possible author of the work. 48 Lana 1992.

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which persuade scholars now to argue for authorship of the treatise by Xenophon.49 Further, we know little about Demetrius but enough about the biographical tradition to know that it is not always reliable,50 so caution must be exercised particularly when there is evidence to the contrary, as there is in this case. For example, other ancient authors, most notably Plutarch,51 did believe that Xenophon wrote the work.52 Less drastic, though often more convoluted, solutions narrow the focus onto the problematic section itself, most often suggesting that it is an addendum of some sort, either by someone else, again using the argument that Xenophon would not write anything negative about the Spartans,53 or by Xenophon himself in a state of despondency after various Spartan disgraces.54 Theories in this vein must explain why, if Lac. 14 is an interpolation or an addendum, Lac. 15 was subsequently appended, and also what caused such despondency (though this is a problem for this interpretative stream whether or not Lac. 14 is deemed an addendum). One answer has been to argue that the last two sections have somehow been transposed. This, then, allows the argument to proceed along the 49

See Lipka 2002: 5–9 and Humble 2004a: 217–19 for two complementary overviews. Nor indeed was ‘reliability’ necessarily an aim. Fairweather 1974 is still an excellent starting point for the discussion of topoi in ancient biographical texts. 51 Though he does not mention the name of the work, Plutarch Lyc. 1.5 is surely a reference to Lac. 10.8. See further Lipka 2002: 40 for other evidence that Plutarch knows Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, and 47–54 for general discussion of the reception of the work in antiquity. I will argue in Chapter 7 that Plato and Isocrates also knew and drew on Xenophon’s work even though they did not acknowledge this explicitly. 52 The question of authorship surfaces periodically from the sixteenth century on. When the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia reappears in the Renaissance, Demetrius’ opinion is known but dismissed by Joachim Camerarius, an early commentator, on the following grounds: ‘ego neque in argumento neque elocutione quicquam reperio, non dico indignum hoc auctore, sed alienum rationibus ac voluntati illius’ (‘I find nothing either in argument or in style, I do not say unworthy of this author, but alien to his reasoning and intention’, 1540; see Marsh 1992: 163). This is a perfectly reasonable judgement, though it must be said that the Athênaiôn Politeia was also accepted as one of Xenophon’s works at this time (Marsh 1992: 192–5). Contrast this with the stringent denial of authorship by the Dutch scholar L. C. Valckenaer, who in a posthumously published work states that Xenophon is the author neither of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia nor, more surprisingly, of the Agesilaus. Valckenaer 1815: 168 states: ‘Adiect. megaleios: frequentatum Xenophonti in Socraticis, in libello quoq. de Rep.Lacedaem. legitur, qui tribuitur quidem Xenophonti. sed potius illius est sophistae recentioris, qui laudem Agesilai nobis conflavit, hactenus etiam lectam sub nomine Xenophontis, sed ab ingenio hoc castigissimo, praeterquam in illis, quae ad verbum descripta sunt e Xenophonteis, remotam.’ (‘The adjective megaleios: often used by Xenophon in the Socratic works, it is also found in the pamphlet On the Republic of the Lacedaemonians, which, though it is attributed to Xenophon, is rather by that more recent sophist who put together for our benefit the Praise of Agesilaus, which up to now is still read under the name of Xenophon, but which is far removed from his most restrained intellect, except in those sections copied word for word from Xenophon’s own writings.’) 53 E.g., Hirsch 1985: 95. 54 The classic case of this is Ollier 1934: xivff. 50

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lines that Lac. 14 is the sole addendum and written much later than the rest of the work after too many Spartan transgressions had forced Xenophon to abandon his former position of uncritical praise.55 This line of thinking is encouraged first by the fact that Lac. 13 and 15 both contain material about the role of the kings at Sparta and therefore can be easily envisaged as standing side by side, and secondly by the fact that the Cyropaedia, which has generally also been understood as presenting Cyrus as a wholly positive model,56 also ends with a section which has then been read as contradicting the tone of the rest of the work (Cyr. 8.8 reports how Cyrus’ kingdom deteriorated upon his death).57 Taking this line requires ignoring the manuscript tradition, in which Lac. 14 is always in the penultimate position.58 It is difficult to believe, however, that even if there were manuscript evidence to support this argument, it would solve all problems of interpretation, since there has been much controversy and disagreement over the purpose of Cyr. 8.859 and it is placed firmly at the end of the Cyropaedia. Explanations of its purpose tend, in fact, to mirror those used to explain Lac. 14 and the solution of nineteenth-century textual critics was simply to athetise the offending passages in both works in the interests of harmony and symmetry.60 Still the notion that Lac. 14 and Cyr. 8.8 are not part of the coherent plan for each work proves difficult to shake. Even modern scholars who recognise the excesses of nineteenth-century textual critics find it difficult to free themselves from the notion that these sections are somehow outside or detached from the original plan of the work as the difficulty in explaining 55

Explanations for how this might have happened include the suggestion that Xenophon wrote Lac. 14 in the margin and it was wrongly inserted in the penultimate position by later editors, or that it was written on a separate piece of papyrus and likewise inserted in the wrong position. In favour of transposition have been, among others, Ollier 1934: xvii–iii; Luccioni 1947: 167–74; Delebecque 1957: 194–5; Tigerstedt 1965–78: 1.462 n. 530; Breitenbach 1967: 1751–2; Moore 1983: 121; Due 1989: 21 n. 48. Acceptance of transposing the sections is still to be found: e.g., Colas 1996: 81–2; Azoulay 2004a: 187; Badian 2004: 48–9, and most recently Hobden and Tuplin 2012b: 27 n. 39 imply this (‘for RL 14 surely did originally end the work’), though without explanation. 56 E.g., Due 1989 and Gray 2011a. 57 Cyr. 8.8 does not pose a problem for those who argue that the depiction of Cyrus in the work is less than wholly admiring (see, e.g., Johnson 2005a; Tamiolaki 2012: 572–7; Too 2018: 233–7; Humble 2020b: 122–3). 58 Muratore 1997. It may certainly be that the switch occurred earlier in the tradition, but it is interesting to note that the early Renaissance readers had no problem with the ordering of the sections. 59 Cyr. 8.8 also, coincidentally, contains the only possible internal evidence for dating that work. See on this Gera 1993: 23–5. 60 On this in the Cyropaedia, see Tatum 1989: 220–3. For the materialisation of this line of argumentation, see Miller 1914: 438–53, who placed Cyr. 8.8 in square brackets, prefacing it with the comment ‘the chapter is included here in accord with all the manuscripts and editions. But the reader is recommended to close the book at this point and read no further’.

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them shows.61 Thus a second solution has been posited for those who find themselves unwilling to agree to alter the text of the treatise. And that is that both Lac. 14 and 15 are addenda.62 The most complicated theory on this front is that of Lipka, who argues that the original work consisted of sections 1–10 and 14, that 11–13 were the first addendum added with a note to place section 14 after them, and that section 15 was, then, a second addendum.63 There is a third group of scholars, however, who do accept the manuscript reading and do not subscribe to the addendum theory. They have found another way of accounting for the position of Lac. 14 which still accommodates the general theory that the rest of the work praises the Spartan system. The argument is as follows: Lac. 14 declares that the legislation in Lac. 1–13 is no longer obeyed whereas Lac. 15 explains what is still in effect, i.e. the compacts between the king and the polis.64 This view has found a number of supporters, each with minor modifications of their own,65 and is, on the whole, much preferable to any of the theories that rest on altering the text. It has allowed, too, however, for the possibility of detaching Xenophon’s admiration for Agesilaus from his disappointment with the way other Spartans conducted themselves. Thus, the ending of the treatise with a return to what has not changed or is still obeyed, the office (ἀρχή) of the king and the compacts between the king and the polis (15.1), comes to be understood as subtle royalist propaganda.66 The whole treatise is then seen as a call for the return to 61

Consider the following different explanations. In his Loeb translation Miller 1914: 438 feels that Cyr. 8.8 ‘spoils the perfect unity of the work’. Higgins 1977: 58 argues that Xenophon by contrast has shown that ‘rule such as Cyrus obtained bears within itself a tendency to declination by alluring its wielders with its splendor while destroying in the powerful their sense of responsibility’. Due 1989: 19 wants a positive spin, so ‘by implicit contrast, he [Xenophon] succeeds in underlining … the exceptional nature of Cyrus’. Gera 1993: 299–300 puts down some of the problems of 8.8 to carelessness and inconsistency and in the end sees it as ‘a measure of Xenophon’s detachment from his hero’. Tatum 1989: 238 agrees in a way with Due but also argues that Xenophon was torn between reality and fiction and his real political knowledge of the Persian world which he reveals in 8.8. Hirsch 1985: 91–7 is, I think, the most recent defence of some form of the view that 8.8 does not belong at all to the work. He argues that 8.8 must have been written by someone else who was unduly provoked by such a positive picture of Persia in the rest of the work. See now Field 2013, who uses a broader type of computational analysis than that used by Lana 1992 to argue that 8.8 is Xenophontic. 62 See, e.g., Marchant 1968: xxi–ii for the theory that Lac. 11–15 are all addenda; MacDowell 1986: 10–11, who suggests that Lac. 14 is the first addendum, Lac. 15 the second. See also d’Alessandro 2009: xxx, who argues that the whole work was written in three stages between 394 and 360 BCE. 63 Lipka 2002: 29–31. 64 Momigliano 1966 (following a much earlier exposition of this viewpoint, Köhler 1896: 367). 65 Concurring, e.g., are Bordes 1982: 199–200; Carlier 1984: 252–5; Anderson 1986: 36 n. 6; Cartledge 1987: 57; Luppino Manes 1988: 22–5; Meulder 1989: 86; Rebenich 1998: 30–1; Gray 2007: 217–21. 66 See especially Carlier 1984: 252–5.

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the discipline of the past, centred around the strongest advocate of such a path, the king – and Xenophon’s friend – Agesilaus.67 Luppino Manes expands this type of thinking to tie it into the notion of a reaction against the instability introduced by Lysander and his faction, thus viewing the whole as not simply a call for the return of the old system but a call to reform the system without substantial changes to what had already been in existence.68 If the kingship and its compacts with the polis are the only unaffected parts of the politeia, this, it is argued, further points to Xenophon’s admiration of Agesilaus and his unwillingness to criticise him (as – so the argument runs – is clear already from the Agesilaus and the Hellenica). Thus, Xenophon’s admiration for the traditional Spartan way of life (Lac. 1–13, 15) is said to be separate from and opposite to his condemnation of contemporary Spartan behaviour (Lac. 14), from which he exempts his friend Agesilaus.69 This also allows Lac. 14 and Cyr. 8.8 to be read as ‘rhetorical devices to confirm the praise of Lycurgus and of Cyrus’,70 though to do so ignores some important differences between the two passages.71 More loose ends, certainly, are tied up with this approach, but it relies on not interrogating such problems as those noted at 2.6–7 and 7.6, glossing over clear criticism of Agesilaus in the Hellenica, and reading the encomium as historical narrative rather than a rhetorical showpiece. These varied approaches to explaining Lac. 14 vis-à-vis the rest of the treatise mean that there are correspondingly various theories as to when the work was, or the parts of the work were, written. Generally common 67

Also proposing the possibility of Agesilaus’ imprint on the work (or at least on all but Lac. 14) are, e.g., Ollier 1934: xxxv–vi, 45, 71, 74, 82 ; Cartledge 1987: 57; Meulder 1989. 68 Luppino Manes 1988: 26–7. 69 See, e.g., Marchant 1968: xxii and Hodkinson 2000: 25–6. 70 Gray 2011a: 33, and expanded upon at 246–63, where she argues that Xenophon links Socrates, Lycurgus and Cyrus through the rhetoric of wondering, together with the fact that in all three cases those who do not follow the strictures of the three figures come to grief. Yet the parallel between all three is far from exact: Lycurgus and Cyrus are public figures setting in place political systems (and even here there is a difference since Cyrus is a ruler, Lycurgus a lawgiver), but Socrates is not. Further, as I will elaborate in the coming chapters, the practice of virtue for its own sake was a central aspect of Socratic philosophy, and imitation and persuasion are the preferred methods of inculcating this, whereas public virtue is what is important for the Spartans and constant supervision and punishment are the primary means by which it is ensured according to Xenophon’s account; in Cyrus’ Persian Empire there is a combination of these two approaches (see Tuplin 1994: 157–8). Thus while I would certainly agree that the general rhetorical patterns encourage comparison, their aim is to highlight differences (as both Tuplin 1994 and Azoulay 2007 note, in different ways, with regard to the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia and Cyropaedia), i.e. Xenophon’s purpose is not to equate Socrates with Lycurgus and Cyrus but to distance him from them. 71 See Tuplin 1994: 139–41 on differences between Lac. 14 and Cyr. 8.8 which go undiscussed in Gray 2011a: 248–52.

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to all the approaches above is the notion that Xenophon grew disillusioned with Sparta over time, his despondency growing in proportion to Sparta’s increasingly hubristic approach to hegemony after the King’s Peace in 387 BCE.72 Two episodes in particular trouble even those who are the most diehard proponents of the Xenophon-as-trenchant-admirerof-Sparta theory: Phoebidas’ seizure of the Cadmea in 382 (HG 5.2.24– 36) and Sphodrias’ raid on the Piraeus in 378 (HG 5.4.20–33), which led to the creation of the short-lived Second Athenian League.73 The loss to the Thebans at Leuctra in 371 is considered another nail in the coffin.74 The fact that these are deemed the earliest examples of criticism of Spartans found in Xenophon’s writings testifies to the strength of the belief in Xenophon’s original position as an admirer of Sparta, though such a view seems somewhat out of step not least with Xenophon’s own experience of the Spartan harmosts and other leaders abroad as portrayed in the Anabasis. Complicating pinning down a date of composition, however, is the fact that the controversial section 14 contains the only two hints we have for dating the work.75 Twice there it is mentioned that Spartans desire to live abroad as harmosts: ‘previously … they chose to live together with one another at home with moderate possessions rather than to be harmosts in the poleis and be corrupted by flattery’ (14.2), and ‘I know for certain that those reputed to be the foremost among them are zealously pursuing how never to stop being harmosts in a foreign land’ (14.4). Further, Xenophon also notes that other Greeks now call upon one 72

E.g., consider the succinct assessment of Dillery 1995: 15: ‘When, however, in the years following the ratification of the King’s Peace, Sparta seemed to abuse her authority, doubts formed in Xenophon’s mind. These doubts were given further weight by the city’s failure at Leuctra, and were positively confirmed by Mantinea.’ Dillery considers Lac. 14 and Cyr. 8.8 authentic, but late, palinodes (1995: 257–8 n. 35). 73 The exact relationship between the two events is debated and is often closely tied in with arguments about Xenophon’s worth as a historian (or lack thereof since he gives no details about the formation of the League). A close cause and effect relationship is argued by De Ste Croix 1972: 134. Cawkwell 1973 argues that the League was in place before the raid (justifying the raid); see also Hamilton 1991: 179–82. Cargill 1981: 58–9, on the other hand, argues that the raid took place beforehand. Dillery 1995: 231–2 posits that Xenophon avoided mentioning the formation of the League because he was writing just after the humiliating dissolution of the same; see also Badian 2004: 51–2 for a similar view. Most recently on the relative lack of connection of the events, see Pownall 2004: 67. 74 Cartledge 1987: 57 leans towards a unitarian view of the treatise, so argues that after Leuctra is the earliest the work could have been written, though he favours a date after the death of Agesilaus on the grounds that Xenophon would not have published anything so negative about Sparta before Agesilaus’ death. 75 Though some think that Lac. 1.1 refers specifically to Sparta’s victory in the Peloponnesian War (see, e.g., Strauss 1939: 522 n. 1 and Proietti 1987: 44). See section 2.4 for arguments against this.

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another to prevent Sparta ruling again, having formerly begged the Spartans to take the lead against those reputed to be doing wrong (14.6). Though there is not complete consensus on what these passages refer to, in general the first two are often tied to the peace treaty signed in c. 371 BCE which specified that all Spartan harmosts be recalled (HG 6.3.18– 20). Those arguing for this, therefore, give themselves a terminus ante quem for Lac. 14 at least, and possibly for the whole work if they hold a unitarian view about the work’s composition.76 The point about the other Greeks striving to prevent Spartan hegemony is often thought, then, to refer to the formation of the Second Athenian League in 378 BCE. This is seen as a compelling option since it comes on the back of Sphodrias’ attack on the Piraeus, about which almost all agree Xenophon is critical. Xenophon’s lack of mention of the League in the Hellenica is then read by many as a tacit nod there not to embarrass the Spartans further.77 Yet it is far from certain that the comments about the harmosts refer to their recall in 371 BCE (HG 6.4.2). As far as we can tell the greatest number of harmosts were sent out between 405 and 386,78 and the phrasing used by Xenophon suggests rather that the practice was still ongoing at the time of composition. Indeed, regardless of the actual dates of composition of the Anabasis and Hellenica, those works reveal that Xenophon had the opportunity himself to observe many harmosts (and other commanders) abroad during the period 401–394. In only a few instances could his portrayal of them be labelled laudatory.79 Likewise, it is far from certain that the remarks at Lac. 14.6 refer to the Second Athenian League. They could equally well refer to the Battle of Coronea in 394, which represented a concerted effort by the other Greeks to curtail Spartan power,80 or even just generally to events in the period after c. 404.81 76

On this, see MacDowell 1986: 13 and Rebenich 1998: 27–8. All harmosts seem to have been recalled except Cleombrotus at Phocis (HG 6.4.2). 77 Taking the view that Lac. 14.6 refers to the formation of the Second Athenian League are the following: Ollier 1934: xv; Momigliano 1966: 344; Breitenbach 1967: 1752; Cartledge 1987: 57; Luppino Manes 1988: 21; Meulder 1989: 78; Rebenich 1998: 28. By contrast, the views of Dillery and Badian (mentioned in n. 73) regard Xenophon as not wanting to embarrass Athens by mentioning the League. 78 Parke 1930 and Hodkinson 1993. 79 See further Chapters 5.4 and 6.1. 80 And for this reason Cawkwell 1983: 395 n. 38 dates Lac. 1–13, 15 to 394 and 14 to 378. See also Lipka 2002: 9–13, 27–31, who argues that all but Lac. 15 should be dated to c. 395–394 (though, as noted above (p. 56), he also has a complicated account of the order of the composition of the sections). 81 As MacDowell 1986: 12 suggested, so arguing that the work could have been written any time after 404. Bianco 1996: 23 also follows this line, though further postulating that the point of disillusion came when Xenophon first arrived in Sparta in the 390s. Xenophon does note that in 399 BCE the

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Ultimately views on dating have hinged on theories about the purpose of the work and since almost all commentators have regarded this as to praise Sparta, they are forced then to account for the apparently contradictory view in Lac. 14 and other elements of disillusion that can be discerned in Xenophon’s corpus. The issue of dating the work does not necessarily become any easier, however, on the reading I am going to propose. At best, I think, we can probably assume 394 BCE as a terminus post quem. As for a terminus ante quem, that depends on a good number of factors. In an earlier article I argued for c. 371,82 though I also accept that this can only be tentative and relies perhaps too much again on trying to link the work to historical events. Indeed Ducat may be right in his suggestion that the seemingly datable elements in the work may be a fictional device, which would leave us with a terminus ante quem of Xenophon’s death for the composition of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia.83 These three points – the peculiar notion of the Spartans teaching their children to steal, the searches for gold and silver and the apparent change of tone in Lac. 14 – do not exhaust the difficulties in the text if it is to be viewed as a work of praise, but they do give an indication that there are problems which are not really addressed satisfactorily by current theories about the work. Thus, there are sufficient reasons to question the traditional view of the work. First, explanations for problematic passages such as ‘contradiction’ or ‘sloppiness’ or a passing over them in silence are inadequate. Xenophon is not a careless writer, as much recent work has shown, and if we have trouble interpreting what he is doing, the first approach should not be to dismiss him as a poor writer. Secondly, the startling range and convoluted nature of the different theories to explain the apparent contradiction between Lac. 14 and the rest of the work, and Greeks in the satrapy formerly governed by Cyrus called upon the Spartans for help against the new governor, Tissaphernes (HG 3.1.3). Prior to that, the last occasion on which the Spartans were begged by other Greeks to stop wrongdoing was the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War, and Xenophon’s own comments that at the end of the Peloponnesian War and with the symbolic pulling down of Athens’ walls it was thought that ‘that day was the beginning of freedom for Greece’ (ἐκείνην τὴν ἡμέραν τῇ Ἑλλάδι ἄρχειν τῆς ἐλευθερίας, HG 2.2.23) are, therefore, rather ominous. 82 Humble 2004a: 219–20, with a more detailed account of the debate about dating the work up to that point in time. To which add now Gray 2007: 42–3, who views it as a late work, c. 360 BCE; Farrell 2012: 17–18, who concludes we have no real means of dating it securely ‘beyond placing it in the first half of the fourth century’; and Ducat 2014: 108, who argues that if the date of composition coincides with historical content then a date of c. 395/4 is probable, but if it does not then any time between 395/4 and Xenophon’s death is possible. 83 Ducat 2014: 108. Ducat does not develop this notion of fictional elements in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia nor will I here, though I think it is worth pursuing, particularly considering the view I am proposing for considering Xenophon’s whole corpus as Socratic in some sense. Sokratikoi logoi are in many regards fictions, playing freely with historical events and people, thus it would be an interesting exercise to examine Xenophon’s work more broadly from this angle.

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the virtual lack of consensus among scholars, suggest that perhaps the wrong questions may be being asked. Finally, the very fact that Xenophon does not tend towards blatant praise of Sparta in works other than in the encomium – where it is wholly expected – has not been fully accommodated, even in the most sophisticated of theories about Lac. 14. There is, I think, a better explanation for what Xenophon is doing in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, an explanation which ties into the general picture proposed in Chapter 1.5 of his literary project as a whole, and this I will show by presenting an alternative reading of the work in the following three chapters. Before embarking upon this reading, however, I want to look at two other interpretative issues. First, I want to present a brief critical assessment of the Straussian approaches to the work since, however much some might disagree with their overall interpretative strategies, these approaches have raised important points which more traditional theories have missed. Secondly, I want to give some thought to what oliganthropic Sparta’s power and renown entailed at the approximate time when Xenophon was writing this text, since this is the source of Xenophon’s philosophical wondering at the start of his text. Xenophon takes it for granted that his readers know what he means here, but it is worth unpacking as best we can, given the paucity of sources which are now at our disposal, because Xenophon and his readers must have had these features in mind.

2.3  The Straussian Approach In 1939 Leo Strauss was the first, in the modern period, to dissent from the traditional view of the work. Assuming that Xenophon was the author and that Lac. 14 was authentic and in its proper position, he quite reasonably starts his enquiry by asking why Lac. 14 is in the penultimate position. He uses as a springboard an earlier suggestion from a scholar who followed the more traditional view, which was that the section of censure was necessary in order for the praise to be taken seriously (contemporary versus past Sparta) but that to put the censure in its logical place at the end would spoil the tone of praise and so it was bumped one section back.84 Strauss rightly objects to this reasoning on the grounds that it does not credit Xenophon with much compositional skill. He argues that such an apparently startling shift in tone must be pointing the reader to something less obvious. In the course of his re-reading he 84

Prinz 1911.

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makes a number of acute observations about aspects of the work which hardly seem to indicate the intention of praising Sparta, such as the emphasis on punishment, the lack of provision for education in justice, and the practice of virtue in public only. Regarding the encouragement of stealing he too points out that the apparent praise of the practice in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia is at odds with the censure found in the Cyropaedia and the ironic take in the Anabasis.85 And he expands greatly on Ollier’s observation of the contradiction in section 7, noting that, in addition to clearly suggesting here that provisions for eliminating a need for wealth did not work since silver and gold were accumulated by unjust means, there are many aspects of the work which show that wealth was of great importance in the supposedly ideal Sparta: extramarital relations for the purpose of begetting children are set up so that a family’s wealth would not be adversely affected by such offspring (Lac. 1.9); extra alimentary contributions to the common messes were made by the wealthy (5.3); some clearly own hunting dogs, horses and carriages while others do not (6.3); want of money was to be no barrier to citizenship (10.7); treasurers and booty-sellers are part of the army structure (13.11).86 Strauss’ overall conclusion, however, is that the work is a satire of Sparta, a comedy even, of the sort Plato might write; and he further argues that the points are so subtle that only a few will ever see them, prompting the obvious caustic response that the work is rather too subtle if only Strauss has been able to detect its true intent.87 To sustain the argument for satirical intent Strauss posits two levels upon which the work can be read: a superficial level of praise, and a covert level of satire. He is thus able to accommodate the traditional view, at the same time as suggesting Xenophon wrote for two different audiences.88 There are a number of problems, however, with this stance. When we look at other ancient material that is satirical or contains satire, for example, it distorts, for various purposes (ranging from gentle amusement to vicious attack), phenomena well known to the audience. There is no doubt that elaborate praise could be used to conduct satirical attack: paradoxical encomia could be said to fall into this category. It is true, too, that in some cases our inability to contextualise fully ancient works 85

Strauss 1939: 508, unlike most commentators, does refer to Ollier’s problem with this passage. Strauss 1939: 515–16. Tigerstedt 1965–78: 1.464 n. 530. 88 I have previously argued against this approach in Humble 2014. Collins 2018 draws on Strauss but presents a more moderate version of this line of thinking, eschewing the extreme conclusion that the work is satirical. 86 87

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means that there is a risk of quite simply missing satirical elements.89 But in general, successful satire depends upon the audience’s ability to read – based either on general context or on specific prior knowledge – the signals offered by the text that show satirical intent. A late and oppositional insertion to signal that satire is the intent, making the reader go back to the beginning with this in mind, is, to say the least, inefficient. Further, Strauss’ proofs of Xenophon’s general satiric intent read too much into the text, or rather into the silences in the text, and rely too heavily on an ahistorical understanding of Sparta.90 Consider his analysis of Xenophon’s contrast between regulations for women elsewhere compared with what Lycurgus established in Sparta. In other poleis, Xenophon says, mothers-to-be are fed plainly with little fancy food, and if they are allowed wine, it is to be diluted. They lead sedentary lives, attending only to wool-working. By contrast Lycurgus is said to have considered slave women sufficient to provide for clothing in Sparta and to have believed childbearing to be the greatest task for free women. And so he made women engage in physical activity, believing that if both parents were strong they would produce stronger offspring (1.4). Only the second two of the four points made about women elsewhere are then compared. No mention is made of any contrary dietary (food and drink) measures imposed on Spartan women. There seem to be two possible ways of interpreting this. We are either meant to understand implicitly that the food and drink of mothers-to-be was not regulated or restricted in Sparta, or we are meant to understand that, since Xenophon does not take up these points, such dietary practices differed little between women elsewhere and in Sparta,91 and that Xenophon highlights simply what is different, i.e. no wool-working and some exercise. The former interpretation gains adherents for different reasons. Strauss argues strongly in favour of it, i.e. that it is proof that Spartan women overindulged in eating and drinking, because he sees it as fitting with the general stereotype 89

Lucian’s  Phalaris  orations (second century CE)  provide a good example: every schoolboy would have known the terrible tales about this tyrant’s use of the bronze bull to torture his victims by slow-roasting them inside it, and this knowledge is essential as an index of the cleverness of the arguments used in the orations. For fifth- and fourth-century comedy,  see Sidwell 2009 for the argument that what we see as ‘positive’ endings in Aristophanes could have been read as satirical by contemporary audiences, because they came to the plays with the prior knowledge necessary to understand the satire from the outset.  90 Cf. also Johnson 2012: 156–7, who likewise notes that Strauss’ ahistorical approach undermines his analysis of X. Mem. 4.4. 91 See Lipka 2002: 103–4 on general reference to restrictions on food and drink for women in other poleis, which show that restrictions were not unusual. He does not comment on what Xenophon might be suggesting here.

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of the licentious Spartan female. His supporting examples of female licentiousness, however, refer not to diet and drinking but to presumed sexual freedom, which have been shown to be the product of Athenian wartime propaganda rather than based on anything factual.92 Hodkinson, on the other hand, interprets the passage in the same way in support of his argument about inequalities of wealth in Sparta, using this passage to suggest that Spartan women ate according to what was produced on their estates, which varied enormously.93 Hodkinson’s theory about the inequality of wealth, however, holds up perfectly well without the support of this passage; indeed, it might be added that there were clearly inequalities in wealth outside Sparta in other poleis where Xenophon specifically says diet was regulated. At the very least we have external evidence to support the fact that Spartan women seem to have had better than average physical fitness because of exercise, the very point on which Xenophon puts the greatest emphasis,94 whereas we have no reliable external contemporary evidence that Spartan women overindulged in their diet.95 Further, though there are some attractions for my approach in reading the passage this way (since if the assessment of Xenophon’s narrative strategy is correct the passage could be interpreted as a negative comment on the unrestricted diet and possibly excessive drinking habits of Spartan women), there is also a significant problem which becomes clear when the next section of the work, on the education of boys (2.1–6), is examined. Here Xenophon structures his argument in the same way. Elsewhere, we are told, fathers appoint slaves as minders over their sons and send the boys to teachers to learn letters, music and activities in the wrestlingground. In addition, the feet of the boys are softened by wearing shoes, their bodies by changes of clothing and by being allowed to eat what they want (2.1). Lycurgus, on the other hand, rather than allowing minders appoints a paidonomos, a distinguished older man, a citizen, not a slave, to supervise the education of boys.96 This paidonomos watches over the boys and punishes them harshly if any should be found slacking, in order to instil much shame and respect (αἰδώς) and much obedience (πειθώ) 92

Strauss 1939: 503–7 versus Millender 1999: 356–63. Hodkinson 2000: 228. 94 Compare, e.g., Aristophanes Lysistrata 78–84; Euripides Andromache 595–601; and Critias D-K 88 (81) B32 = Clem. Str. 6.9 (this last is quoted in Chapter 3.2 n. 54). 95 Fisher 1989: 29–30 thinks that the general reference to the licence (ἄνεσις) of Spartan women in Plato’s Laws, in the middle of a discussion about drinking (Lg. 1.637c), suggests that Plato may be implying that Spartan women get drunk. Shortly thereafter in the passage, however, Spartan continence is contrasted with the drunkenness of Scythian and Thracian men and women (637e). In general, on the distorted Athenian image of Spartan women, see Millender 1999. 96 See further Chapter 3.3 n. 73. 93

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(2.2). Further, Spartan boys do not wear shoes, have only one cloak and a restricted diet, which is healthier overall (2.3-6). Just as in the previous portion of the text discussing regulations for women, here the discussion opens with a list of what was carried on outside Sparta. Here, too, only half the points are then taken up and shown to be contrary in Sparta: education in Sparta is public not private, supervised by one citizen, the paidonomos, rather than by numerous slaves, and opposite practices concerning clothing and diet are set in place. No comment is made about an education in letters, music and wrestling, just as nothing was mentioned about drink and dietary restrictions for women. Strauss reads the passage in the same way as he read the regulations concerning women, arguing that ‘Xenophon informs us between the lines that in Sparta there was no education worth mentioning in letters and music’.97 In addition to ignoring the third point about the activities in the wrestling-ground, he is here as unduly reliant on later manufactured stereotypes of Spartans as he was with his arguments about licentious Spartan women. Yet here, because we have somewhat more evidence concerning Spartan men than concerning Spartan women, it is clear that a more straightforward reading of the passage is preferable: nothing is mentioned as replacing education in letters, music and the activities in the wrestling-ground, because there was no striking contrast between Sparta and other poleis in these matters.98 Given that Xenophon highlights the importance of physical training for women (1.4) and for men (1.4, 4.6–7, 5.8–9, 9.4, 12.5), it would be peculiar if it were absent for boys. Further, though it is never in the forefront of the discussion, evidence of the role of music in Spartan life is not absent from the treatise (9.5, 12.7),99 and there is certainly enough scattered evidence elsewhere to attest to its importance.100 And there had to have been at least rudimentary training in reading and writing, as inscriptions and literary references to letters show.101  97

Strauss 1939: 507. Collins 2018: 133 follows Strauss here. As Tuplin 1994: 156 argues.  99 In addition, Lac. 4.2 is usually taken as a reference to Spartan choruses, though it is not entirely clear that Xenophon is not referring to choral competitions in general. For further discussion, see Lipka 2002: 142, 177–8 and 208 on these passages. 100 E.g., Ferrari 2008, a tour de force interpretation of Alcman’s Partheneion and its performative context in Archaic Sparta. See also Ar. Lys. 1247–72 and 1296–315 and the notes thereon of Henderson 1987. Critias D-K 88(81) B36 mentions dancing. On Plato’s comments about music at Sparta, see Powell 1994: 302–6. For general remarks on Spartan music and dance, see Mitchell 1964: 182–90 and Tigerstedt 1965–78: 1.42. 101 E.g., Mindarus’ letter home: HG 1.1.23. For further examples, see Cartledge 1978; Boring 1979; Powell 2001: 238–41; and Millender 2001, who shows how broadly based literacy levels in Sparta must have been. Robb 1994: 184–5 notes that even in Athens there is a scarcity of evidence for the teaching of letters in the fifth century.  98

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The more important and interesting thing to say about the points of comparison seems to me to be that standard gymnasia-based physical training of boys did not in Xenophon’s view differ much from elsewhere and did not, therefore, contribute anything significant to Sparta’s power and renown. That he goes on to stress instead a type of survival training that boys were put through is much more to the point. In Xenophon’s view, therefore, the important aspects of Spartan education, which are both contrary to what is carried out in other poleis and which have some bearing on Sparta’s power and renown, are that education is made a public concern, and that Spartan boys are taught to endure discomfort, just as the important points about regulations for women which were different in other poleis and which had some bearing on Sparta’s power and renown were the removal of all domestic tasks to the sphere of the slaves and the instituting of an exercise regime. Though I would be the first to argue that Xenophon frequently makes points implicitly and expects his reader to note narrative disjunctions – in line with the ancient preference for active reading – and though I do think that there are narrative patterns which are apparent in these two sections and repeated throughout the work, and which, therefore, are meant to guide our reading of the text, these two examples, which are typical of Strauss’ approach and which tend to rely on later manufactured images of Spartans bearing little connection with the Sparta of Xenophon’s day, do not, I think, show what he wants them to show. Further, Strauss suggests that Xenophon throughout the treatise writes with the same briefness of speech that the Spartans were famous for and that this explains the ‘scarcity of factual information’,102 about which there is much complaint. In response it might be said that Xenophon’s prime intent does not seem to have been to provide factual information but to explain what aspects of the Lycurgan politeia led to the Sparta’s great power and renown, i.e. Xenophon tends to dwell only on those issues he wishes to highlight. Secondly, it is difficult to agree that the elaborate and extended discussions of marital practices (1.5–9), drinking habits (5.4–7), or even the discussion of methods of encampment (12.1–5) are actually laconic in nature by comparison with other points in the treatise. Strauss further contends that Xenophon reveals his satirical purpose in the contrast between his statement at 10.8 that ‘all praise such practices’ and the opening ‘but I’ of the whole treatise,103 i.e. praising Sparta is so fashionable that Xenophon treats it as all passing fads deserve 102

Strauss 1939: 529–30. Ibid.: 528.

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to be treated, satirically. It is not clear, however, why Xenophon should want us to return to that particular adversative at the opening of the treatise, when he provides one at 10.8: ‘all praise such practices, but no polis wishes to imitate them’. Strauss further argues that Xenophon’s satire is directed firmly at Critias whose prose and poetic Lacedaimoniôn Politeia were his model. There are many works from antiquity whose loss is to be lamented and though Critias’ literary output might not be put by many at the top of the list, in terms of understanding better both the tone and the generic structure of Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia having Critias’ works on Sparta to hand would, I think, help immeasurably. Whether or not Xenophon actually used Critias as a model, as some assert,104 a strong argument can be made that where we can compare the two authors, we can see Xenophon addressing Critias’ work in a critical fashion.105 This is hardly surprising given the consistently negative portrait of Critias painted by Xenophon (especially Mem. 1.2.12–39 and HG 2.3.2–56, 2.4.8– 9), and the fact that in the middle of his critical assessment of the Thirty’s actions Xenophon has Critias call the Spartan politeia the finest (HG 2.3.34).106 Moving, however, from arguing that Xenophon is clearly at times critical of Critias to the argument that his Lacedaimoniôn Politeia is a sustained attack on Critias, or from the observation that there may be some satire of Critias to the conclusion that the whole of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia is satirical,107 is difficult to sustain without more of Critias’ work available.108 104

See Tigerstedt 1965–78: 1.459 n. 495 on earlier scholarship which argues that Xenophon used Critias as a model. Tober 2010: 419 n. 46 proposes the possibility, but then strangely dismisses Xenophon’s work from his discussion on the grounds that it does not focus much on political institutions and deals with ‘(idealised) contemporary Spartan behaviour’. This is odd under whatever overall reading of the work one adopts. Straight borrowing from Critias has also been posited, e.g., Iannucci 2002, 88. 105 E.g., see Chapter 4.1 on Lac. 5, where I think knowledge of Critias’ account is necessary for understanding fully the points Xenophon is trying to make. Fisher 1989: 31 agrees that Xenophon was aware of Critias’ account but finds them similar. Contra MacDowell 1986: 15–16, who underestimates a connection between the two authors. 106 Hardly, as Tuplin 1993: 164 points out, a recommendation. On Critias, see further Chapter 3.1. 107 Fisher 1989: 30 on Critias: ‘one might well suspect a certain hypocrisy, as well as political purpose, ... coming from a man of his circles in Athens who also praises the Sicilian invention of the cottabus and the sympotic poetry of Anacreon’ (D-K 88(81) B1 = Athen. 13.600d–e). Cf. Usher 1979: 39–42, who points out that this hypocrisy is elegantly exploited in Theramenes’ dying game of hemlock kottabos (HG 2.3.56). 108 Explaining the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia as a sustained attack (critical or otherwise) could certainly fit with the arguments of Danzig 2014 that Xenophon deliberately targets Critias to get at Plato, but I am not wholly convinced that Plato and Xenophon had such an antagonistic relationship. Indeed, as I will argue in Chapter 7.1.3, Plato and Xenophon appear to be in agreement about the fundamental internal flaws in Sparta, which if true complicates the relationship Danzig is proposing. See also Chapter 3.1 n. 30.

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The excesses of some of Strauss’ conclusions and his tendency towards ahistorical argumentation have meant that his work has been, for the most part, ignored or dismissed by Classicists,109 and thus the positive elements in his analysis have been thrown out with the negative. Yet two other scholars who have written about Xenophon’s treatment of Sparta were strongly influenced by Strauss’ ideas. W. E. Higgins’ whole approach (1977) to Xenophon was influenced by Strauss, and his comments on the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, though brief, are valuable because he concentrated on the positive points of Strauss’ analysis and so developed a more sophisticated and credible explanation. Indeed, he starts by following Strauss’ very sensible advice to look at what Xenophon actually wrote, not at what one thinks he should have written. By examining the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia in the wider context of Xenophon’s works, like others before and after, he found divergences between what Xenophon praises in other works and what he praises in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia,110 and crucially observed that the Lycurgan legislation described by Xenophon often appeared to cater ‘to human will at the same time as it sought to restrain it’ and ‘does not positively direct them [Spartan citizens] to do right’.111 He suggests that ‘the history of Sparta as Xenophon describes it in the critical chapter of the Constitution was not the result of power corrupting but the inevitable upshot of Lycurgus’ system from the start’, and that ‘in the ambiguous form of the Constitution he has reflected the ambiguity of Spartan excellence’.112 His conclusion is not that the work is satirical of Sparta (though he does make a nod towards Strauss’ suggestion that it might be a satire of Critias) but that, like the Hiero, it is a treatise against the dangers of tyranny.113 Higgins’ succinct account leaves much unexamined – understandably, as his overall aim ensures his gaze must fall elsewhere – but nonetheless is very important for the observations which it contains and I will have cause to return to it in the following chapters. The other scholar to follow Strauss’ approach was G. Proietti (1987). He, however, acknowledged at the beginning of his analysis that he accepted the satirical reading suggested by Strauss and would, in his own examination, assume knowledge of Strauss’ views and illuminate what 109

See the Introduction, p. xxvi. Higgins 1977: 65–6. He concentrates on contrasting ideas in the Oeconomicus, Cyropaedia and Memorabilia. To this list, however, can be added similarities to the Anabasis and Hellenica as Chapter 6 will show. 111 Higgins 1977: 67, 70. 112 Ibid.: 71, 73. 113 Ibid.: 73–5. 110

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Strauss left unexamined, deviating only occasionally from his findings.114 Indeed his comments on the practice of stealing and on the provisions concerning wealth follow Strauss and he does not add anything of significance to the discussion of section 14 but simply accepts the arguments of A. Momigliano. 115 Proietti’s approach is to examine the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia in conjunction with the Hellenica up to the point of Lysander’s death (i.e. to the end of Hellenica 3.5), starting from the assumption that when Xenophon speaks about Sparta being the most powerful and renowned polis in Greece at Lac. 1.1, he is referring to Sparta’s victory over Athens in 403 BCE.116 This victory, he argues, came about under the command of the most unorthodox Spartan, Lysander, using means ultimately opposed to the laws of Lycurgus. Proietti thus denies that Xenophon has done in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia what he set out to do, i.e. explain the practices that led to Sparta’s power and renown, arguing, in effect, that the Hellenica is necessary to complete the picture and that the power and renown only came about by abandoning Lycurgan ways.117 This is as equally serious a leap into the interpretative abyss as arguing that the work is disguised satire, and Proietti never adequately explains why Xenophon should begin his work in such an obtuse manner. On the plus side, however, his assumption that Lac. 1.1 refers to the end of the Peloponnesian War does have the positive effect of making one investigate whether or not Xenophon might be referring to a particular historical point at the opening of his work and what precisely oliganthropic Sparta’s power and renown consist of at this putative point in time.

2.4  Deconstructing Assumptions about Sparta’s Power and Renown (Lac. 1.1) It is notable that commentators on the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia do not really pause to elucidate what Xenophon’s reference in Lac. 1.1 to Sparta’s power and renown refers to, taking it, it seems, for granted.118 But it is worth examining because Xenophon must be assuming that his audience 114

Proietti 1987: xv–vi and 44 n. 2. To Higgins’ account he makes only brief reference. Proietti 1987: 46 n. 6. 116 Ibid.: 44. This was a suggestion made earlier by Strauss 1939: 522 n. 1, though it did not feature particularly in his analysis. And it is again made by Ducat 2014: 103 (though without reference to Proietti and Strauss), but arising from a different starting point, i.e. following analysis of the language in Lac. 14.6 by Lipka 2002: 233. 117 Proietti 1987: 79. 118 Instead they tend to focus on the issue of oliganthrôpia generally to point out that Xenophon ought to have realised, like Aristotle, that it was a threat to Spartan stability: e.g., Ollier 1934: 21; 115

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will know what he is talking about. It is certain that after their victory in the Peloponnesian War the Spartans were the most powerful Greek polis – Xenophon himself comments on this point elsewhere119 – but in general fifth-century sources already depict Sparta as powerful, renowned and thinly populated.120 Herodotus, for example, provides us with evidence that oliganthrôpia was becoming a problem as early as the Battle of Thermopylae in 480 BCE, when only Spartans with sons were chosen for the expedition (Hdt. 7.205).121 Herodotus also presents Sparta as being renowned even before this, as exemplified in the story of Croesus’ search for an ally (Hdt. 1.56–69). Croesus, trying to forestall the growth of the Persian Empire (1.46), receives two pieces of advice: first, that he will destroy a great empire if he sends an army against the Persians, and secondly, to make friends with the ‘most powerful of the Greeks’ (τοὺς δὲ Ἑλλήνων δυνατωτάτους, 1.53; cf. the same phrasing also at 1.56). Enquiries lead him to investigate the Athenians and the Spartans and allow Herodotus to set out the current circumstances of the two poleis. Athens is battling Pisistratus and full of faction. Sparta, by contrast, is stable. Herodotus says that the Spartans had been the ‘worst governed’ (κακονομώτατοι) of all Greeks but then ‘they changed to a state of being well-governed’ (μετέβαλον ... ἐς εὐνομίην, 1.65;122 repeated at 1.66 as μεταβαλόντες εὐνομήθησαν). In other words they possessed ‘good order’.123 Lycurgus’ role in achieving this is presented as being central (1.65–6). Further, he Lipka 2002: 99–100 on 1.1[4] and 1.1[5]; Gray 2007: 146–7 on 1.1. Note that Plato is not criticised for not focusing on this point. 119 E.g., HG 2.2.20, 3.1.3; An. 6.1.26–9, 6.6.9, 6.6.12–14, 7.1.25–31. In this last passage he specifically points out that the Athenians were defeated despite their enormous resources and allies (An. 7.1.27). 120 See also Morrow 1960: 40–52 for a complementary assessment of what Sparta was renowned for, though he is not concerned about the issue of oliganthrôpia. 121 Cf. Cartledge 2002a: 175–6. Herodotus had described the Spartans as ‘of not a few men’ (οὐκ ὀλίγων ἀνδρῶν) at the time Lycurgus instituted his reforms (Hdt. 1.66.1), though this passage may be deliberately worded to contrast with the contemporary situation at the time of composition. 122 Interestingly Herodotus mentions part of an oracle declaring Lycurgus a god (1.65.3) but does not include succeeding lines which talk about Lycurgus asking the god for eunomia (as preserved in Diodorus 7.12.1; cf. also Plut. Lyc. 5.3). van Wees 1999: 32 n. 48 argues that Herodotus has left the lines out because they contradict what the Spartans themselves thought, since he reports that the Spartan tradition was that Lycurgus had brought the laws from Crete (1.65.4; see further Chapter 4.4). This is a reasonable explanation, though that the lines about eunomia were added later under the weight of the tradition (see Parke and Wormell 1956: 85–6) is still equally attractive. 123 There has been much discussion in the past about the meaning of the term eunomia. See Tigerstedt 1965–78: 1.73–4 (especially n. 578 in which he reviews the debate up to his time) and 1.112–14 for an overview. Raaflaub 2006 is instructive for positioning the concept of eunomia as an ideal goal of archaic reforming legislation and for how over time eunomia remains the preserve of Sparta and oligarchic aspirations (cf. ps.-Xen. Ath. 1.8–9), whereas isonomia becomes more important for the increasingly democratic Athens.

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reports that they had recently defeated long-time foes, and so now Tegea and most of the Peloponnese were under their control (1.68). Croesus, therefore, asks them to ally with him, having learnt that they are the leaders of Greece (προεστάναι τῆς Ἑλλάδος, 1.69.2). All manner of people after this are depicted approaching Sparta for military aid and alliances,124 all the way to the end of the work when Sparta is the popular choice of leader against Xerxes.125 As Kurt Raaflaub has noted, the role of prostatês included a protective function,126 and it is on this basis that hegemony in Greece is contested between Athens and Sparta over the coming century. Later on Herodotus has Demaratus explain to Xerxes that it is the Spartans’ very obedience to their despotic laws which makes them a formidable fighting force, because fear of the law keeps them holding their position in battle even in the face of superior forces (Hdt. 7.104.4–5). Here obedience to the law is combined with the other important strand in their renown, their ability to stand their ground in battle and fight to the death. Though far from being the only example Herodotus describes, the Spartan stand at Thermopylae (Hdt. 7.201–28) is the most vivid and powerful account of this tendency, and came to exemplify the power of the combination of military prowess, unnatural levels of bravery, and obedience to the law.127 Herodotus gives three inscriptions about the dead from the site of Thermopylae at the end of his account of the battle. The one which he notes pertains particularly to the Spartans is the only one which mentions obedience (7.228): ‘O stranger, tell the Spartans that we lie / obedient to those men’s words in this place’ (ὦ ξεῖν᾽, ἀγγέλλειν 124

Cf. the following examples: (1) the Ionians approach the Spartans for help against Cyrus and are rejected, but the Spartans take it upon themselves to warn Cyrus not to harm any Greeks (Hdt. 1.141.4 and 1.152); (2) Aristagoras of Miletus, looking for a strong ally (5.38.2), addresses the Spartans thus (5.49.2–3): ‘you are the leaders (and protectors) of Greece … and in respect of matters of war you have come to the highest level in valour’ (προέστατε τῆς ῾Ελλάδος ... ὑμεῖς τε τὰ ἐς τὸν πόλεμον ἐς τὰ μέγιστα ἀνήκετε ἀρετῆς πέρι); (3) the Scythians seek to ally with Sparta against Darius (6.84). 125 Cf., e.g., Hdt. 7.161 (where the Athenians concede Sparta has a right to overall leadership of the combined Greek forces) and 8.2.2 (the Greek allies prefer a Spartan admiral to an Athenian). 126 Raaflaub 2004: 169. 127 Other examples can be found in Herodotus’ work. (1) Hdt. 1.82: in the 540s, 300 Spartans engage 300 Argives over the territory of Thyreae. One Spartan, Othryades, and two Argives are left at the end. The latter run home declaring victory, but Othryades stays on the battleground and strips the dead. Later he commits suicide, being ashamed of being the only survivor. The historicity of this story is rightly questioned (e.g., see Tigerstedt 1965–78: 1.67 and Loraux 1995: 72–3), but its general message fits with the image the Spartans were presenting of themselves: standing their ground and fighting to the death. (2) Hdt. 7.139: though the situation is hypothetical, Herodotus himself says the Spartans would have fought to the death if the Persians had invaded the Peloponnese. (3) In a slightly different vein Hdt. 7.134–5: the two Spartiates Bulis and Sperthias volunteer to die to atone for the Spartans killing Persian heralds. (4) Hdt. 9.71: the account of Aristodemus not receiving honours at Sparta because he had actively sought death on the battlefield deals also with this image in a roundabout way.

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Λακεδαιμονίοις ὅτι τῇδε κείμεθα τοῖς κείνων ῥήμασι πειθόμενοι).128 A reputation for bravery and obedience does not preclude instances when they fall short in both regards. These occasions, however, are usually accompanied by comments to this very effect. For example, at Plataea, when Pausanias continually moves the Spartan troops out of fear of the Persians, Herodotus has Mardonius comment sardonically that this behaviour is opposite to the Spartan reputation that they are very brave and fight to the death (Hdt. 9.48.1).129 The same features are found in Thucydides. He too comments on Sparta’s eunomia and stable government: having been in stasis for a long time, Sparta ‘was from the earliest period both possessed of eunomia and was always free from tyrannical rule’ (ἐκ παλαιτάτου καὶ ηὐνομήθη καὶ αἰεὶ ἀτυράννευτος ἦν);130 and he notes that the Spartans had had the same politeia for around 400 years and ‘for this reason had power and managed matters in the other poleis’ (καὶ δι᾽ αὐτὸ δυνάμενοι καὶ τὰ ἐν ταῖς ἄλλαις πόλεσι καθίστασαν, Th. 1.18.1).131 He further comments that they led the Greeks against Persia because ‘they were foremost in power’ (δυνάμει προύχοντες, 1.18.2), and thereafter they and Athens ‘emerged as the greatest in power’’ (δυνάμει … μέγιστα διεφάνη, 1.18.2), Sparta the force to be reckoned with on land, Athens on sea (1.18.2).132 Obedience to the laws is presented as a positive trait by Archidamus (1.84.3):133 128

On the Spartans in Herodotus in general, see Rawson 1969: 14–16. Also see Millender 2002a: especially 30 on how Herodotus’ vocabulary in these passages reveals that he sees compulsion as frequently motivating Spartan action. Indeed, we could add to this that Herodotus’ characterisation of nomos as a despot (7.104.4) foreshadows, among other images in the treatise to hand, Xenophon’s tyrannical ephors (Lac. 8.4). 129 Hdt. 9.48.1: ‘O Lacedaemonians, you are the ones spoken of as the bravest by the people in this place, who are amazed that you neither flee from war nor leave your battle-line, but, staying in position, either kill your opponents or are yourselves killed. But of these things nothing was true.’ (ὦ Λακεδαιμόνιοι, ὑμεῖς δὴ λέγεσθε εἶναι ἄνδρες ἄριστοι ὑπὸ τῶν τῇδε ἀνθρώπων, ἐκπαγλεομένων ὡς οὔτε φεύγετε ἐκ πολέμου οὔτε τάξιν ἐκλείπετε, μένοντές τε ἢ ἀπόλλυτε τοὺς ἐναντίους ἢ αὐτοὶ ἀπόλλυσθε. τῶν δ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἦν οὐδὲν ἀληθές.). 130 On eunomia becoming an anti-democratic slogan (in contrast to isonomia) during the Peloponnesian War, see Tigerstedt 1965–78: 1.113–14 with good references, as always, to the earlier debate. This ideological appropriation of eunomia on the oligarchic side is mirrored by their similar appropriation of sôphrosynê (a virtue at times associated with Sparta also, on which, see Humble 1999 and 2002b). 131 Whether or not this was a ‘myth propagated by the Spartans themselves’ (Cartledge and Debnar 2006: 585; cf. also Powell 2010: 87), it was a key element of Sparta’s power and renown as seen by others. 132 Cf. Archidamus’ speech at 1.80–1. Note also the approach made to Sparta for aid by Thasos (1.101.1). 133 The first part of the translation of this passage is from Dover 1974: 19. The meaning of the passage is disputed. For a useful discussion, see Hornblower 1991: on 1.84.3. See also Th. 2.11.9: Archidamus’ comments to his troops about the importance of obedience. On Spartan moderation in Thucydides, see Humble 2002b: 86–7.

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τὸ μὲν ὅτι αἰδὼς σωφροσύνης πλεῖστον μετέχει, αἰσχύνης δὲ εὐψυχία, εὔβουλοι δὲ ἀμαθέστερον τῶν νόμων τῆς ὑπεροψίας παιδευόμενοι καὶ ξὺν χαλεπότητι σωφρονέστερον ἢ ὥστε αὐτῶν ἀνηκουστεῖν A sense of shame is founded above all on moderation and valour upon fear of reproach; and we are well-advised because we are trained with too much lack of understanding to scorn the laws and too sensibly and severely to allow us to disobey them.

Here, too, are the same notions as those expressed by Demaratus in Herodotus’ work concerning the power of the laws and fear of disobeying them. Pericles later refers to this idea in his funeral speech, essentially pointing out that the Spartans depend on a courage which springs from the compulsion of their laws (2.39). In Thucydides’ description of events at Sphacteria in 425 BCE can be found evidence of most of these points of their reputation: as soldiers, the issue of fighting to the death, and that oliganthrôpia was a growing problem.134 Here the Athenians are said initially to have feared going against the Spartans because of their reputation in battle (Th. 4.34.1).135 Later, Thucydides makes much of the fact that the Spartans, when hard pressed by the enemy, quite to the surprise of everyone did not fight to the death but surrendered. In recounting the episode he explicitly evokes the behaviour of their ancestors at Thermopylae (4.36.3) and casts as many aspersions on their bravery as he can manage (e.g., 4.40).136 That the event evoked particular surprise in the rest of the Greek world (if Thucydides is to be believed, 4.40.1) is indicative of the reputation – whatever the reality – that the Spartans had for fighting to the death.137 Further, Sparta’s anxiety to recover the Spartiates who had surrendered and were being held captive by the Athenians (Th. 5.15.1–2; achieved at 5.18.7) bespeaks internal worry about the lack of citizen manpower which appears to be more serious than it had been earlier in the century.138 There is even earlier evidence going back to the seventh century BCE, long before oliganthrôpia became a problem, for Sparta’s power and renown139 with respect to eunomia and bravery in battle.140 Further, these 134

See also Th. 1.132.5 as evidence for oliganthrôpia; Cartledge and Debnar 2006: 586. Hornblower 1996: 190 on 34.1. 136 On this Spartan setback, see Cartledge 2002a: 206–8 and Powell 2001: 167–72. 137 Cartledge and Debnar 2006: 559–60. 138 Cartledge 2001e: 184. 139 There were few intervals after Sparta conquered Messenia when Sparta was not regarded as the most powerful of the Greek poleis; see the succinct summary of Morrow (1960: 40–1). 140 If Herodotus and Thucydides are to be believed, the change to eunomia occurred in the ninth century BCE; see Hornblower 1991: 52. 135

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attributes seem to replace earlier stereotypes of Sparta as poorly governed (as expressed by Herodotus and Thucydides) and overly concerned with the acquisition of wealth.141 It is in the poetry of Tyrtaeus that we have the earliest expression of these images.142 In the three longest remaining fragments he exhorts the Spartans to fight bravely and to the death (F 10–12).143 Further, Aristotle reports that another of his poems was entitled Eunomia (F 1).144 No fragments actually contain the term eunomia, but some which modern scholars think belong to this poem do talk about the need for obedience (πειθώμεθα, ‘let us obey’) to the Heraclids (i.e. their divinely sanctioned kings) (F 2.9–15). They also present the contents of an oracle from Apollo which emphasises that if the common people obeyed the kings and elders they would share in the military success of the polis (F 4).145 It is possible too that Alcman made reference to these points of renown when he called ‘[Fortune] sister of Eunomia and Obedience and daughter of Foresight’ ([ἡ Τύχη] Εὐνομίας καὶ Πειθῶς ἀδελφὰ καὶ Προμαθήας θυγάτηρ).146 The mention of eunomia and obedience in the same line have led some to argue that Alcman is making a significant political point about Sparta, but the lack of context makes certainty on this matter difficult.147 Sparta’s power and renown, therefore, in sources predating Xenophon, appear to be based on her eunomia, i.e. her good government and obedience to the laws, which led to political stability, which in theory left her freer to fulfil the role of prostatês and come to the aid of other Greeks. In particular, her citizens’ obedience to the laws and willingness to fight to the death make her a formidable adversary in battle. Oliganthrôpia starts featuring in sources concurrent with the Persian wars. These points of renown, for the most part, are also found in Xenophon’s contemporaries and later fourth-century BCE authors, in all sorts of different settings. Even allowing for the necessary adjustments for 141

See the discussion in van Wees 1999: 2–6. There is plenty of disagreement about the dates of Tyrtaeus. He is connected with the second Messenian War, but the dating of that is problematic. He probably flourished in the second half of the seventh century BCE. See Gerber 1997: 102–3 for a brief biography, and 1999 for the text and translation of the fragments. 143 See further Chapter 4.5. Cf. also Pindar Pythian 1.68: ‘the glory of their spearcraft flourished’ (κλέος ἄνθησεν αἰχμᾶς). 144 F 1 = Arist. Pol. 5.6.1306b36–1307a1: ‘furthermore, factions arise whenever some (aristocrats) are extremely poor and others are well off. And this happens especially during wars; it happened too in Sparta in the course of the Messenian War, as is clear from the poem of Tyrtaeus called Eunomia.’ (trans. Gerber 1999). The poem in also mentioned at Strabo 8.4.10. 145 I here follow the persuasive reading of these lines by van Wees 1999: 6–12. 146 See F 64 = Plu. De Fortuna Romanorum 4.318a (trans. Campbell 1988, slightly modified). 147 Cf. Tigerstedt 1965–78: 1.381 n. 581, which reports the debate up to 1965. 142

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the context of these passages and how close or removed the author is from the period of Sparta’s prostasia, the features set out above can be seen almost to be standard topoi with which either to laud or berate (for having departed from them) Sparta either on its own or as a goad to or lesson for others. They are trotted out, for example, for different purposes in the works of a number of Athenian orators. In his Olympic Oration of 388 BCE, Lysias comments thus (33.7): θαυμάζω δὲ Λακεδαιμονίους πάντων μάλιστα, τίνι ποτὲ γνώμῃ χρώμενοι καομένην τὴν ῾Ελλάδα περιορῶσιν, ἡγεμόνες ὄντες τῶν ῾Ελλήνων οὐκ ἀδίκως, καὶ διὰ τὴν ἔμφυτον ἀρετὴν καὶ διὰ τὴν πρὸς τὸν πόλεμον ἐπιστήμην, μόνοι δὲ οἰκοῦντες ἀπόρθητοι καὶ ἀτείχιστοι καὶ ἀστασίαστοι καὶ ἀήττητοι καὶ τρόποις ἀεὶ τοῖς αὐτοῖς χρώμενοι· But I wonder most of all at the Lacedaemonians, asking myself what rationale they are employing in just standing and watching Greece as it is consumed by flames, given that they are justifiably the leaders of the Greeks, both because of their inborn valour and because of their knowledge of warfare, and given that they alone live at home unmolested, without walls to protect them, strangers to faction, undefeated and always sticking to the same old ways of life.

Here we have almost all the main elements (apart from an explicit mention of eunomia, though we might perhaps assume it from ‘strangers to faction’), right at the period when the Spartans still have hegemony but are not living up to their responsibilities (and even before the King’s Peace in 387 BCE):148 their bravery,149 skill in warfare, stability of their government and laws (implying obedience to them).150 A number of these standard topoi on Spartan power and renown can also be found scattered across Isocrates’ speeches. For example, he talks of the longevity and stability of the Spartan politeia in his On the Peace of c. 355 BCE (8.95): ‘the politeia which over seven-hundred years no one knows to have been altered either by dangers or by misfortunes’ (τὴν γὰρ πολιτείαν ἣν ἐν ἑπτακοσίοις ἔτεσιν οὐδεὶς οἶδεν οὔθ᾽ ὑπὸ κινδύνων οὔθ᾽ ὑπὸ συμφορῶν κινηθεῖσαν). The standard features of the renown are not surprisingly put into Archidamus’ mouth in the speech of the same 148

Todd 2000: 332 thinks the date of the speech (which is given to us by Diodorus Siculus 14.109) could be wrong because of the description of the Spartans as leaders of the Greeks, which in his view would suit a date after the King’s Peace, but it is perfectly plausible that, despite the fact that the Corinthian War was still being waged, the Spartans, since the end of the Peloponnesian War were, on balance, regarded as the most powerful polis in the Greek world. 149 Lysias uses ἀρετή (‘virtue’ or ‘excellence’) here in the common, more focused sense of ‘bravery’. Xenophon does the same in Lac. 9 (see further Chapter 4.5 and n. 68 there). 150 See Rawson 1969: 36 for a succinct analysis of this passage.

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name, Archidamus:151 ‘good government’ (τὸ καλῶς πολιτεύεσθαι), living moderately and displaying a willingness to fight to the death (6.59), length of existence of and adherence to laws and customs (6.61), a willingness to obey its rulers (6.81), a preference for honourable death over a shameful life (6.91, 108–9), and appeals to the bravery and laying down of life of those at Thyrea and Thermopylae (6.99–100), recalling the two prominent episodes in Herodotus. In the Areopagiticus (c. 357 BCE) Isocrates notes that the Spartans in the past became masters of the Peloponnese ‘by living moderately and in a military fashion’ (τὸ σωφρόνως ζῆν καὶ στρατιωτικῶς, 7.7).152 Though he contrasts that with their subsequent grasping for power and degeneration, later in the speech he does comment again favourably on various sociopolitical aspects of Spartan life, calling them ‘governed in the finest manner’ (κάλλιστα πολιτευομένους, 7.61).153 Notably Isocrates never uses the term eunomia or its cognates about Sparta, even when he puts praise of the system into the mouth of the Spartan prince Archidamus. Interestingly, there is no real tendency to label Isocrates a laconophile because praise of Sparta or some Spartan institutions can be found in some of his speeches.154 The imagery is all there again in the later, and sole, oration we have left for the Attic orator Lycurgus. In Against Leocrates (330 BCE), a speech against cowardice, there is reference to ‘the Spartans as the bravest’ (ὥστε τοῖς ἀνδρειοτάτοις Λακεδαιμονίοις, 105), one of the longest fragments we have of a Tyrtaean poem with exhortations to stand one’s ground in battle, introduced by the phrase ‘that you might know what sort of actions brought fame to them’ (107), a reminder of Thermopylae and the fact that there the Spartans surpassed all in ‘bravery’ (ἀνδρεία), followed by the epigram about obedience as found in Herodotus as testimony to their aretê (108–9), a reference to her eunomia (128: ‘For it is a fine thing to take examples of justice from a well-governed polis’, καλὸν γάρ ἐστ᾽ ἐκ πόλεως εὐνομουμένης περὶ τῶν δικαίων παραδείγματα λαμβάνειν), and 151

The dramatic date of the oration is 366 BCE, but the purpose and actual date of composition are much debated. Some think it a genuine speech, thus matching the composition date with the dramatic date; others think that it was composed as a classroom exercise at a later period. Harding 1973 goes further, seeing it and On the Peace as deliberate antilogoi. See briefly Nicolai 2004: 149– 50, who also suggests that it is theoretical in tone, and, in more detail, Azoulay 2006b. See also Chapter 7.3 and n. 68 there. 152 On association of moderation (σωφροσύνη) with the Spartans in Isocrates, see Humble 2002b: 87–9. 153 The argument here is, somewhat perversely, that Sparta is actually democratic, but it is, nonetheless, an assessment which draws on the reputation Sparta had for eunomia. He puts similar phrasing in the mouth of Nicocles (Nicocles 3.24): ‘the best governed people of the rest’ (τοὺς ἄριστα τῶν ἄλλων πολιτευομένους). On these passages, see further Chapter 7.2 and nn. 66, 67 there. 154 Though some do regard him as a practitioner of political-theoretical laconism. Again, see further Chapter 7.2 n. 63.

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a law which supposedly punished cowardice by death (129–30).155 That Lycurgus turns to Spartan examples of bravery in battle rather than Athenian to highlight the cowardly actions of the Athenian Leocrates is, among other things, testimony to the solidity and longevity of Spartan renown in this regard. By this time, too, the wider political arena has changed. Sparta is no longer, as it was at the time of Lysias’ Olympic Oration, the leading polis, and drawing on these long-standing topoi was, therefore, less inflammatory.156 In philosophical texts the features of Sparta’s power and renown likewise appear, though with generally more criticism given to internal Spartan practices than is found in oratory. Spartan eunomia makes an appearance a few times in Plato’s corpus but it is difficult to conclude from these instances that Plato actually thought Sparta was well governed. In the Crito, in the arguments Plato has Socrates put in the mouth of the Athenian Laws concerning his decision to abide by the decision handed down, the Laws remind Socrates that he did not choose to live in Sparta or Crete, which poleis he always said ‘were well governed’ (εὐνομεῖσθαι, 52e). There are of course different ways of interpreting this statement. It could be an assertion of Socrates’ laconophilia (whatever about Plato’s),157 or simply an indication that Socrates frequently used this topos about Sparta in conversation with others in order to advance the discussion in a particular way,158 rather than that this is his own considered view.159 Separating Socrates’ view on such matters from Plato’s is an exercise fraught with peril and not surprisingly modern viewpoints conflict.160 I will return to how Plato treats other aspects of Sparta’s renown, particularly in the Republic, in Chapter 7.1. What does seem clear is that Sparta’s political stability made it axiomatic that any investigation into the best sort of politeia had to examine 155

Which differs from the punishment by social ostracism reported by Xenophon (Lac. 9). See Fisher 1994: 337–79 (on Lycurgus’ speech) and 382. 157 Schofield 2006: 38–9 seems to lean towards this view. 158 Such as he is depicted using it in conversation with Hippias (Hp. Ma. 283e–284a): ‘Socrates: Well then, Sparta is a place with eunomia, I suppose. Hippias: Of course. Socrates: And in poleis with eunomia virtue is the most prized attribute? Hippias: Indeed it is. (ΣΩ. ἀλλὰ μὴν εὔνομός γ᾽ ἡ Λακεδαίμων. ΙΠ. πῶς γὰρ οὔ; ΣΩ. ἐν δέ γε ταῖς εὐνόμοις πόλεσι τιμιώτατον ἡ ἀρετή. ΙΠ. πάνυ γε.) And later they are reputed ‘most law-abiding’ (τοὺς νομιμωτάτους, Hp. Ma. 285b). See further Chapter 7.1.1 n. 24. 159 Or that even if it is his considered view, the whole of the Crito provides a qualification since it seems clear from the line of argumentation that Athens is in fact Socrates’ model. See the analysis of the Laws’ arguments in Kraut 2004. He does not quite argue this position but does point out (p. 210 n. 11) that Tredennick and Tarrant 1993 over-translates this passage (‘favorite models of good government’). Griswold 2011: 349 n. 30 has a list of references to other discussions about Socrates’ preference for democracy. 160 Cf. Morrow 1960: 44 on Plato using popular opinion about Sparta for dramatic effect, though later (p. 48) he argues that Plato did consider Sparta to be well governed. 156

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Sparta. Thus, in Plato’s Republic Sparta is a representative of the first of the degenerate regimes (timocracy), and in his Laws, though there is significant criticism of Spartan practices, the fact remains that Sparta (along with Crete) was deemed worthy of scrutiny. The same holds in the case of Aristotle, for whom Sparta is the first of the historical poleis to be subjected to his critical eye (Crete being the second). Despite his trenchant criticisms of Sparta in the Politics, Aristotle explicitly notes that one of the key features which lifts Sparta above other poleis is its lack of faction and the willingness of its citizens to abide by the laws (Pol. 1270b21– 26).161 Elsewhere, too, he draws on the traditional points of renown: in the Nicomachean Ethics, for example, he points out that making citizens good and obedient to the laws is the duty of a true statesman, as exemplified by the Cretan and Spartan lawgivers (NE 1102a9–10), and is essential for eudaimonia (‘prosperity’), points which recall the opening of the treatise here under scrutiny. Thus, even after Sparta’s total collapse, these key features of Sparta’s renown live on. To come back to the point which prompted this investigation, therefore, as far as it is possible for us to tell with the sources to hand Sparta was renowned and powerful and thinly populated already in the early fifth century BCE, so the opening of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia cannot be referring specifically to victory in the Peloponnesian War. It seems more likely that Xenophon is starting his philosophical enquiry into the causes for Sparta’s renown with Sparta’s general reputation in mind and that he has no specific point in time but only the contrast specified in Lac. 14 when their renown (if not their power) has become tarnished.

2.5 Recapitulation Previous modern analyses of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, therefore, have had at their heart the notion that at least on some level, if not on all levels, the work is presented as a praise of Sparta. Even those who argue for satirical intent suggest that the guise of praise is how Xenophon accomplishes this. But none of these explanations is entirely satisfactory. There are elements of the work that are simply inexplicable as praise and turning the traditional view on its head by arguing for superficial praise disguising pointed satire has simply created new problems without solving the old ones. 161

See in general Hodkinson 2005 for how Sparta is presented in these philosophical writings in the fourth century BCE. I will not really deal with Aristotle further here, though I think there are many points of contact between him and Xenophon on Sparta. See briefly Humble 2007.

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The main problem, I think, lies simply in the reluctance to let go of the notion that the view expressed in the bulk of the work, barring Lac. 14, is wholly positive and praiseworthy. It seems odd to me that we can accept that Plato, Isocrates and Aristotle admired some aspects of the Spartan way of life but were critical of other aspects, but we are not so willing to accord Xenophon the same critical ability, even when we have such clear indications of conflicting viewpoints throughout his work, as is the case concerning the issue of teaching children how to steal. Instead of going with the obvious interpretation, i.e. that Xenophon clearly does not approve of this practice as evidenced by what he says elsewhere in his corpus, and that therefore he is unlikely to be regarding it as a good thing here even if he deems it a key component of how Sparta became so powerful, we accuse him of insincerity in his desire to praise all things Spartan. If the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia is not meant to praise Spartan ways unconditionally, or to present a programme of reform based on the Spartan system, or to defend traditional Spartan ways, but is meant as a critical enquiry into what was peculiar about Sparta that enabled her to become so powerful and renowned – i.e. that to wonder (θαυμάζειν) signals philosophical enquiry not praise –, the need to explain away contradictions between what Xenophon appears to praise or criticise elsewhere and what he says in this work immediately disappears. His personal agreement or disagreement with the points of his enquiry do not, under this explanation, dictate what is included or excluded in the content of the work. There is room potentially for both praise and criticism in such an investigation. Under this interpretative theory, too, the treatise fits more comfortably with other works in Xenophon’s corpus, where amid quite substantial criticism of Sparta and individual Spartans (particularly in the Hellenica and Anabasis) there are sometimes also positive assessments. What follows in the next three chapters, therefore, is an alternative reading of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia: which starts from the assumption that it is a philosophical enquiry into how the Spartans became so very powerful and renowned; which does not expect Xenophon to approve of all the points he sets out; which looks at the way Xenophon is expressing the points, i.e. the patterns in his narrative; which pays close attention to his use of imaginary interlocutors; and which interrogates the text within the broader context of Xenophon’s corpus as a whole.162 162

Again, I am fully aware of the interpretative difficulties in reading the works against one another, but we have no other means of judging what Xenophon’s own views were, which obliges us, I think, at least to explore various ways of reading across his whole corpus.

pa rt i i

chapter 3

Reading Lacedaimoniôn Politeia 1–4

3.1  Lac. 1.1–2: Introduction and Purpose Xenophon is frustratingly inexplicit about his purpose at the start of some of his works (for example, the Anabasis and Hellenica), but not so in this case, and the key to understanding the approach he is taking in this work lies conspicuously in the opening statements (Lac. 1.1–2):1 ἀλλ᾽ ἐγὼ ἐννοήσας ποτὲ ὡς ἡ Σπάρτη τῶν ὀλιγανθρωποτάτων πόλεων οὖσα δυνατωτάτη τε καὶ ὀνομαστοτάτη ἐν τῇ Ἑλλάδι ἐφάνη, ἐθαύμασα ὅτῳ ποτὲ τρόπῳ τοῦτ᾽ ἐγένετο· ἐπεὶ μέντοι κατενόησα τὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα τῶν Σπαρτιατῶν, οὐκέτι ἐθαύμαζον. Λυκοῦργον μέντοι τὸν θέντα αὐτοῖς τοὺς νόμους, οἷς πειθόμενοι ηὐδαιμόνησαν, τοῦτον καὶ θαυμάζω καὶ εἰς τὰ ἔσχατα [μάλα] σοφὸν ἡγοῦμαι. ἐκεῖνος γὰρ οὐ μιμησάμενος τὰς ἄλλας πόλεις, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐναντία γνοὺς ταῖς πλείσταις, προέχουσαν εὐδαιμονίᾳ τὴν πατρίδα ἐπέδειξεν. But I, reflecting once that Sparta, though being one of the most thinly populated poleis, emerged as both the most powerful and the most renowned in Greece, wondered at how ever this had come about; but when I had observed closely the practices of the Spartiates I no longer wondered. Further, as to Lycurgus, the one who laid down for them the laws, obedience to which brought them eudaimonia, this man I both wonder at and regard as wise in the extreme. For he, not by imitating other poleis, but actually by determining things opposite to most of them, put his native land on show as pre-eminent in eudaimonia.

It has long been noted that this terminology echoes that found at the opening of some of Xenophon’s other works, among which the closest parallel can be found in the Cyropaedia.2 There Xenophon also begins by The abruptness of the opening ἀλλά has long been noted. Dillery 2016: 201 and 2018: 89 follow Lipka 2002: 97–8 on 1.1[1] in the belief that Xenophon’s opening is deliberate and suggests its effect is one of spontaneity. 2 See, e.g., Breitenbach 1967: 1747; Tatum 1989: 51, concentrating on the notion of ‘reflecting’; Gera 1993: 11 n. 42; Mueller-Goldingen 1995: 46 n. 5; Tuplin 1996: 99; Lipka 2002: 98–9 on 1.1[2]; 1

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considering a number of paradoxes: (1) the thought once came to him (ἔννοιά ποθ᾽ ἡμῖν ἐγένετο, 1.1.1) how often regimes like democracies, monarchies, oligarchies and tyrannies had been overthrown (1.1.1); (2) he considered (ἐδοκοῦμεν) the fact that no matter how many servants a man had privately he still had difficulty controlling them (1.1.1); and (3) he reflected (ἐνενοοῦμεν) that animals obey their human rulers whereas men conspire to overthrow theirs (1.1.2). As a result of all this reflection he concluded that man was the most difficult creature to rule. This led him to reflect further upon (ἐνενοήσαμεν) Cyrus and the fact that he did seem to manage to rule successfully a diverse range of mankind (1.1.3–5), which in turn leads eventually to the comment that Cyrus is ‘worthy to be wondered at’ (ἄξιον ὄντα θαυμάζεσθαι, 1.1.6). Interpretation in both cases has hinged on the sense of θαυμάζω. More often than not Xenophon’s wondering has been equated to praising,3 an interpretation which fits the prevalent view of both works. Yet while it is certainly true that θαυμάζω in some contexts carries with it connotations of praise,4 praise is not inherent to its meaning.5 Indeed, wondering about something paradoxical, as Xenophon is doing in both these works, was a common rhetorical technique in all types of oratory. Its use effectively engages the audience directly, by immediately compelling them to consider whether or not they too have wondered about this same phenomenon. It may have been a favourite technique of Protagoras, if Plato has indeed reconstructed Protagoras’ style accurately in the Protagoras;6 Lysias uses it as part of his rhetorical arsenal;7 and Isocrates, too, employs it to good effect, most strikingly at the beginning of his Panegyricus (4.1): ‘I have often wondered’ (πολλάκις ἐθαύμασα)8 – here the wonderment is at the fact that those who convene Azoulay 2007: 436; Gray 2011a: 246–63; Dillery 2016: 201 and 2018: 87–92. Strauss 1939: 522 n. 1; Gigon 1953: 3 and Dorion and Bandini 2000: 2, n.1 compare the opening of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia with the Memorabilia but not the Cyropaedia. Luccioni 1947: 72–3 n. 14 notes the parallel between Oec. 2.17–18 and the openings of the Cyropaedia, Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, and Memorabilia. 3 E.g., Gray 2007: 146 and 2011: 248. 4 E.g., see LSJ θαυμάζω 2b: ‘honour, admire, worship’. 5 As Tuplin 1996: 98–9 astutely points out: ‘θαῦμα need not imply unqualified ἔπαινος ... I am not claiming that Xenophon does not regard much of Cyrus’ record as praiseworthy and deserving of direct emulation. I am claiming that he has devised a literary format which does not preclude critical reading of the “facts”.’ 6 See Bodin 1975: 68–75 on Pl. Prt. 324e–328c. 7 Both at the beginning of his speeches, e.g., Lysias 22.1 ‘many ... wondering’ (πολλοί ... θαυμάζοντες) and 25.1 ‘... I wonder at the prosecutors’ (... τῶν δὲ κατηγόρων θαυμάζω); and also throughout other speeches, e.g., 12.41 ‘So often I wondered’ (πολλάκις οὖν ἐθαύμασα). 8 Usher 1990: 149 has a useful note, remarking on the similarity to the opening of Xenophon’s Memorabilia and to the openings of other works of Isocrates (see next note).

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festivals reward physical prowess but do not equally reward those who work for the public good.9 Indeed Xenophon starts off his Memorabilia with exactly the same two words introducing a paradoxical statement: ‘I have often wondered’ (πολλάκις ἐθαύμασα); in this case the source of wonder is how the arguments drawn up against Socrates could have persuaded the demos to indict him (Mem. 1.1.1).10 But even more importantly θαυμάζω, as noted in Chapter 1.5, is also a concept associated with philosophical enquiry.11 Both Xenophon and Plato have Socrates use the term to introduce or redirect a line of thought or argumentation, or to present something paradoxical.12 Such opening rhetoric, therefore, signals first and foremost that Xenophon is embarking on a philosophical investigation, enquiring into a topic which roused his curiosity, i.e. the practices of thinly populated Sparta which caused it to become so renowned and powerful. Further, it seems certain that Xenophon is using, as a type of generic exoskeleton, contemporary politeia literature,13 literature which examined the ‘system of laws and practices in the civic community that constructs, educates and constrains a person’s condition of citizenship’,14 and that he has creatively shaped what appears to have been a more descriptive genre Cf. Areopagiticus 7.1: ‘I think that many of you are wondering (πολλοὺς ὑμῶν οἶμαι θαυμάζειν) why I am here to speak of public safety when Athens is powerful and secure’; Archidamus 6.1: ‘perhaps some of you are wondering (ἴσως τινὲς ὑμῶν θαυμάζουσιν) why I, who adhere completely to our ancestral ways, now, contrarily, come forward as a youth to advise elders’. The practice is not confined to the beginning of his speeches either, but as in those of Lysias, it can frequently be found throughout: e.g., Panegyricus 4.170; Archidamus 6.5, 93; De pace 8.12, 33, etc. 10 The Poroi also opens with a paradoxical notion but without the use of θαυμάζω: Xenophon notes the paradox (i.e. that leading men in Athens understand justice but say they are forced into injustice to feed their polis) and as a result he says: ‘I set myself to examining’ (ἐπεχείρησα σκοπεῖν, 1.1) and ‘as I examined the things which I had reflected upon’ (σκοποῦντι δή μοι ἃ ἐπενόησα, 1.2). 11 E.g., Lipka 2002: 98 on 1.1[2] and Gray 2007: 147 both make the observation, but they do not then consider the implications of this observation for what Xenophon is trying to do. Certainly the concept of wondering has a broad array of uses (see Chapter 1.5 n. 91), but I think there are enough pointers of various kinds to allow the argument that Xenophon is using it to embark upon philosophical enquiry. Mársico, Illarraga and Marzocca 2017: 113 n. 1 also, e.g., note the rhetorical allegiance here to the Socratic approach to enquiry. Dillery 2018: 93 (without knowledge of Humble 2014) briefly considers that the concept of ‘wondering’ might be characteristic of Platonic and/or Socratic thought. He does not, however, draw on any of the passages cited in Chapter 1.5 and in the end argues for Homeric and Pindaric models. Harman 2009: 368–9 reads θαυμάζω in yet another way, as connected to θεάομαι, and as such inviting the reader to a visual investigation, as opposed to a philosophical investigation. 12 Examples in Plato: Phd. 62a; Chrm. 164a; Euthd. 273d; Grg. 456a; R. 1.348e, 9.584e–5a. Examples in Xenophon: Ap. 11, 21; Mem. 2.3.2, 3.7.8, 4.2.6; Oec. 2.17–18 (quoted in Chapter 1.5). Lipka 2002: 98–9 on 1.1[2] lists some other uses of θαυμάζω to introduce new topics in the Memorabilia, though he does not distinguish between when Xenophon as narrator uses it (e.g., 1.1.20, 1.2.1) and when he has his Socrates (e.g., 2.3.2) or some other character use it (e.g., 3.5.19). 13 For a comprehensive survey of the use of the term politeia and politeia literature, see Bordes 1982. 14 As Harte and Lane 2013b: 1 succinctly define it. See also Cartledge 2009: 21.  9

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into philosophical enquiry.15 For this to be effective his audience would, of course, have had to understand the novelty of what he was doing, and there are enough indicators for us still to see this both in the text (by means of his language and content choices) and outside the text.16 The most important external texts in the tradition of politeia literature for comparative purposes in this regard are, first, the fragmentary remains of Critias’ late fifth-century Lacedaimoniôn Politeia and Thessalôn Politeia,17 and pseudo-Xenophon’s Athênaiôn Politeia.18 Common generic elements are the use of the first person and a singling out of legislation peculiar to the polis being discussed (both of which elements are here in the opening paragraph), as well as the employment of imaginary interlocutors (either questions addressed to them or imagined questions from them) and programmatic summaries (both of which elements occur elsewhere in the work).19 The overlay of philosophical enquiry, however, means that the use of the dialogic conceit of the imaginary interlocutor is quite different in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, as I will show. The other equally, if not more, important point of comparison is Plato’s Republic, which is also a hybrid work of philosophy and politeia literature, and though even more radical in its genre-bending and more complex in its scope, nonetheless bears some significant similarities to Xenophon’s treatise in terms of analysis of Sparta (which I will consider 15

Gray 2007: 39 argues, by contrast, that Xenophon’s originality lies ‘in explaining Spartan success as the single-minded and coherent purpose of the law-giver, and in contrasting his customs so uniformly with those of the other Greeks’, but the latter point in particular is common as a feature of other politeia literature, thus helping to define the parameters of the type of writing Xenophon is situating his work within. So, for example, in ps.-Xen. Ath. can be found comparison with other Greeks (1.1, 2.8), with other Greeks and non-Greeks (2.11), and with Sparta (1.11); and likewise, in Critias’ Lacedaimoniôn Politeia D-K 88(81) B33 (= Athenaeus 11.463e), where Spartan drinking practices are compared with Chian, Thasian, Thessalian and Athenian practices. 16 For more expansive arguments on this point, see Humble 2014. There are more points of contact with the few examples we have of politeia literature than there are with examples of encomia, defences or apologies. 17 See Diels and Kranz 1952: 371–99 #88(81) for Critias’ fragments: on Sparta B6-9 (poetic) and B32– 37 (prose), and note that Athenaeus (11.463e and 483b) specifically refers to them as Λακεδαιμονίων πολιτεῖαι; on Thessaly B31; and on an unknown polis B38. For other fragmentary evidence, see Treu 1966: 1935–47. 18 Extended treatments of pseudo-Xenophon Athênaiôn Politeia include Treu 1966 and Marr and Rhodes 2008; the latter (pp. 5–7) summarise the numerous attempts to pinpoint date of composition (suggestions range from the 440s to post-400 BCE), to which add now Coşkun 2012: 58–61, who argues for c. 446–443. It is clear from the remains of the Aristotelian Athenian Constitution that the style and content of politeia literature had evolved over the course of the fourth century: the dialogic nature of the late fifth-, early fourth-century examples is no longer evident in the later works; the perspective in the later works, too, is more historical and developmental (see Bordes 1982: 441–2 and Rhodes 1993: 5–7), and individuals are readily named in the later but not the earlier examples of the genre. 19 See Marr and Rhodes 2008: 9–10 for a summary.

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in Chapter 7.1.3) and in general points of thematic emphasis.20 On the general level, most important, as Malcolm Schofield has elucidated, is their common understanding of politeia as ‘the condition of being a citizen’, rather than an analysis of offices of rule or constitutional development, and the importance of ‘education, upbringing, rules governing marriage, the role of women in society’ (cf. Pl. R. 4.423e–4b with X. Lac. 1–4).21 I would depart, however, from Schofield’s conclusion that politeia literature was a ‘politically partisan activity particularly – perhaps exclusively – favoured by aristocratic admirers of Sparta’.22 Extant fragments show this is probably not the case. Perhaps more to the point is that using Sparta as a focus of analysis in politeia literature is notable among the Socratics:23 Plato, Xenophon and Critias (who likewise as far as we can tell from the fragments started with similar topics to those listed above) all do this,24 though, as I will show, Plato and Xenophon differ significantly in their approach from Critias.25 Neither of these two broad generic affiliations precludes the work also being one of praise, defence or satire, but neither does either demand such ancillary aims. Indeed, we can say with some degree of certainty that with politeia literature the opinion the author held of the legislation Republic is the customary English rendering of Πολιτεία when it comes to the title of Plato’s work, whereas Constitution has been the term of choice when translating Πολιτεία in the title of Xenophon’s work: e.g., Lipka 2002 calls Xenophon’s treatise Spartan Constitution and Jackson 2006 The Constitution of the Lacedaemonians (and compare also Colas 1996, who refers to it as Constitution de Sparte, Casevitz 2008 as Constitution des Lacédémoniens, and Mársico, Illarraga, and Marzocca 2017 as Constitución de los Lacedemonios). In neither case are the translations entirely adequate and they certainly also disguise the connections between the works. The term ‘constitution’ brings up images of rules and offices of governance and so is certainly not an adequate blanket term for the content of Xenophon’s treatise as some have noted (hence Moore 1983: 67 suggests The Politeia of the Spartans, Talbert 2005: 164 Spartan Society and McBrayer 2018a: 3–4 Regime of the Lacedaemonians). Further, it leads to reader expectations which are not fulfilled, which in turn leads to criticism of the work as inadequate. Interestingly, Schofield 2006: 31 notes that modern notions of ‘constitution’ have also resulted in unfavourable comparative readings of Plato’s Republic. I have, therefore, chosen to transliterate the title of Xenophon’s work (as it has been transmitted to us) rather than translate it, in order to try to limit modern prejudices intervening in interpretation. 21 Schofield 2006: 31–2. 22 Ibid.: 37–8. 23 Assessing whether this suggestion will hold will require a thorough examination of the fragments of the Socratics. For some very preliminary thoughts, see Humble 2021. 24 Tsouna 2015 convincingly argues for a broader definition of ‘Socratic’ than that preserved in the doxographic record, and that, therefore, we should regard Critias as a Socratic. 25 Tober 2010 argues that the writing of politeiai was a Spartan practice (engaged in, e.g., purportedly, by Thibron, Pausanias, Lysander) and favoured over the writing of local (annalistic) histories of the sort produced in Athens both because of the particular way Sparta’s political system developed and because of her stability. The argument is intriguing, though we know almost nothing of the content of these works. It would be interesting to know how Tober views these works as fitting into politeia literature as illuminated in Bordes 1982. 20

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being presented was very much a matter of individual preference: pseudo-Xenophon explicitly points out that he is not praising the Athenian democracy (Ath. 1.1, 3.1), whereas the main fragments of Critias on Sparta seems to point towards the conclusion that Critias was very much praising the Spartan politeia, which fits with Xenophon’s portrayal of him in the Hellenica. There, Xenophon has Critias remark, during the trial of Theramenes, that the Spartan politeia is the ‘finest’ (καλλίστη, HG 2.3.34).26 Critias is, in fact, consistently portrayed in a negative fashion in Xenophon’s works: the majority of Xenophon’s reportage of the rule of the Thirty centres around Critias’ increasingly antagonistic relationship with Theramenes, which ends in the more moderate Theramenes’ death,27 and in the Memorabilia Xenophon defends Socrates vigorously against the charge of being responsible for the actions of Critias, who caused Athens so many ills and who ‘of all those in the oligarchy was the most greedy, the most violent and the most murderous’ (τῶν ἐν τῇ ὀλιγαρχίᾳ πάντων πλεονεκτίστατός28 τε καὶ βιαιότατος καὶ φονικώτατος ἐγένετο, Mem. 1.2.12).29 The consistency of this negative portrait does not always feature as heavily as it should in discussions about the relationship between the writings of Critias and Xenophon,30 partly because of the 26

The words are meant to fit the speaker (Critias) not the author (Xenophon); see Hodkinson 2005: 275 n. 7. 27 The reign of the Thirty is presented at HG 2.3.11–4.1. Critias dominates the discussion (2.3.15–54); he is later mentioned as departing from Athens for Eleusis at 2.4.8–9 and dying in the battle of Munichia at 2.4.19. On Xenophon’s treatment, see Tuplin 1993: 43–5, and also Pownall 2012: 2–9 who brings out well how damning Xenophon’s presentation of Critias’ role is. 28 κλεπτίστατός (‘most thieving’) replaces πλεονεκτίστατός in some manuscripts (see Dorion and Bandini 2000: 11r). It is probably a coincidence but it is interesting nonetheless that this very ‘Spartan’ quality has crept into some texts. 29 It is hard to see how this description is not on a par with, indeed is not a perfect summary of, the portrayal of Critias in the Hellenica (contra Danzig 2014: 514). See also Mem. 1.2.16 and 1.2.29–39. Dorion and Bandini 2000: 86 note only that Socrates’ relationship with Critias is not mentioned in the Hellenica. 30 Conversely there is a stream of scholarship which argues that Xenophon’s negative portrait of Critias is exaggerated as opposed to Plato’s much milder portrait and is, therefore, to be regarded with caution, e.g., see Tuozzo 2011 and Danzig 2014 for recent manifestations of this. Here is not the place to unpick the complex argumentation, but a few brief points are in order. (1) It relies on understanding that Xenophon is exaggerating Critias’ role in the atrocities of the Thirty, for which he is a key source, and correspondingly, on understanding that Plato does not present Critias so badly. The latter point, however, does not give adequate consideration to the fact that Plato does not portray Critias while he is one of the Thirty, or to the dramatic date of the Charmides (c. 429 BCE, long before the excesses of the Thirty). (2) It downplays the fact that Xenophon says that Critias was prudent so long as he was with Socrates (Mem. 1.2.18–24) and how this description fits remarkably well with Plato’s portrayal of Critias’ character in the Charmides. (3) It further downplays the fact that Xenophon is addressing an ‘accuser’ in the opening section of the Memorabilia and, while of course this may be a literary construct, it may also be the case that Xenophon is addressing now lost contemporary evidence of hostility towards Socrates because of Critias and Alcibiades, and so is not alone in presenting Critias in so negative a way (as this line of

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persistence in taking as a starting point the notion that both men are confirmed laconophiles. Lipka, for example, follows this line. He allows Xenophon originality in the sense that, though he might have been inspired to write such a work because of Critias’ writings, he took a different path, supplementing rather than imitating Critias, whose focus appears more on aspects of daily life than education or military organisation;31 and he argues further that ‘no literal or direct thematic adaptations of the two Critian constitutions are traceable’.32 I will argue for the opposite of both these points below: that Xenophon is not a confirmed laconophile and that he does indeed engage with Critias’ text, not on a satirical level as the Straussian view suggests but on a critical level. One further point about the opening paragraph is worth highlighting. While Xenophon does not elaborate on what Sparta’s power and renown consist of, it is easy to see two of the main points in the opening paragraph: (1) the Spartans’ position in the Greek world as prostatês (which dates back at least to the late sixth century),33 and (2) their obedience to the laws (evident even earlier in the poetry of Tyrtaeus). Concerning the other two main points which seemed to turn up repeatedly with respect to Sparta’s renown before Xenophon – fighting to the death and eunomia –, Xenophon will go on to talk about what compels Spartans to fight to the death (Lac. 9), yet he nowhere in the treatise makes use of the term eunomia. 34 Eunomia certainly encompasses obedience to the laws, but argumentation insists). Complicating the issue, too, is whether or not we are to regard the character in the Timaeus-Critias as Critias (IV), the tyrant, or his grandfather (Critias III). On the grounds that the description of Athens in the mouth of the character Critias (Critias 110c–112d) sounds remarkably like Sparta, it has been argued that we are to see here Critias (IV), the tyrant (e.g., C. Gill 1977: 294–5; Danzig 2014: 509 n. 10 and M. L. Gill 2016: 37–8). By contrast, e.g., Nails 2002: 106–8 and Schofield 2006: 48 n. 62 argue that the character is Critias (III), the tyrant’s grandfather, on the grounds that he speaks of his grandfather (Critias II) as having told him Solon’s Atlantis story (Ti. 21a–b), a passage which is incompatible with an identification of the character as Critias (IV). 31 It is remarkable how often it is assumed that Critias dealt only with social issues because the extant fragments only deal with such issues (e.g., Ostwald 1986: 464), as if the fragments do not in large measure reflect ‘the interests of their excerptors’ (as Pownall 2012: 10 points out). 32 Lipka 2002: 19–20. Gray 2007: 39 n. 2 notes that Tigerstedt rejects the idea that Xenophon borrowed from Critias but she does not seem to take a stand on this issue. On the other hand, d’Alessandro 2009: x–xi argues that Xenophon’s negative opinion of Critias in the Hellenica does not preclude him from using his treatise on Sparta, which he must have seen, both being part of the Socratic circle, but that Xenophon’s later experience with the Spartans gave him fresh material anyway. 33 Cartledge 2002a: 124; Raaflaub 2004: 169. 34 The term, in fact, occurs only twice in his works. At HG 4.4.6 it is presented as an aspiration of the Corinthian exiles in contrast to the brutal tyranny in power in their polis. At Oec. 9.14 Critoboulos defines a polis with eunomia as having good laws and guardians who praise those who uphold the laws and punish those who break them.

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obedience to the laws does not necessarily mean eunomia in the sense of good laws. Hence, because Xenophon speaks of Lycurgus as an extremely wise lawgiver, it is notable that he does not employ the term eunomia. In the Memorabilia, too, in a conversation between Socrates and Hippias, the focus is the same, i.e. on obedience to the laws, not eunomia.35 This avoidance of a term which has been so purposefully used about Sparta by his predecessors and his contemporaries is surely deliberate and should surprise those who view the work as one of praise, given its centrality to Sparta’s renown at the time of composition of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia.36 Xenophon is, however, careful to emphasise that obedience to Lycurgus’ laws did bring eudaimonia. It is worth exploring briefly what Xenophon might mean by this term, particularly because the notion that the Spartans had eudaimonia can be found in both Herodotus and Thucydides as well. Herodotus supposes that at Thermopylae Leonidas must have thought that ‘if he remained he would gain great glory and Sparta’s eudaimonia would not be eclipsed’ (μένοντι δὲ αὐτοῦ κλέος μέγα ἐλείπετο, καὶ ἡ Σπάρτης εὐδαιμονίη οὐκ ἐξηλείφετο, Hdt. 7.220.2). Thucydides, in one of his few authorial statements,37 remarks ‘of all those I have taken note of, the Chians alone after the Spartans possessed both eudaimonia and sôphrosynê’ (ηὐδαιμόνησάν τε ἅμα καὶ ἐσωφρόνησαν, Th. 8.24.4).38 Eudaimonia is a somewhat slippery term.39 Its meaning appears to be intimately bound up with context and, while Aristotle will later remark that it means different things to different people,40 in general it seems to have something to do with both ‘overall success and prosperity and achievement, though it also connotes something that we may call

35

Mem. 4.4.15: ‘“As to Lycurgus the Lacedaemonian, however,” said Socrates, “have you not learned that he would not have brought it about that Sparta was different from the other poleis, if he had not most fully inured in it obedience to the laws?”’ (Λυκοῦργον δὲ τὸν Λακεδαιμόνιον, ἔφη ὁ Σωκράτης, καταμεμάθηκας ὅτι οὐδὲν ἂν διάφορον τῶν ἄλλων πόλεων τὴν Σπάρτην ἐποίησεν, εἰ μὴ τὸ πείθεσθαι τοῖς νόμοις μάλιστα ἐνειργάσατο αὐτῇ;) 36 This is not recognised by Moore 1983: 119, 121, who regards Xenophon as admiring Sparta’s eunomia. By contrast, it is notable that Plutarch does not eschew the term (e.g., Lyc. 5.3). 37 See Hornblower 1987: 162 and Wilson 1990: 56–7. 38 For Thucydides and Spartan sôphrosynê, see Wilson 1990 and Humble 2002b: 86–7. Further, this statement of Thucydides complicates somewhat the suggestion by Ducat (2014: 103) that Lac. 1.1– 2, with the concurrence of great power, great renown and prosperity, can only refer to the period following the victory in the Peloponnesian War. 39 On this, see Bostock 2000: 11 and, in more detail, McDowell 1980. 40 See Arist. EN 1095a15–30; and on this passage and its wider context also Annas 1993: 43–6 and Bostock 2000: 11–15.

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happiness’,41 however any of these concepts is then further defined. ‘Happiness’ is a fairly standard translation of the term when individuals are being spoken of,42 but ‘prosperity’ or ‘success’ is more likely to be the choice if a polis or collective group is said to possess eudaimonia.43 This practice is roughly followed by translators of Lac. 1.2,44 and later on in the treatise, when Xenophon notes that Lycurgus ensured eudaimonia for brave men and kakodaimonia for cowards (Lac. 9.3), ‘happiness’ and an appropriate antonym are the terms of choice.45 Lipka suggests that the word is not of fixed meaning in Xenophon’s corpus, and that for Xenophon the term in general ‘denotes a “good” state of things’ and that this state is assessed in different ways according to whom it is being used of or by – all of which is reasonable.46 Lipka then, however, argues for a strong connection between what he reads as Socrates’ definition of happiness as essentially self-restraint (Mem. 1.6.1– 10), and how the Spartan system is presented in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, where encouragement of self-restraint, as will be seen, looms large. But Lipka here ignores his own sound advice to observe context closely. The context in the Memorabilia is the first of three reported conversations with Antiphon (1.6.1–15), which are intended to be read 41

This is the general definition that Bostock 2000: 11 comes up with. Particularly among philosophers (e.g., Annas 1993; both the Loeb and Penguin translations of Arist. EN use ‘happiness’, though one of the revisers of the Penguin text does make a general note to the effect that ‘happiness’ does not quite encompass the full meaning of eudaimonia, p. xxvii; Bostock 2000: 11 concurs). 43 So, e.g., eudaimonia is translated as ‘prosperity’ at Hdt. 7.220 in Marincola 2003, and at Th. 8.24.4 in Warner 1954. 44 Marchant 1968: 137: ‘prosperity ... pre-eminently prosperous’; Moore 1983: 75: ‘flourished ...with outstandingly successful results’; Talbert 2005: 166: ‘achieved success ... outstandingly fortunate’; Lipka 2002: 65: ‘outstandingly successful ... exceedingly prosperous’. Gray 2007: 1 n. 2 notes that she will view the term as meaning ‘success’ when used of a polis. Colas 1996: 57 (= Ollier) ‘le bonheur ... supérieurement heureuse’. Casevitz 2008: 7: ‘prospérité ... avant-postes de la prospérité’. D’Alessandro 2009: 3: ‘florida condizione ... superiore a tutte in felicità’. Mársico, Illarraga and Marzocca 2017: 113: ‘prosperar … el primer lugar de prosperidad’. Kuiper and Collins 2018: 107 are alone in preferring ‘they were happy … outstanding in happiness’. Gray 2013, surprisingly, does not consider the use of the concept in this treatise. 45 E.g., Marchant 1968: 165 and Lipka 2002: 83 both choose here ‘happiness’ and ‘misery’. Talbert 2005: 176: ‘prosperity ... adversity’. Colas 1996: 71 (= Ollier): ‘le bonheur ... l’infortune’. Casevitz 2008: 23: ‘un sort bienheureux ... un sort malheureux’. D’Alessandro 2009: 24–5: ‘vita felice ... un’ esistenza sciagurata’. Mársico, Illarraga and Marzocca 2017: 131: ‘la felicidad … la desgracia’. Kuiper and Collins 2018: 117: ‘happiness … unhappiness’. 46 Lipka 2002: 18 thus gives a rather Aristotelian definition though without referring here to Aristotle. By contrast, Dorion 2013b: 154 suggests that in Xenophon eudaimonia more specifically means ‘material prosperity’ and this is often accepted as a sufficient explanation of the term when group eudaimonia is being discussed (see, e.g., Chernyakhovskaya 2018: 318). This more restricted definition, however, is at odds with the aims of Lycurgus presented in Xenophon’s work as the forthcoming analysis will show. 42

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together, each feeding into the next.47 While Socrates does argue here for the benefits of self-restraint, he is doing so in direct response to Antiphon’s lack of belief that he can possibly be happy because he is so poor. The argument is tailored to the interlocutor’s comments and Xenophon does not present Socrates actually defining eudaimonia himself in this passage: he only attributes a definition of it as ‘luxury and extravagance’ to Antiphon (1.6.10). Though it is highly likely that selfrestraint is part of, or at least a prerequisite for, Socratic eudaimonia,48 Lipka reads more into the passage than is there because he is working from the viewpoint that Xenophon admires the Spartans for many of the same reasons that he admires Socrates.49 That I think this is an optimistic reading of the treatise will be shown below. Nothing in the opening passage of the treatise, however, signals how highly patterned the narrative which follows will be. The overall narrative structure of the work has often been commented upon, primarily though not exclusively with the aim of working out why the strongly critical section 14 is in the penultimate position. As Lipka points out, the macrostructure – prologue (1.1–2), child-production (1.3–10), education (2.1–4.7), way of life (5.1–10.8), the army on active service (11–13), what has changed in the polis (14), what remains the same (15) – is more obvious than the microstructure.50 For a start, however, almost every section is set off by a comparison with other poleis which serves to highlight the differences and peculiarities in the Spartan system. But there are other patterns within the microstructure (i.e. within the discussions of each individual feature of the Spartan system), such as the shape the arguments take, the way the imaginary interlocutor is used, and the repetition of thematic words and ideas. These patterns have not tended to attract as much attention because the starting point for analysis has been the dual assumptions that Xenophon is only of average intelligence and is 47

See O’Connor 1994: 171–7; Blanchard 1994: 684–5; and Gray 1998: 125–7. On whether or not Socrates’ ethics were eudaimonistic, see briefly Wolfsdorf 2017: 37–8. See Lipka 2002: 18–19. In the same vein but coming to the opposite conclusion, Richer 2001: 22–6 links Xenophon’s understanding of Spartan eudaimonia to another passage in the Memorabilia (4.2.34). Here Euthydemus is made by Socrates to admit that he thinks that beauty, strength, wealth and reputation are key components of eudaimonia. Socrates dispels Euthydemus’ notions, but Richer argues that Xenophon took this ‘common’ definition of the term and used it as a structuring principle of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia also because it mirrors themes in Tyrtaeus F 12 (Gerber). The parallels are loose at best, but more troublesome is that no explanation is given either as to why Xenophon would not follow Socrates in rejecting a ‘common’ (mis)understanding of eudaimonia, particularly in light of Richer’s reading of the treatise as a work of praise, or why we should even be taking this passage so literally, since the discussion with Euthydemus, as Dorion in Dorion and Bandini 2011b: 104 points out, is aporetic anyway. 50 Lipka 2002: 44–6, with a useful table summarising the topics covered. 48

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unconditionally praising Spartan ways, to the point that at the extreme end of the spectrum there are those who feel he has put his points together in an extremely sloppy and careless manner. 51 Yet it can be argued that the care Xenophon took in crafting his discussion of the practices unique to Sparta which led to their power and renown shows precisely the opposite: a sophisticated intelligence and limited admiration for Sparta.

3.2  Lac. 1.3–10: Begetting of Children ‘To begin right at the beginning’ (1.3), Xenophon starts off his analysis proper with a discussion on the begetting of children (περὶ τεκνοποιίας). It is only here in the treatise that there is any treatment of Spartan women. In other poleis, Xenophon says, mothers-to-be are fed plainly with little fancy food and if they are allowed wine it is to be diluted. They lead sedentary lives, attending only to wool-working. A question follows (1.3): ‘But how, therefore, should one expect those who are being so reared to bear anything great?’ This is the first of a number of instances in which Xenophon engages an imaginary audience, thus drawing his reader into the discussion and inviting participation in the thought process, a characteristic device, as noted (p. 86), employed in various ways in politeia literature.52 Sometimes the questions are, as here, addressed to imaginary interlocutors; at other times they are presented as if they came from these imaginary interlocutors. Frequently, as here, Xenophon does not answer the question and when we pause to think about what has been posed, the answer is far from straightforward: for example, this particular question might well elicit the answer ‘well, of course they couldn’t’ from a partisan Spartan audience, but equally might elicit the answer ‘what about the mothers of Socrates, Cyrus, etc.?’ from a different, nonSpartan audience.53 By comparison, it appears also that Critias began his prose Lacedaimoniôn Politeia with Spartan practices concerning procreation and also by posing a question which he promptly answers: ‘I begin then from the birth of a man. How might a body become best and strongest? If the father were to exercise and eat healthily and put his body through hardships, while the mother of the child waiting to be born were to be strong in body and take 51

Talbert 2005: 165 and Lipka 2002: 9 (‘mediocre quality’), 27–32, 53–4. On this type of device in general, see Pelliccia 1992: 65. 53 The issue of the audience for the work is tricky and suggestions rely, of course, on conclusions about the purpose of the work. For some preliminary thoughts, see further Chapter 7. 52

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exercise.’54 What is notably different from Xenophon’s question is that Critias’ is in no way ambiguous and is answered immediately it is posed. Xenophon continues his discussion by reporting what Lycurgus did in contrast to other poleis – a pattern which he will follow throughout the work in line with his initial observation that it was obeying laws opposite to those in other poleis which led the Spartans to have eudaimonia (1.2). Lycurgus is said to have considered slave women (δούλας)55 sufficient to provide for clothing and to have believed childbearing to be the greatest task for free women. And so he made women engage in physical activity and, just as for men, he instituted competitions in running and strength for women,56 believing that if both parents were strong they would produce stronger offspring (1.4).57 As argued in Chapter 2.3, Xenophon here takes up only the points which are significantly different in Sparta: that citizen women do not engage in wool-working and do engage in exercise. A second Lycurgan practice concerning childbearing is, then, contrasted with those of other poleis. Elsewhere women and men have unlimited intercourse. Lycurgus, however, made it shameful for a man to be seen entering and exiting the bedroom of his wife (αἰδεῖσθαι is repeated twice), thinking that restraint in this way would increase desire and, in turn, also produce stronger offspring (1.5). The introduction of the concept of aidôs and the emphatic use of it twice in succession is striking. The concept is complex and often difficult to render exactly in English. As well as ‘shame’ it can include also the ideas of ‘respect’, ‘sense of honour’ and ‘modesty’;58 context helps to determine which force or forces are dominant.59 All forces may be at play here but shame is D-K 88(81) B32 = Clem. Str. 6.9: ἄρχομαι δέ τοι ἀπὸ γενετῆς ἀνθρώπου· πῶς ἂν βέλτιστος τὸ σῶμα γένοιτο καὶ ἰσχυρότατος; εἰ ὁ φυτεύων γυμνάζοιτο καὶ ἐσθίοι ἐρρωμένως καὶ ταλαιπωροίη τὸ σῶμα καὶ ἡ μήτηρ τοῦ παιδίου τοῦ μέλλοντος ἔσεσθαι ἰσχύοι τὸ σῶμα καὶ γυμνάζοιτο. 55 Xenophon eschews the term ‘helot’ in the treatise (cf. also 12.4) though not elsewhere (cf. HG 3.3.6, 7.1.12, 7.2.2). See further Ducat 1990: 54–5, 145–51 and Lipka 2002: 105–6 on 1.4[2]. 56 There is some discussion about whether these contests had ritual significance or not. Cartledge 2001d: 114 suggests that the running races had ritual significance but not the wrestling competitions. Millender 1996: 259–60 also argues along these lines. For an opposite view, see Hodkinson 2000: 228. 57 That exercise improves a woman’s health does not seem to have been an unusual view in the ancient world. For example, at Oec. 10.10–11 Xenophon has Ischomachus recommending exercise to his wife as a means of improving her health and looks. And compare also Plato R. 5.452a–d and Lg. 8.833c–d. The link with producing stronger offspring is the particular point here (see also on this Arist. Pol. 1335b2–20). 58 Cairns 1993: 455 gives these definitions as an aide-mémoire, while at the same time warning that the English may not ‘convey … the essence’ of the use of the term. 59 Here in this passage ‘shame’ is sufficient, but I have frequently, in the translation in the Appendix, used two English terms in tandem – ‘shame and respect’ – to try to capture the complexity of the term. 54

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dominant, though the full significance of Xenophon’s emphasis on aidôs and how exactly he thinks it fits with the whole ethos of the Lycurgan system will become clearer as the work progresses. At this point it is enough to recognise that the emphasis draws attention to the concept. It is also important to note that shame is not attached to the act of sexual intercourse but to being caught engaging in it.60 Xenophon moves on to report that Lycurgus ‘stopped men taking a wife whenever they individually wished to and ordered them to marry at their physical peak’, again for the health of the offspring (1.6). However, in case an old man had a young wife Lycurgus allowed the old man to bring in a man in the prime of life to impregnate his wife, or if a man did not want to marry a woman but still wanted children, he allowed him to mate with a woman of his choice, if her husband consented (1.7–8). These arrangements, along with ‘many such’ others, he then reports, were agreeable to women because they could then possess two households, and agreeable to men because there then would be brothers for their sons who would share in the family influence but not in its wealth (1.9). The implications brought out by the narrative structure here tend to be overlooked. The initial practice of requiring men to marry in the prime of life apparently was not fully enforceable because two further measures, and indeed many other unspecified measures, are instituted to account for situations outside the desired norm. It could apparently happen that old men had young wives,61 or men might not want to marry (or be widowers)62 but want children. And then, as if answering the question ‘who would agree to legislated adultery?’,63 Xenophon gives reasons why women and men assented to these practices, reasons which are concerned wholly with wealth and prestige, not with the previously stated aim for all these measures, that of producing stronger offspring. As Higgins notes, ‘Xenophon implies that no matter what the law said was best, complete obedience could not be obtained and that Lycurgus responded to this fact, not by changing the first law, but by creating a new one to cover a deviant situation’.64 Lycurgus, therefore, could only ensure that his subsidiary legislation for ensuring the birth of stronger offspring was 60

Cf. a similar distinction made in Plato Lg. 8.841a–b though, contrary to Xenophon, Plato suggests that desire will thus be decreased (optimistically, as Guthrie 1962–81: 5.355 notes). Cf. also Cairns 1993: 376 n. 98. 61 Cartledge 2001d: 124 n. 116: ‘the simplest explanation of such marriages is that the man is remarrying on the death (frequently perhaps in childbed…) of his first wife’. 62 Cartledge 2001d: 124 suggests that these men are more likely to be widowers than bachelors. 63 On adultery laws in Athens, see Carey 1995. 64 Higgins 1977: 67.

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observed by catering to real and immovable objections Spartans had to issues of wealth and prestige. Indeed, Hodkinson has persuasively argued that these marital practices should be interpreted as a means to reduce the division of estates into non-viable portions. Thus the Spartans accepted these arrangements because they did not materially impact upon each family’s wealth, yet, at the same time had the potential to increase a family’s prestige.65 Some modern scholars tend, too, to talk generally about this legislation as being introduced as a way of promoting a faster rate of reproduction and thus attempting to stem the drop in number of citizens.66 This is not implausible,67 and though not explicitly noted here by Xenophon is possibly a point he is making implicitly, since he himself states at the beginning of the treatise that part of the paradox under investigation is how such a thinly populated polis attained such power and renown. One of the ways they managed this was by putting in place legislation which aimed at producing stronger, and more, offspring without compromising concerns about wealth distribution.68 Given his acknowledgement of this state of affairs in his opening sentence, it is not unreasonable to assume that he means his reader to consider the implications of such legislation here for this particular problem, particularly in view also of his comments later where want of money is said to be no barrier towards attaining full citizenship (Lac. 10.7). To draw us away from contemplation of these wider matters, and back to the prime subject of this section, Xenophon returns to the issue of strong offspring to conclude his discussion on child production (περὶ τεκνοποιίας is repeated at 1.3 and 1.10 to ring the section). He reiterates that these practices are opposite from those in other poleis, and then explicitly invites reader participation again: ‘whether by determining things in so opposite a manner to the others, he produced in Sparta men superior in any way both in size and strength, let anyone who wishes consider for himself ’ (1.10). This is a slightly odd way to end the section if Xenophon’s sole intent is, as is generally thought, partisan praise of Spartan ways. It is usually understood to mean that those addressed are meant to answer that ‘of course, clearly the Spartans were bigger and 65

Hodkinson 2000: 81–2. E.g., Cartledge 2001d: 124–5 and MacDowell 1986: 85. 67 Though Millender 1999: 365–6 advises caution against assuming it was practice in the fifth century BCE. 68 If that was the original prime aim of the legislation, it is unlikely to be Lycurgan in origin, at least in terms of the time period in which Xenophon places Lycurgus. But, as argued in Chapter 2.2.2, this is, I think, to take too literally Xenophon’s trope of employing Lycurgus as the site of all Sparta’s peculiar legislation. 66

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stronger’,69 and, therefore, Xenophon viewed as naïve, on the grounds that it is obviously rigorous physical exercise which makes the Spartans bigger and stronger, not their reproductive strategies.70 If, however, Xenophon is, as argued (p. 93), seriously inquiring into the issue of Spartan power and not just engaging in partisan rhetoric, it will not have escaped his notice that consideration of this point does not necessarily confirm the partisan view. He will know that while it might well be that the diet and exercise of women, limited intercourse, and marrying at the prime of life had an effect on the health of the offspring, other factors, such as the physical regime in place for Spartan men, undoubtedly played a role particularly where strength was concerned. Further, as with the earlier question about women, there must certainly have been some nonSpartans who were their equals in fitness and strength. Thus, agreement is possible but only in a qualified way and he cannot have expected his careful reader not to see this. With this first topic of discussion, therefore, in accordance with the stated purpose of the enquiry, Xenophon has begun to set forth Lycurgan practices which are opposed to those in other poleis and which, in his view, helped to make the thinly populated polis of Sparta very powerful and renowned, and obeying which gave the Spartans eudaimonia. These practices so far amount to the freeing of women from domestic tasks such as wool-working in order that they might engage in physical exercise, restrictions on intercourse between young married couples, and allowing for extramarital intercourse between citizens in their prime, all for the purpose of producing stronger, healthier children. There is nothing on the surface which is particularly controversial and with which it would be hard to disagree, yet while the aim of the practices is positive, the way in which they have been presented is slightly unsettling. The explicit invitations to the reader (at 1.3 and 1.10) to think about the practices certainly do not lead to wholehearted reaffirmation of the points to hand and are meant, I would suggest, to put us on our guard and alert us to think about and question what is being said, both when attention is explicitly drawn to it and when it is not. If Xenophon’s aim had been to praise the Spartan way of life, he would have been well advised to have left such statements out. Also the presentation of an extremely wise Lycurgus having to create subsidiary measures to counteract an initial, too idealistic measure is, at best, slightly peculiar. Further, while it is not 69

E.g., Gray 2007: 152 on 1.10. Moore 1983: 98.

70

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obvious at this stage, two other issues raised in this opening section, the instilling of aidôs and the concern about wealth, will turn out to be prominent themes throughout the treatise.

3.3  Lac. 2: Education of Boys The treatise continues chronologically with the education of the male children aged 7–14.71 Xenophon allocates the greatest amount of space in the treatise to this age group and it is the only stage to which he applies the term ‘education’ (τὴν παιδείαν). Elsewhere, fathers leave their sons in the hands of minders (παιδαγωγοί), slaves who guide them to and from their lessons,72 where they learn letters, music and the activities in the wrestling-ground. Elsewhere, too, the boys are kept pampered by being allowed to wear shoes, to have changes of clothing and to eat what they want (2.1). Lycurgus, by contrast, set up a system in which one older male citizen (not a slave) is appointed as the paidonomos,73 rather than each boy having an individual minder. This paidonomos watches over the boys and punishes them severely if any should be found slacking (εἴ τις ῥᾳδιουργοίη).74 He is aided by a group of young men,75 called whipbearers, whose task is also to exact due punishment from the boys whenever necessary. The purpose of this system is to instil much shame and respect (αἰδώς) and much obedience (πειθώ) (2.2). Further, the boys do not wear shoes so as to toughen the feet (2.3), have only one cloak to prepare them to cope better with heat and cold (2.4), and have a restricted diet so that they become used to dealing with hunger and are healthier (2.5). This diet has the added advantage of increasing their height (2.6). Up to this point the pattern of comparison between Sparta and elsewhere mirrors the structure of the previous section. Both sections open with a list of what was carried on outside Sparta and then only half the 71

For arguments against extending this age group to 18/19 as suggested by Tazelaar 1967, see MacDowell 1986: 166 and Kennell 1995: 31–9, 117. Hodkinson 2007: 54–5 notes that Xenophon also provides the only other testimony (HG 5.4.32) for the three age groups here in the treatise. Though he is in neither place explicit about the age range, there is enough oblique evidence to suggest that the ranges used herein are reasonably accurate. 72 For paidagôgoi in Athens, see Lacey 1968: 157; Golden 1990: 147–9; B. Strauss 1993: 92. 73 Retaining the Greek term here is preferable as English translations tend to be inadequate: e.g., ‘supervisor’ (Lipka 2002) is a bit lacking in specificity; ‘trainer-in-chief ’ (Talbert 2005) is somewhat unwieldy. If pressed I might say ‘educational supervisor’, but that too is unwieldy. Lipka 2002: 118 on 2.2[2] notes that the word is first attested here, and so what we know of this office is essentially what Xenophon reports here. Cf. also Plu. Lyc. 17.2. 74 Further, he seems to oversee them until they are 30 years old (Lac. 4.6 and Hodkinson 1983: 242). 75 From those aged 20–30 (Lac. 4); see Hodkinson 1983: 246.

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points are taken up and shown to be contrary in Sparta: education in Sparta is public not private, and opposite practices were followed concerning clothing and diet. Nothing specific is mentioned about an education in letters, music and the activities in the wrestling-ground, just as nothing was mentioned about drink and dietary restrictions for women. Here again the more straightforward reading of the passage is preferable: nothing is mentioned as replacing this type of education because there was no striking contrast between Sparta and other poleis in these matters.76 In Xenophon’s view, therefore, the important points about Spartan education which are both contrary to what is carried out in other poleis and which have some bearing on Sparta’s power and renown are that education is made a public concern, and that Spartan boys endure discomfort in contrast to the pampering accorded boys elsewhere. Nor is there anything particularly controversial to this point. It is clear that educating boys to endure various kinds of physical deprivation would have positive benefits.77 It is equally clear how this would contribute to Sparta’s power and renown. Even the emphasis on punishment as an educational technique at Lac. 2.2 would hardly raise eyebrows on its own since, for example, Athenian boys were not strangers to beatings.78 The discussion, however, then takes a different turn. So that the boys should not be oppressed by hunger, Lycurgus allowed them to steal (2.6). This was not because he lacked the resources to feed them, as everyone knows, but the aim was to develop the following skills: the ability to cope with sleepless nights, to be deceptive, to set up ambushes and make use of spies. All of these skills are intended to make the boys ‘more capable of contriving (μηχανικωτέρους) to get provisions and more warlike (πολεμικωτέρους)’ (2.7).79 76

Contra the Straussian reading noted in Chapter 2.3. Physical self-control or self-restraint (ἐγκράτεια) is only explicitly mentioned once in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia (Lac. 2.14), though a number of Lycurgan practices clearly aim at this. It is frequently presented by Xenophon as a characteristic of Socrates (e.g., Mem. 1.2.4–5, 1.3.5–8, 1.5.1– 6, 1.6.5–8, 2.1.1–34, 3.13.2, 3.14.2–7, 4.5.9–11; Ap. 16). On endurance as a ‘xenophontischen Topos’, see Breitenbach 1950: 60–1. On it as a recurring theme in the Cyropaedia, see Due 1989: 170–80 and Gera 1993: 26, 66–7. Dillery 1995: 134–5 discusses self-control in connection with the Phliasians (HG 7.2.1–25). On enkrateia in Xenophon, see Dorion 2003b, but also the corrective offered in Johnson 2018b (on which, see further also Chapter 5.1 n. 3). 78 Cf. Golden 1990: 64, who cites An. 2.6.12, 5.8.18 and Cyr. 1.3.16–17, 2.2.14. 79 ‘More capable of contriving’ is a bit cumbersome for μηχανικωτέρους, but the root meaning of the word ‘contrivance’ can carry both positive and negative senses, both of which I think are meant to be understood here, and which also need to be kept in mind when cognate forms are used elsewhere in the treatise (particularly at the start of 2.7 and in 8.5; see also 3.2, 9.3, 11.1, 11.3, 13.8) Cf. HG 3.1.8 where Dercylidas is said to consider himself to be very capable of contrivance (μάλα μηχανητικός) and was even called Sisyphus. 77

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Just as the discussion of Spartan regulations about reproduction led to the surprising legislation concerning wife-sharing, the discussion about a meagre diet leads to the surprising remark that the boys were allowed to steal food if they were too hungry, implying that the regular diet, which had just been said to promote better health, is, apparently, insufficient. Marrying at the prime of life, like functioning on a meagre diet, was the desired state of affairs, but the legislation was too stringent or, perhaps, simply too impractical, so other measures were instituted to find a way around it: various forms of adultery on the one hand, encouragement of theft on the other. Xenophon accounts for this practice by supposing that Lycurgus instituted it to make the boys more capable of contriving to get provisions and more warlike. This it may very well do, but to countenance stealing undermines the benefits of the moderate diet since it means that the boys do not have to put up with hunger – unless they are bad thieves – and so do not actually learn how to carry on stoically in the face of hunger, the stated purpose of their meagre diet. Further, all the skills appropriate to war which stealing is said to develop are, elsewhere in Xenophon’s works, best acquired through the practice of hunting.80 Hunting, too, is more appropriate for war since one risks death by hunting badly, whereas the only risk for stealing badly is punishment. The discussion continues to surprise (2.8): εἴποι δ᾽ ἂν οὖν τις, τί δῆτα, εἴπερ τὸ κλέπτειν ἀγαθὸν ἐνόμιζε, πολλὰς πληγὰς ἐπέβαλε τῷ ἁλισκομένῳ; ὅτι, φημὶ ἐγώ, καὶ τἆλλα, ὅσα ἄνθρωποι διδάσκουσι, κολάζουσι τὸν μὴ καλῶς ὑπηρετοῦντα. κἀκεῖνοι οὖν τοὺς ἁλισκομένους ὡς κακῶς κλέπτοντας τιμωροῦνται. Someone, therefore, might say ‘why then, if he really believed that stealing was good, did he lay many blows on the one who was caught?’ Because, I say, as with all the other things which men teach, they punish the one not carrying out his task well. And so those men exact due punishment from the ones who are caught, on the grounds that they are bad thieves.

Punishment it turns out was meted out if the thief was caught, and the punishment was not for stealing but for stealing badly. Xenophon’s 80

See below on Cyr. 1.2.10–11 (with 1.2.6); also Cyr. 8.1.34–6 and particularly Cyn. 12.1–9, which opens by noting that hunting ‘provides health to the body, as well as better vision and hearing; it also slows the ageing process, and as for skills connected with warfare, it gives the best possible training’ (ὑγίειάν τε γὰρ τοῖς σώμασι παρασκευάζει καὶ ὁρᾶν καὶ ἀκούειν μᾶλλον, γηράσκειν δὲ ἧττον, τὰ δὲ πρὸς τὸν πόλεμον μάλιστα παιδεύει, 12.1), and among its benefits it makes men moderate and just because it is training in truth (12.7) and it roots out the shameful and arrogant things in their souls and bodies, implanting a desire for virtue instead (12.9).

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engagement here with an imaginary interlocutor is slightly different from the two previous occurrences, since here he answers the question himself. But the manner in which he answers it draws attention to the fact that the Spartan practice is a perversion of normative standards of justice (though not dissimilar in spirit to the fact that the ‘punishment’ of shame is attached to a husband being seen entering or leaving his wife’s room, 1.5). Further, after describing how stealing and, therefore, practice in the skills appropriate to war must be done secretly – there can be no public reward for the good thief, only public punishment for a bad one – Xenophon describes a festival in which Spartan boys competed against one another to steal cheeses from the altar of Artemis Orthia under the lash of whips. Lycurgus instituted this ritualised theft, so Xenophon reports, to show that by suffering for a short time one might enjoy great esteem for a long time (2.9).81 This passage has long caused problems. Some scholars consider the text corrupt,82 and there is considerable disagreement in interpreting the ritual relevance of the passage.83 But Xenophon is nothing if not a careful writer and it is more fruitful to ask how the description of the ritual fits with the discussion at hand.84 Significantly, success at this festival is the first mention in the treatise of any reward for doing something well. The logical solution, therefore, despite the different verbs employed (κλέπτω, 2.8 bis; ἁρπάζω, 2.9), is to see the ritual as public recognition of good thieving skills. Xenophon rounds off this part of the discussion by reiterating and elaborating on the point that the boys were always under supervision: if 81

Prestige, Xenophon has already noted, is important to the Spartans (Lac. 1.9). See Rebenich 1998: 95 for earlier references. Ollier 1934: 28–30 initially denies that the text is corrupt, regarding the problem as a lack of understanding on the part of commentators, though, in the end, he himself feels something is definitely wrong with the passage. 83 The most common argument is that the festival was an initiation rite: e.g., Ollier 1934: 29 (who also suggests purification as a reason); Cartledge 2002a: 308; Parker 1989: 148 (who comes closest to suggesting what I think Xenophon is actually saying: ‘public festivals could become … public examinations at which the rising generation were tested in their rough skills’). Lipka 2002: 126–8 on 2.9[1] suggests a number of possibilities but ends up thinking Xenophon did not really know what the ‘obscure rite’ was about. Kennell 1995: 123, 126 argues more specifically that it is a kind of graduation rite for paidiskoi, though the passage here does not seem to provide enough information. For other references, see Rebenich 1998: 95–7, who does not commit himself. 84 As Luppino Manes 1988: 55 does, suggesting that discussion of the contest in the context of the education of the boys allows the context to be considered ‘un’esemplificazione dotta dei principi introdotti da Licurgo: dimestichezza al furto, prontezza a sottrarsi all’eventuale punizione prevista, gloria conquistata nel sopportare con coraggio qualsiasi punizione’ (‘a learned exemplification of the principles introduced by Lycurgus: practical experience of theft, swiftness in evading the expected punishment envisaged, glory acquired in enduring with courage any punishment whatsoever’). 82

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the paidonomos was absent, any adult male or, in turn, an eirên,85 had the power to order the boys to do what he deemed good and to punish them ‘if they did any wrong’ (εἴ τι ἁμαρτάνοιεν) (2.10–11). This method of control is said to make the boys ‘more shameful and respectful’ (αἰδημονεστέρους, 2.10; cf. 2.2). Three points are worth noting at this stage: (1) apart from being poor at stealing, what comprises ‘slacking’ or ‘doing wrong’ is not discussed; (2) the only pedagogical technique thus far employed is fear of punishment; (3) the only explicit general aims of the system appear to be to instil obedience, shame and respect, though self-restraint is implied in the limitations placed on clothing and diet (and indeed will be mentioned at the closing of the section), and the practice of stealing brings the additional benefits of making the boys more capable of contriving to get provisions and more warlike. A brief comparison with the Persian system described in the Cyropaedia is instructive to bring these points into sharper relief. 86 Xenophon’s Persians also have a public education, which is explicitly contrasted with private education elsewhere (Cyr. 1.2.2–3), and in which children progress through age groups. In the first stage (Cyr. 1.2.6–8; cf. also Cyr. 1.3.16–17), which lasts longer than in Sparta (here roughly from 7 to 16/17 years of age), as well as learning how to shoot arrows and throw spears, boys learn justice, moderation (sôphrosynê), obedience and selfrestraint (enkrateia). They are punished if they commit crimes of theft,87 robbery, violence, deceit, slander, etc., or if they accuse each other falsely or fail to return a favour when they are very clearly capable of doing so, because ingratitude is said to lead to ‘shameful things’ (αἰσχρά, 1.2.7). Everything is set out very specifically here, including how each topic is 85

Those belonging to the age group 20–30; see MacDowell 1986: 160–6 and Hodkinson 1983: 246 n. 19. Cyrus was a historical figure, but there is much about the Cyropaedia which is fictional. While there are points of contact between the Persian education which Xenophon describes and other accounts (see Tuplin 1994 and 1996), the way that the Persian education system is described encourages comparison with the Spartan education system. Why is not so much agreed upon, but frequently this comparison has resulted in reading Sparta into the Cyropaedia (e.g., Briant 1987: 7–10) and, as such, providing additional proof of Xenophon’s laconophilia for those inclined towards this view. Tuplin 1994: 150–61, however, has well shown that when the two systems are examined closely they are really worlds apart. I use the Persian system here as a tool, i.e. as a point of comparison to highlight how startlingly negative Xenophon’s presentation of the Spartan system is, without making any judgement about the Persian system per se, though I agree generally with Azoulay 2007 that Cyrus is a product of a mixed (Perso-Median) education and that this point is key for understanding his successes as a ruler (cf. Humble 2007: 292). Azoulay, however, objects to a number of points I make in Humble 1999, so I will try to address these as they come up in the discussion. 87 It may be more than coincidental that theft is the first crime mentioned here. At any rate, it is in itself a crime whether it is done well or badly. 86

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taught: justice through judging standards of right and wrong and by observing trials, sôphrosynê, obedience and enkrateia through lessons and by observing and imitating elders who possess these qualities. It is important to note that there is a difference between sôphrosynê and enkrateia. It is certainly true that both can be used to refer to physical control over pleasures and pains, such as hunger, thirst and lust, and so can be and are translated as ‘self-control’ or ‘self-restraint’.88 But the two terms are not entirely interchangeable. The meaning of enkrateia does not stretch beyond physical self-restraint or control, whereas sôphrosynê encompasses a much wider range of meanings: moderation, prudence, modesty, chastity, wisdom, discipline, soundness of mind, discretion, good sense, sanity, temperance, etc.89 To make the distinction clearer, sôphrosynê can be used in a general moral sense to refer to self-restraint in matters of diet, pain and the like, i.e. as equivalent to enkrateia, but enkrateia cannot be used in the wider intellectual/prudential sense. It is significant, therefore, that sôphrosynê is not mentioned as one of the aims of the Spartan education system. There, as in the Persian system, obedience and enkrateia are said to be important (2.2, 2.14), but there is no mention either of sôphrosynê or of justice. On the other hand, in Sparta aidôs is the most often mentioned aim (2.2, 2.10 bis, and also at 2.14), whereas, although the overall purpose of the Persian system is to produce citizens who would not commit ‘any worthless or shameful deed’ (πονηροῦ τινος ἢ αἰσχροῦ ἔργου, Cyr. 1.2.3), aidôs is not itself specifically taught but appears naturally as those who are educated in sôphrosynê and justice age into youths (Cyr. 1.4.4). Further, aidôs, obedience and enkrateia are acquired in Sparta in a markedly different and more negative way than justice, sôphrosynê, obedience and enkrateia are in the Persian system.90 Fear of punishment through constant supervision produces these qualities in Sparta (2.2 bis, 2.8, 2.10, 2.11), not teaching, 88

Plato, e.g., at one point in the Republic (4.430e) defines sôphrosynê as ‘self-restraint over certain pleasures and desires’ (ἡδονῶν τινων καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν ἐγκράτεια). And Aristotle defines enkrateia as a lesser form of sôphrosynê in which control over pleasures is obtained but there still remains a desire for the pleasures (see the brief discussion in Cairns 1993: 419–20). 89 The possible English translations are frustratingly numerous and, again, as for aidôs, may not truly bring out the full resonance in each use. Azoulay 2007: 17–19 objects to my making a distinction between sôphrosynê and aidôs here, preferring ‘la thèse longtemps acceptée’ (‘the long-accepted thesis’) of North (1966: 122), who argues that sôphrosynê was singled out as the characteristic virtue of the Spartans particularly by Xenophon. Humble 1999 and 2002b both contain arguments that refute North’s thesis and on this point of disagreement I can only suggest others weigh up my arguments against those of Azoulay. It is interesting to note that Rademaker 2005 barely mentions Xenophon at all in his lengthy study of sôphrosynê. 90 Cf. Newell 1983: 893 and Tuplin 1994: 157.

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observation and imitation.91 And it is the latter methods that Xenophon advocates elsewhere in his corpus, particularly where obedience is the aim.92 Persuasive oratory93 and personal example94 are to be preferred to force and punishment, which are only advisable, and sometimes necessary, when persuasion does not work.95 In the Spartan system once the fear of punishment is removed, so too is any reason for the Spartans to be obedient, prone to aidôs and self-restrained, especially as there has been no education in moderation and justice, and stealing is encouraged.96 The dangers of neglecting to teach right from wrong are explicitly noted in the Cyropaedia when Cyrus is told by his father, Cambyses, that it is of paramount importance to ingrain the fundamentals of justice in children; only when they have securely learnt these can it be taught that, for example, it may be necessary to deceive friends for their own good, even though deceit is in itself fundamentally wrong (Cyr. 1.6.31–4).97 The one

91

Azoulay 2007: 19–20 presents my position in Humble 1999 as arguing that the Persian system is less punitive than the Spartan. The point I was trying to make there and am making here is not that Persians are not subject to corporal punishment but that the reasons why punishment is doled out differ and punishment itself is not the prime pedagogical tool, as it is in the Sparta described by Xenophon. 92 E.g., in a speech to Seuthes Xenophon comments on how it is much easier to rule people who are not fearful because then they are not always endeavouring to become free (An. 7.7.29–36). The whole of the Hiero (especially 9.2) is concerned with this. Cyrus’ ability to inspire willing obedience is presented as the reason for examining his life (Cyr. 1.1.3, 5). Cf. Mem. 4.6.12 (ruling willing subjects is the mark of monarchs; imposing upon unwilling subjects is the mark of tyrants); Oec. 21.4–8. See also Cyr. 1.6.20–1, where Cambyses tells Cyrus that creating an atmosphere of willing obedience is a better policy than praising the obedient and punishing the disobedient, because people very gladly obey the one who they think is wiser concerning their own interests than themselves. See further Cyr. 3.1.28, 4.2.42–4, 5.1.19ff.; HG 4.8.2, 5.4.64, 6.1.7; Mem. 1.2.10–11, 2.6.9; Oec. 21.11–12; Eq. 11.6; Wood 1964: 52; Gray 1989: 8; Zimmermann 1992: 235–6. For this thought in Xenophon and other fifth- and fourth-century writers, see Romilly 1958: 92–101. 93 E.g., An. 3.2.7–32; cf. Eq.Mag. 1.24, 8.21–2 and Mem. 3.3.10–11. 94 E.g., Eq.Mag. 6.4–6; An. 3.1.36 with 3.4.46–9 and 4.4.11–12; Cyr. 1.6.8. Note too that Cyrus is said to teach virtue by example, Cyr. 8.1.24–33. 95 Force is necessary at times: see Xenophon’s defence of his own use of physical force (An. 5.8.2–26), his implicit criticism of Proxenus who shies away from using any force (An. 2.6.19–20), and likewise his implicit criticism of Clearchus for his overuse of force (An. 2.6.9–14); see further Nussbaum 1967: 112 on the contrast between these three men and their styles of leadership (also Wood 1964: 52). Note, too, Cyr. 2.4.10 for Cyrus’ expression of preference for persuasion over force. 96 Cf. Oec. 21.11–12, where Xenophon says that to those accomplished in moderation (sôphrosynê) is given the power of inspiring willing obedience; Xenophon also stresses the role of education in this regard. 97 Tuplin 1994: 158 notes most appositely Xenophon’s ‘wickedly playful’ use in this passage of the Spartan word rhêtra for the ordinance directing only justice and truth-telling to be taught to Persian boys: ‘concerned to emphasise that Persian education rejects a notable feature of Sparta pedagogy, he employs a Spartan word (i.e. rhêtra) to draw attention to what he is doing.’ Cf. also Higgins 1977: 70 on this passage.

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instance in which we see Cyrus being beaten is specifically for a miscarriage of justice (Cyr. 1.3.16–17). On the issue of diet and endurance, Persian boys are taught selfrestraint in eating and drinking and they watch how their elders do not give in to their hunger until they are allowed by those in command of them (1.2.8). In this system they must simply endure hunger when it is upon them; theft, as noted (p. 102), is a crime. Furthermore, though they learn to shoot with a bow and arrow and throw spears, it is not until they join the next age group that they engage in any activity which teaches them anything similar to what thieving is supposed to teach Spartan boys. But in this case hunting is described as follows: ‘this seems to them to be the truest practice for skills connected with warfare’ (ἀληθεστάτη αὐτοῖς δοκεῖ εἶναι αὕτη ἡ μελέτη τῶν πρὸς τὸν πόλεμον, Cyr. 1.2.10). It provides practice in rising early, in enduring all types of weather and strenuous physical exercise, and in coping with dangerous opposition (wild beasts). Notably, also, hunting teaches youths to survive with little food over a long period of time (Cyr. 1.2.11), which is supposed to be a benefit of the Spartan diet but which, as noted (p. 100), is rendered meaningless by the encouragement of stealing. There is, also, nothing in the description of the educational benefit of hunting in Persia that matches the aims of Spartan thieving or learning to deceive (ἀπατᾶν) and employ spies (Lac. 2.7). This fits entirely with Cambyses’ comments to Cyrus: deceit is simply not taught to Persian boys until they are securely grounded in the knowledge of what is right and wrong. There is also no parallel in the Persian education system either for what Xenophon describes next in the treatise: relationships between men and boys in Sparta, i.e. in their roles as lover (erastês) and beloved (paidikon).98 Here, for the first and only time in the text, specific Greek poleis are mentioned in the description of what happens elsewhere. In Boeotia men and boys associate as if married, and the Eleans enjoy the bloom of youth by means of favours; others completely prevent lovers from conversing with boys (2.12). Lycurgus, as ever, decreed things opposite to all these. He gave his approval if anyone, being as he ought to be, loved the soul of a boy and tried to set up a blameless friendship. This Lycurgus considered the ‘finest education’ (καλλίστην παιδείαν).99 But if one yearned for the body of a boy, he regarded this as ‘most shameful’ (αἴσχιστον), and so 98

Though paidika are mentioned, e.g., at Cyr. 7.5.60; cf. Cyr. 2.2.28, and also 1.4.27–8 where, upon his departure from Media, the young Cyrus is set upon by an admirer. 99 On the general view in the ancient world that any such relationship was of educational value, see Dover 1978: 202–3 and 1984: 4–5.

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concerning sex he made an erastês keep away from a paidikon just as parents from children or brothers from brothers (2.13). Xenophon himself then says that he does not wonder that some disbelieve these things since in many poleis the laws are not opposed to sexual desire for boys (2.14). Paul Cartledge, whose conclusions about, as he terms it, ‘the politics of Spartan pederasty’ are important, finds the passage frustrating on the grounds that it is elliptical.100 But this is to criticise Xenophon for not providing the information that is missing generally from the sources instead of asking why, within the immediate context, he has chosen to emphasise what he has. There are actually two points of contrast between pederastic relationships elsewhere and those in Sparta. In Boeotia and Elis specifically (and more generically many poleis, 2.12), it appears, sexual gratification is part of the relationship.101 In other poleis, it may or may not be, but conversation is frowned upon.102 Spartan practices were opposed ‘to all these’ (τούτοις πᾶσι – Xenophon is specific) so, presumably, sexual gratification was forbidden and conversation encouraged. The former point, however, is the focus of the subsequent elaboration. Why, it might reasonably be asked, does Xenophon make such a big issue of this? The obvious answer is the one Xenophon himself explicitly notes, i.e. because there was a general disbelief that this could be so in Sparta, since it was not elsewhere (2.14).103 Lipka argues that Xenophon is simply transferring idealising concepts of chaste pederasty (such as those expounded by Socrates in both the Symposium of Xenophon and that of Plato) onto Spartan practice which, he argues, was, in reality, sexual in nature. Such an explanation fits with his view of the work as idealising and apologetic, and distorting. But why could Xenophon not be simply telling it as it was? Aside from the fact that banning sexual intercourse did not mean it did not happen,104 the important question to ask is how 100

Cartledge 2001c: 94–5 objects that Xenophon does not discuss the ages at which one became a paidikon, or when one stopped being an erastês, or whether the actual practice of sexual intercourse between the two was illegal as later sources suggest. 101 These two poleis regularly occur in ancient discussions of these types of relationships; see also X. Smp. 8.34 and Pl. Smp. 182b, where, incidentally, it is mentioned that speech is unimportant in such relationships in Boeotia and Elis. 102 Lipka 2002: 133 on 2.12[5] argues that this is meant as a specific reference to Athenian practice. 103 Modern readers share this scepticism; see, for example, Hindley 2004: 127 and Tuplin 2004b: 26 (‘alleged non-physicality’). 104 Cartledge 2001c: 95 quite rightly points out that ‘Xenophon leaves it doubtful how rigorously the allegedly prescribed norm of physical chastity was in fact observed’. But even so, it is interesting that in what Hodkinson 2007: 57 describes as the ‘only surviving account of the personal interaction between two lovers’ in Sparta, i.e. the relationship between Archidamus and Cleonymus, which is a crucial element in the acquittal of Sphodrias in 378 BCE, Xenophon does not hint at a sexual element (HG 5.4.24–34). Hodkinson’s analysis of the episode beautifully links it to a number of elements in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia (see further Chapter 4.5 and n. 74 there). See also

Lac. 2: Education of Boys

107

this practice, opposite to that of other poleis, led to Sparta’s power and renown. Cartledge objects that Xenophon does not specify ‘how this pederasty might help to produce obedience, respectfulness and selfcontrol’,105 the precise goals, Xenophon states, of the Spartan paideia in general (2.14). But he does not do so because he does not have to. Just as, for example, it is clear that giving boys only one cloak and no shoes was meant to inculcate enkrateia, though the specific concept is not mentioned in that part of the discussion (2.3–4), so too is the suppression of sexual desire meant to inculcate enkrateia. Indeed, in the Agesilaus, Agesilaus’ ability to resist the physical advances of a boy he loves is given as the sole example of his enkrateia (Ages. 5.4–6).106 It is not an immense leap either to see how it might aid the acquisition of aidôs as well, as Xenophon has Socrates state in the Symposium.107 This section then closes, in the same way as the previous one, with a repetition of the topical term to enclose the discussion (παιδεία, 2.1 and 2.14; cf. τεκνοποιία, 1.3 and 1.10) and an invitation to consider the efficacy of the Lycurgan system against that of other Greek poleis (2.14). In both cases the call to judgement is emphatically placed at the end of the sentence (ἐπισκοπείσθω, 2.14; cf. ἐπισκοπείτω, 1.10). In this case we are to consider the following: ἐξ ὁποτέρας δ᾽ αὐτῶν καὶ εὐπειθέστεροι καὶ αἰδημονέστεροι καὶ ὧν δεῖ ἐγκρατέστεροι ἄνδρες ἀποτελοῦνται, ὁ βουλόμενος καὶ ταῦτα ἐπισκοπείσθω. From which of the two of them, however, are produced men who are more obedient and more shameful and respectful and more self-restrained with regard to what is necessary, let anyone who wishes consider these things also for himself.

Heydon 2018: 69–79, who makes this point too in his discussion of Lac. 2.12–14, in which he observes that Xenophon’s presentation of the practice is specifically geared towards emphasising its relational aspect; Heydon goes on to show that the private nature and philia engendered in these relationships was not necessarily compatible with what was best for the polis or with normative standards of justice (see especially pp. 255–76 for how this plays out in the Sphodrias episode). 105 Cartledge 2001c: 95. 106 This does not preclude the argument of Hindley (2004: 126) being correct, that Agesilaus’ rejection of Megabates had more to do with external politics than with moral issues. I would simply add that it also was influenced by internal Spartan politics where it was important to be seen in public adhering to Lycurgan regulations. Agesilaus is a master of this type of performative manipulation (see Chapter 6.3). 107 X. Smp. 8.27: ‘for it is not possible for him to reveal his companions’ goodness while doing bad things himself, nor to make his beloved possess self-restraint and shame and respect, if his own contribution is shamelessness and lack of restraint’ (οὐ γὰρ οἷον τε πονηρὰ αὐτὸν ποιοῦντα ἀγαθὸν τὸν συνόντα ἀποδεῖξαι, οὐδέ γε ἀναισχυντίαν καὶ ἀκρασίαν παρεχόμενον ἐγκρατῆ καὶ αἰδούμενον τὸν ἐρώμενον ποιῆσαι).

108

Reading Lacedaimoniôn Politeia 1–4

There seems little doubt that the system that Xenophon describes here would produce men possessing such qualities and that such qualities themselves were of worth,108 and would contribute to any polis’s power and renown were they encouraged. The emphasis on obedience, in particular, is resonant of the opening passage in which Xenophon stated that it was by obeying Lycurgan laws that Sparta prospered. As such an important element in Sparta’s renown it is not surprising to learn that it was encouraged from a young age. However, the way in which these details have been presented, and a closer comparison with Xenophon’s other works raise some questions about these three virtues and the manner in which they are taught that takes us beyond an explanation for Sparta’s power and renown. Indeed, through his narrative structure, Xenophon seems to be inviting us to see possible problems within the system. He has shown us an education system in which boys are perpetually under supervision and must adhere to unspecified standards. Punishment is meted out for slacking (εἴ τις ῥᾳδιουργοίη, 2.2) or whenever necessary (ὁπότε δέοι, 2.2) or for doing wrong (εἴ τι ἁμαρτάνοιεν, 2.10). The only wrong actually specified is stealing badly (2.8), so that punishment, in this case, is issued contrary to normative standards of justice, as Xenophon carefully signposts. While his description has certainly shown that attention is paid to instilling aidôs, obedience and self-restraint, it has also, at the same time and openly, shown that these virtues need to be practised only in public out of fear of punishment. Completely opposite qualities are encouraged by the allowance of stealing. He has, therefore, in the words of Higgins, shown that ‘for all Sparta’s emphasis on law, it does not teach its children the value of law but only the fear of it’.109 And significantly, there is no mention of any education in justice or moderation.

3.4  Lac. 3: Provisions for Youths The explicit comparison with other poleis continues as Xenophon moves to the next age group and describes the practices that Lycurgus established for youths (aged 14–20).110 In other poleis no longer is use made of minders or teachers, but youths are left to their own devices (3.1).111 108

E.g., Cyrus the Elder is described as aidoumenos … peithomenos (Cyr. 1.5.1) and Cyrus the Younger is said to have been aidêmonestatos as a boy and to have been obedient (An. 1.9.5). 109 Higgins 1977: 70. 110 See n. 71 for discussions about defining age groups. 111 Clearly an exaggeration on Xenophon’s part. See B. Strauss 1993: 92: either fathers or further teachers take over the education of children at this stage in Athens, in wealthy families at least.

Lac. 3: Provisions for Youths

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Lycurgus, by contrast, having learnt that youths of this age are prone to excessive pride, unprovoked aggression and strong desires for pleasures, imposes upon them much hard work of an unspecified nature (3.2). If they made any attempt to escape from the toil, they would be excluded from ‘the good things’ (τὰ καλά). Thus, not only public officials but also those who are concerned watch over the youths so that they do not flinch from toil and become discredited (3.3). Further, Lycurgus strongly encouraged aidôs in the youths. He had them walk with their hands under their cloaks, in silence, with their eyes cast down. The result of this is that concerning ‘moderation’ (τὸ σωφρονεῖν) the male is stronger than the female (3.4). You would, indeed, sooner hear stone speak, and have bronze gaze at you; ‘you would regard them as more modest (αἰδημονεστέρους) than even the very pupils in their eyes’;112 and at the common mess (τὸ φιλίτιον)113 one would be well pleased to hear from them even an answer to a question posed (3.5).114 Thus, Xenophon says, did Lycurgus care for youths. Whereas there was some overlap between what happened in other poleis and what happened in Sparta regarding women and boys, Xenophon here presents the difference in the treatment of youths as complete, contrasting fully both points of discussion: lack of supervision versus supervision, lack of directed activities versus constant toil. That care needs to be taken with the age group is certainly a point acknowledged elsewhere by Xenophon;115 indeed it is also mentioned in the Cyropaedia in the description of the corresponding age group (Cyr. There is a textual problem with this last image. The manuscript tradition has ἐν τοῖς θαλάμοις παρθένων (‘maidens in their bed-chambers’), and as such that is the phrase found in Jackson’s 2006 edition, but [Longinus] de Sublim. 4.4 and Stobaeus 4.2.45 both quote Xenophon as using ἐν τοῖς ὀφθαλμοῖς παρθένων (‘the pupils in their eyes’). Lipka 2002: 139 on 3.5[4] provides a succinct overview of the evidence, based on Spina 1985. Van der Valk 1984: 40–1 defends this reading (while managing thoroughly to disparage Xenophon at the same time), as does Harman 2009: 370. Though I accept here Lipka’s line of thinking, either image, in fact, works with the general point being made. 113 Though Xenophon uses the term syskênia when he introduces the practice of common messes (Lac. 5.2) and frequently uses cognate forms in the treatise (Lac. 5.4, 7.4, 9.4, 13.1, 13.7, 15.5), here and at 5.6 he uses philition, which is regarded by Lipka (2002: 46) as a Spartan term. It is very close to τὸ φιδίτιον, which is the term Aristotle says the Spartans used (Pol. 1271a26–7, 1272a1–4). See further Chapter 4.1 with n. 1 there. 114 Lampe 2015: 64–7 notes an interesting parallel between Lac. 3.5 and a fragment of Aeschines’ Miltiades (Stob. 2.31.23 = SSR VI.A.77) which associates Miltiades with Spartan education practices in a critical way. But because Lampe thinks Xenophon is praising Sparta he argues that the Aeschines passage might be parodying Xenophon. On my reading of Xenophon, he and Aeschines are on exactly the same page; see further Humble 2021. 115 E.g., Mem. 1.2.26 and 4.1.3–4. Cf. the idea in Euripides (fr. 1027): ‘the importance of good habituation in youth, for otherwise wrongdoing becomes implanted and is carried right through to old age’; see Dover 1974: 89. 112

110

Reading Lacedaimoniôn Politeia 1–4

1.2.9).116 The idea of hard work keeping vices from taking hold is also expressed elsewhere in Xenophon’s corpus (cf. Cyn. 12.9). Though less is said about this age group than about the previous one, clearly the aims and methods of the Lycurgan paideia continue here. Several points leap out. First, youths, like boys, are subject to constant supervision. Unspecified public officials (τοὺς ἐκ δημοσίου) and those who are concerned (τοὺς κηδομένους, including presumably relatives and erastai) are mentioned as taking care to make sure the youths are not disgraced in front of everyone. Secondly, fear of punishment is still the motivating factor behind Lycurgus’ dictates, though now the punishment is more sophisticated. Rather than physical beating, here it is the threat of being excluded from obtaining ‘the good things’ which is to keep Spartan youths from not fleeing their imposed labours (3.3). What ‘the good things’ are is never further defined, but they seem to include certain civic rights and magistracies: for example, at Lac. 4.4 the phrase is used specifically to refer to the honour of being chosen by the hippagretai (see further, p. 113).117 Thirdly, there is no specific description of what the ‘greatest number of toils’ (πλείστους μὲν πόνους) which the youths are assigned actually are. Of the specific aims of the Lycurgan paideia – aidôs, obedience and self-restraint – the only one explicitly mentioned and focused upon here for this age group is ensuring that aidôs is most strongly part of the nature of youths, and illuminating this is what takes up the bulk of the description of the regulations for youths (rather than, for example, a list of the toils they had to undergo). Further, the focus is on the manner in which their aidôs is made manifest, i.e. in their physical comportment: hands tucked into their cloaks, maintenance of silence and downcast eyes. The association of the averted gaze with aidôs was proverbial,118 and this is reinforced by Xenophon in the comparisons which follow: stone would be more likely to speak and bronze to gaze at you, and they are more modest even than the pupils in their own downcast eyes. The passage is striking,119 and stands out even more by the way Xenophon

116

More generally on hubristic behaviour in youths, and thus, conversely, their lack of sôphrosynê, see Fisher 1992: 97–9. See also Rademaker 2005: 266 (citing from Xenophon only Mem. 1.2.26). 117 One did not have to be a citizen, however, to enjoy at least some of ‘the good things’ of the polis; see HG 5.3.9. See further MacDowell 1986: 42, 46–7. 118 Cairns 1993: 292. Harman 2009: 370 nicely encapsulates the image: ‘the limitation of their gaze is made integral to their display to the public gaze: the paidiskoi are to be seen as not looking’. 119 So much so that Lipka 2002: 139 on 3.5[1] finds it suspicious.

Lac. 3: Provisions for Youths

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engages the audience directly, using the second person singular three times. The Persian education in the Cyropaedia once again presents a useful point of comparison. The second age group in Persia are youths/young men aged 16/17–26/27 and so what is described here must also be kept in mind for the next Spartan age group (the young men aged 20–30). First, a great deal of detail is provided about the activities of Persian youths. They are said to act as guards by night and be available for whatever is needed for the common good during the day. The aim is to increase the youths’ sôphrosynê. Daytime activities are then enumerated: hunting with the king (Cyr. 1.2.9–11) – which, as noted (p. 105), is said to be the truest practice for war – or studying what they had learned while they were boys (i.e. justice, sôphrosynê, obedience and self-restraint), or shooting bows and throwing spears, contesting in these things with one another. Public contests with prizes are also on the agenda. The most experienced (δαημονέστατοι), most brave (ἀνδρικώτατοι) and most trustworthy (εὐπιστότατοι) claim the prizes and are praised and honoured along with their leaders. Also they might be called upon for guard duty, searching for criminals, intercepting robbers, or any other task which requires speed and strength (1.2.12). Secondly, there is no emphasis at all on supervision, though it must have been present (as implied in 1.2.12). Thirdly, there is no mention of any punishments, just of rewards for those who win contests (1.2.12 again). Finally, there is absolutely no mention of aidôs. Later, however, Cyrus is said to acquire aidôs as he turned from a boy into a youth (c. 12–15 years old, Cyr. 1.4.4). The implication is that aidôs occurs naturally in boys educated in justice and sôphrosynê. By contrast, aidôs must be imposed upon Spartan youths because they have had no education in justice or sôphrosynê. It is true that Spartan youths who are trained to behave with aidôs are said to be more sôphrôn than females, i.e. to have some measure of sôphrosynê,120 but this passage is almost a direct reversal of Cyr. 1.4.4. There aidôs was incidentally acquired, here sôphrosynê. Despite the common association of the two concepts with youths in Greek literature in general,121 and the fact that both concepts

120

This passage may be an oblique comment on contemporary (Athenian) opinion about Spartan women lacking moderation; see, e.g., Tuplin 1994: 156; Humble 1999: 349; and Cartledge 2001d: 125 n. 121. 121 See Cairns 1993: 54–5.

112

Reading Lacedaimoniôn Politeia 1–4

can inhibit similar actions,122 the reversal of the dominant concept is deliberate and reflects a significant difference between the Spartan and Persian systems.123 And Xenophon’s understanding of the difference between the two concepts is crucial for understanding his analysis of the Spartan system. A later passage in the Cyropaedia succinctly expresses the distinction between sôphrosynê and aidôs (Cyr. 8.1.31):124 διῄρει δὲ αἰδῶ καὶ σωφροσύνην τῇδε, ὡς τοὺς μὲν αἰδουμένους τὰ ἐν τῷ φανερῷ αἰσχρὰ φεύγοντας, τοὺς δὲ σώφρονας καὶ τὰ ἐν τῷ ἀφανεῖ. [Cyrus] distinguished between aidôs and sôphrosynê in the following manner: those who possess aidôs avoid doing shameful deeds in public, while those who possess sôphrosynê also avoid doing them in private.

Aidôs, therefore, is to be understood primarily as a public virtue: without an education in sôphrosynê and justice, it can only be expected to ensure good behaviour in the public eye. And keeping Spartan boys and youths in the public eye is precisely what the Lycurgan measures discussed so far provide for most vigorously. It is no surprise therefore that the contrast with other poleis here emphasises the issue of public supervision. If Spartan youths are kept under constant supervision and aidôs is encouraged, that aidôs presumably will cause them to conform to expected public standards. By leaving out specific details of daily activities, then, Xenophon is able to concentrate on presenting what he sees as more important, i.e. the general ethos of the Lycurgan system, which at all stages so far has featured public supervision, fear of punishment and enforced aidôs, and, sometimes, as here, by implication, sometimes openly, obedience and self-restraint. The very activities themselves which the youths engaged in Xenophon does not see as specifically relevant to Sparta’s power and renown. Thus, the section on youths has simply consolidated the salient points presented in the section about boys but has not assuaged the sense of unease that the methods whereby obedience and self-restraint are inculcated are hardly satisfactory. Without public supervision and the 122

See Cairns 1997: 54–7 and Humble 1999: 343. For a more detailed examination of Xenophon’s general avoidance of attributing sôphrosynê to the Spartans, see Humble 1999. Contra Lipka 2002: 19, who argues that the use of σωφρονεῖν here marks the work ‘as typically Socratic’. 124 Some feel that this passage is spurious despite its strong manuscript authority. In the OCT Marchant 1920 brackets it, contra the MSS. Gemoll, however, in his Teubner edition of 1911, accepts it, as does Delebecque in his Budé edition of 1964. It seems hard to doubt the genuineness of the manuscript reading when the idea fits so well with what Xenophon says elsewhere about the two concepts. Higgins 1977: 161 n. 49 draws attention to the passage and Gera 1993: 95 accepts it as genuine. 123

Lac. 4.1–6: Provisions for Young Men

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threat of punishment what would make the youths behave as they should? Particularly youths who had been encouraged as boys to steal without being given any moral compass whereby they could judge the rights and wrongs of that practice.

3.5  Lac. 4.1–6: Provisions for Young Men The chronological account of the life of Spartan males continues with a section on young men (aged 20–29/30).125 Lycurgus is said by Xenophon to have been most serious about this particular age group in the belief that they would be the greatest influence for good in the polis (4.1). There is no explicit mention of other poleis here, which breaks with the pattern established thus far, though Xenophon does present us with a general observation of Lycurgus, saying that he had observed that the choruses of those in whom philonikia126 was particularly prominent were most worth hearing and their athletic contests most worth watching. Taking this on board, Lycurgus believed that if he should match the young men together ‘in strife concerning aretê’ (εἰς ἔριν περὶ ἀρετῆς), they would arrive at the highest degree of ‘bravery’ (ἀνδραγαθίας) (4.2). Xenophon goes on, then, to describe what was implemented to cause this strife about aretê. The ephors choose three men, called hippagretai, from among those at the prime of their life.127 Each of these then picks 100 of the young men, making clear why he chooses some and rejects others (4.3). Then those who did not win ‘the good things’ (τὰ καλά), i.e. did not receive the honour of being chosen, ‘are at war’ (πολεμοῦσι) with both those who sent them away and those who were picked instead of them. And they watch one another closely to see if they are slacking (ῥᾳδιουργῶσι, 4.4).128

125

On the age parameters for this group, see Hodkinson 1983: 242; MacDowell 1986: 166; Cartledge 1987: 204; Lipka 2002: 141 on 4.1[1]. 126 Literally ‘love of victory’ (as translated by Kuiper and Collins 2018). Lipka 2002: 141–2 on 4.2[1] prefers ‘competitive spirit’ in his translation, though he sees philonikia as wholly positive in Xenophon in contrast to Plato. I favour Lipka’s translation but not his reasoning. If we are meant to consider the more positive aspects of philonikia in mind at the start of this section, we are disabused of that by the end. See further Chapter 7.1.3 and n. 45 there. 127 There is some discussion about what age ‘those at the prime of their life’ (τῶν ἀκμαζόντων) actually refers to. MacDowell 1986: 67 suggests it means those aged 29, at the end of this age group, while Cartledge 1987: 205 assumes that they are over 30, and so not members of this age group. Figueira 2006: 77 n. 47 gives a recent overview of the problem and discusses the duties of the hippagretai more generally at pp. 62–7. His understanding of Lac. 4.5–6 therein is considerably more positive than the conclusions drawn here below. 128 This is the second occurrence of this verb. Powell 2001: 234 and 263 n. 149 draws attention to the repeated use of this word in the sense of ‘slacking’ (cf. Lac. 2.2, 5.2 and 14.4).

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As usual Xenophon provides general principles rather than precise details. Other than the rather unspecific aretê, specific criteria for both rounds of selection are left unstated, though clearly those who did not perform their duties as youths must have been excluded from being chosen by the hippagretai, since slacking at that stage of life meant being excluded from ‘the good things’ (τὰ καλά; see 3.3).129 However, watching one another closely for a negative purpose, i.e. to try to catch someone slacking, rather than for a positive purpose (for example, to reward someone for good behaviour), recalls the general principles expounded in the previous two sections on boys and youths. Further, the consequences of slacking are left unstated. It might mean expulsion from the 300, but any number of possible scenarios could be posited. Conversely there is no acknowledgement here of the benefits associated with being a member of the 300.130 Thus far, therefore, it is not clear how the tension created between the chosen and rejected and the associated state of war and spying helps the young men reach their potential and be of the greatest good to the polis.131 Xenophon does, however, go on to explain what he means by strife and by being at war with one another. This strife (ἔρις), he reports, is most beloved of the gods and ‘most political’ (πολιτικωτάτη) because it clearly sets out what ‘a good man’ (τὸν ἀγαθόν) must do, each side separately always striving to be the most dominant, and one by one to bring aid to the polis with their whole strength, if ever it is necessary (4.5). The young men are, in fact, compelled to keep in good physical condition for 129

Figueira 2006: 62–3 considers the performative aspects of the selection process. E.g., there is no hint of the fact that they seem to have served primarily as a royal bodyguard. Cf. Hdt. 8.124; Th. 5.72.4; HG 6.4.14. In the last instance, however, the text is problematic. The OCT prints the manuscript reading hippoi, but the emendation hippeis is often preferred (e.g., Cartledge 1987: 205) and, if correct, would logically refer to the elite corps since the cavalry had been defeated and routed at HG 6.4.13 (as Figueira 2006: 58 notes). Xenophon eschews using the term hippeis to refer to the 300 in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia (e.g., compare 13.6, where it clearly refers to cavalry) and MacDowell 1986: 67 may be correct in his suggestion that the term hippeis was no longer generally used in the fourth century to refer to the elite corps, though he does not discuss HG 6.4.14. Cf. also Gomme, Andrewes and Dover 1944–81: on Th. 5.67.1. The use of some of this group as ‘police’ at HG 3.3.9 (Anderson 1970: 249) is considered unusual by Cartledge 2002a: 235. More recently Figueira 2006: 59–60 has revived the view that they could be used as an ‘emergency force’. 131 Plutarch Lyc. 25.4–5 presents the selection process in an entirely different manner. In his version there is no strife or rivalry since his purpose is to show how Lycurgus created order and civic harmony (see Humble 2007: 298). Birgalias 1997: 47–9 suggests that in practice the group was dominated by old aristocratic families (i.e. an unofficial criterion), but his theory relies on the belief that replacement only occurred when a member had reached the age of 30 (see also Cartledge 1987: 204–5). I lean more towards the view elaborated by Figueira 2006: 63–7, who argues that the selection process is yearly, as it is only then that the fights between the chosen and non-chosen make sense.

130

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whenever they come together they spar ‘because of this strife’ (διὰ τὴν ἔριν). Anyone has the power to separate ‘those fighting’ (τοὺς μαχόμενους), and if anyone disobeys he is led to the ephors, who penalise132 him heavily in order to instil the lesson that ‘anger’ (ὀργὴν) must not prevail over ‘obedience to the laws’ (πείθεσθαι τοῖς νόμοις) (4.6). Just as in the previous sections, the seemingly sensible goal – a contest in virtue to encourage andragathia – is achieved, when the details are finally all set forth, in a bizarre way. In essence, young men between the ages of 20 and 30 are to fight with and spy on one another for ten years. That the contest leads those chosen and those rejected to be at war with one another is, it turns out, rather more literal than perhaps expected: they actually physically fight with one another, which causes them to keep at peak fitness, which enables them one by one to aid the polis as best they could. That this would keep the young men fit, and that keeping fit is beneficial, is clear, but it is an odd sort of andragathia which is being encouraged and the negative effects of such a contest, though left unexpressed, are absolutely clear: envy and resentment. Further, the final measure to control the fighting encouraged by the strife reveals that the measures to instil obedience to the laws when they were boys and youths have not been entirely effective. The heat of these sparring contests, it seems, leads to an abandonment of self-restraint and outright disobedience. Being heavily penalised is meant to teach them not to let their anger overpower their duty to obey the laws, yet clearly this punishment, too, is not wholly successful. Punishment, generally, as already noted, is not a wholly effective educational tool, and is unlikely to have created any character-changing effect, since the young men have had no teaching in sôphrosynê and justice and have been, and continue to be, encouraged to conform and obey only in the public arena. The verb used here is ζημιόω, and it is found again at 7.6 (with the cognate noun appearing at 10.6). It is often translated in the specific sense of ‘fine’ (e.g., Marchant 1968 and Talbert 2005) as opposed to the generic ‘punish’ (e.g., as used by both Lipka 2002 and Kuiper and Collins 2018). The latter would seem to make more immediate sense within the context of the treatise since Xenophon will go on to say that moneymaking is forbidden (Lac. 7.2; see also Hodkinson 2000: 185 n. 32). It is possible, however, that Xenophon does actually mean us to understand ‘fine’ and then to note the subsequent juxtaposition with what he says about moneymaking. For as will become obvious in the analysis of section 7, moneymaking may be forbidden, but that does not stop people accumulating money. Further, if the punishment is a fine, its effect will be more pronounced on poorer Spartiates than richer, highlighting further inequality in the system and breeding further resentment. And, as it will become clear, Xenophon does not hide the inequities in the system. The same word is used also at 7.6, 8.4, 9.5 and 10.6. In all instances I have used the term ‘penalise’ to translate it, both to distinguish it from κολάζω (which is also common in the treatise) and to keep open the possibility that it does in fact mean ‘fine’. Lipka 2002: 179 on 9.5[7], in fact, follows Hodkinson’s view, except at 9.5, where he argues that it must refer to a monetary fine.

132

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Comparison again may be drawn with the second age group in Persia (youths/young men aged 16/17–26/27) since, as noted earlier, this age category straddles the second and third Spartan groups. First, in Persia contests are listed as only one of many activities engaged in by this age group. In Sparta, by contrast, Xenophon describes this one contest alone and its consequences as the activity of young men. There is no mention of the type of activities we might have expected for this age group, such as those described in the Cyropaedia: practice in military skills (throwing spears, shooting bows, riding horses), hunting, or performing guard duty (Cyr. 1.2.12). Presumably, no mention is made of specifics of this sort either because there is no appreciable difference between Spartan practices and practices in other poleis or because Xenophon does not consider that their practices in this regard have significantly contributed to their power and renown.133 This, I think, is an important point given the stereotype of the Spartan soldier as the finest of all warriors. It is worth noting, however, that there is one other specific duty of this age group which was mentioned in the context of the boys’ education: the whip-bearers assigned to the paidonomos are chosen from this age group (2.2). So as well as fighting with one another, their other stated task in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, to punish boys whenever necessary, similarly focuses on violence. Further, in both systems the young men are called on in times of need: in Sparta to aid with their strength, in Persia to aid with their strength and speed (4.5; Cyr. 1.2.9, 12). What they are needed for in Sparta is left unspecified (other than the general statements about them being of the greatest good influence in the polis and being strong to aid the polis when necessary). In Persia they are at the disposal of the rulers for tasks concerning the state (1.2.9) and are needed for guard duty, catching robbers and criminals and other such tasks (1.2.12). The passage in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia need not imply that young Spartan men were not so employed, but the comparison serves to emphasise the startling lack of detail and overwhelming focus on the negative consequences of the altogether too briefly explained contest between the young men. The comparison highlights also the personal and narrow nature of the Spartan contest. In Persia when contests are discussed, it is not only the individual who gains glory but also his division, its leader and their boyhood trainer. Further there is no mention of strife at all in the description of 133

See Hodkinson 2006: 126–7 and Humble 2006 on the lack of emphasis on military training in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. Xenophon is more interested in internal social conditioning in Sparta as the root cause of its great power and renown.

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the Persian system, and while bravery is valued it is not the sole quality praised and rewarded but is one of three, including being knowledgeable (in the skills they gained as boys and still practise) and being trustworthy (Cyr. 1.2.12).134 Finally, it should be recalled that continued acquisition of sôphrosynê is an aim for this age group in Persia. In Sparta not even selfrestraint is mentioned as an aim here, and the final point about the young men being penalised if they did not stop fighting seems to imply that self-restraint, like obedience, has not been as perfectly inculcated as intended by the system anyway. Of importance also for comprehending the full implications of the passage is to understand how Xenophon is using the term eris. Commentators have frequently suggested a link between what Xenophon says and Hesiod’s description of good eris (Op. 17–26), on the grounds that Xenophon must mean eris to be positive because he is praising the Spartans.135 The Hesiodic passage in question, however, deals with good and bad eris (Op. 11–26) and Xenophon’s allusion to it is much more complex than has been noted.136 It bears quoting Hesiod in full: οὐκ ἄρα μοῦνον ἔην ᾽Ερίδων γένος, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπὶ γαῖαν εἰσὶ δύω· τὴν μέν κεν ἐπαινήσειε νοήσας, ἣ δ᾽ ἐπιμωμητή· διὰ δ᾽ ἄνδιχα θυμὸν ἔχουσιν. ἣ μὲν γὰρ πόλεμόν τε κακὸν καὶ δῆριν ὀφέλλει, σχετλίη· οὔ τις τήν γε φιλεῖ βροτός, ἀλλ᾽ ὑπ᾽ ἀνάγκης 134

15

Cyr. 1.2.12: ‘in whichever of the divisions there exist the greatest quantity of the most knowledgeable, the bravest and the most trustworthy youths, the citizens praise and honour not only their current chief officer, but also the one who trained them when they were boys’ (ἐν ᾗ δ᾽ ἂν τῶν φυλῶν πλεῖστοι ὦσι δαημονέστατοι καὶ ἀνδρικώτατοι καὶ εὐπιστότατοι, ἐπαινοῦσιν οἱ πολῖται καὶ τιμῶσιν οὐ μόνον τὸν νῦν ἄρχοντα αὐτῶν, ἀλλὰ καὶ ὅστις αὐτοὺς παῖδας ὄντας ἐπαίδευσε). 135 E.g., Ollier 1934: 34; Luppino Manes 1988: 61; Fisher 1989: 38–9 and 1992: 334; Birgalias 1997: 38; Gray 2007: 159 on 4.2. Rebenich 1998: 106 n. 53 makes no judgement one way or the other. 136 Xenophon never himself quotes Hesiod directly in his work, though this observation should in no way lead to the conclusion that he did not allude to him, as he surely does here. It is clear that extracts from Hesiod’s works, particularly the Works and Days, were used widely in Xenophon’s day (though Boys-Stones and Haubold 2009 focuses on the reception of Hesiod in Plato, the volume provides much evidence of the broader reception of Hesiod during this period; see especially Ford 2009 and Graziosi 2009). In the Memorabilia, thrice Socrates is shown quoting material from the Works and Days. (1) The first time (Mem. 1.2.56) Xenophon defends Socrates’ interpretation of Op. 311 – ‘work is no disgrace; it is shirking work that is a disgrace’ (ἔργον δ᾽ οὐδὲν ὄνειδος, ἀεργίη δέ τ᾽ ὄνειδος) – against Polycrates’ accusation that he encouraged tyrannical behaviour by twisting the meaning of this passage. Plato, too, in the Charmides (163a–c) addresses this accusation in a different way: though it appears that Plato’s Critias is putting forth the same view as Xenophon of this passage, he is in fact claiming a much narrower meaning (on which, see particularly Wolfsdorf 2008: 1–3; also, Graziosi 2009: 120–5). (2) At Mem. 1.3.3 Xenophon reports that Socrates frequently quoted Op. 336 ‘according to your means render sacrifice to the immortal gods’ in support of his own piety. (3) At Mem 2.1.20 Socrates is made to quote Op. 287–92 to Aristippus as he builds up to the reporting of Prodicus’ On Heracles. Plato also has Socrates make use of this Hesiodic passage (Prt. 340c–d).

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Reading Lacedaimoniôn Politeia 1–4 ἀθανάτων βουλῇσιν ῎Εριν τιμῶσι βαρεῖαν. τὴν δ᾽ ἑτέρην προτέρην μὲν ἐγείνατο Νὺξ ἐρεβεννή, θῆκε δέ μιν Κρονίδης ὑψίζυγος, αἰθέρι ναίων, γαίης τ᾽ ἐν ῥίζῃσι καὶ ἀνδράσι πολλὸν ἀμείνω· ἥ τε καὶ ἀπάλαμόν περ ὁμῶς ἐπὶ ἔργον ἐγείρει. εἰς ἕτερον γάρ τίς τε ἴδεν ἔργοιο χατίζων πλούσιον, ὃς σπεύδει μὲν ἀρώμεναι ἠδὲ φυτεύειν οἶκόν τ᾽ εὖ θέσθαι· ζηλοῖ δέ τε γείτονα γείτων εἰς ἄφενος σπεύδοντ᾽, ἀγαθὴ δ᾽ ῎Ερις ἥδε βροτοῖσιν. καὶ κεραμεὺς κεραμεῖ κοτέει καὶ τέκτονι τέκτων, καὶ πτωχὸς πτωχῷ φθονέει καὶ ἀοιδὸς ἀοιδῷ.

20

25

There is not just one kind of Strife, but two on earth: one you would praise if you recognized it, but the other is reprehensible: they are quite different in spirit. For one is cruel, and fosters the evils of war and battle: no mortal loves her, though under the necessity of divine will they pay honour to this troublesome Strife. The other is the first daughter born to dark Night, set down in the roots of the earth by the son of Cronus, who sits on high and dwells in the heaven, and is better by far to men. Even the good-for-nothing she rouses to work: for one feels the need to work when one sees another man rich because he is quick to plough and plant and set his house in order. A neighbour competes with a neighbour who is in pursuit of riches, and this Strife is good for mortals. Potter too hates potter and builder builder, and beggar is envious of beggar, and singer of singer. (Trans. Boys-Stones 2009: 43–4.)

Good strife, therefore, leads through envy to competition and individual improvement, bad strife to war and battle. Xenophon, instead of separating the good and bad aspects of eris as Hesiod did, shows aspects of both present in the Spartan system. Good eris is evoked in the first instance. Strife concerning virtue will result in excellence in andragathia. The description of the type of strife involved, however, recalls bad eris. Those chosen for the 300 and those rejected are to be at war with one another. The passage then veers again towards Hesiod’s good eris with the statement that this strife is most beloved of the gods and most political, in which it is revealed what a good man must do. Each man separately practises always to be the strongest so that in time of need each one would aid the polis with their strength, just as Hesiod’s farmer and other craftsmen vie with one another to become better. Being strong and fit, however, is required not just to aid the polis but because the young men must, because of the strife, fight with one another whenever they come up against one another. Thus, bad eris is again evoked with the mention of fighting. Dire consequences are only avoided by the edict that the men must stop fighting whenever anyone present so commands. If they do

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not show enough self-restraint to obey they are punished. What, one has to ask, might some of the sparring contests look like when there is nobody around to order the young men to stop? That Xenophon understands strife as double-edged, i.e. not as good or bad, but as something the positive aspects of which can quickly and easily dissolve into the negative,137 is clearly evident in the Cyropaedia. Contests feature throughout Xenophon’s works, particularly contests designed to improve military skills, with prizes given to those who perform best; this has already been seen to be a feature of the Persian education system (Cyr. 1.2.12).138 But Cyrus is made to note what is left unexpressed in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia: for example, while waiting to engage the Assyrians, training men to improve their military skills through contests results in dangerously high levels of envy (Cyr. 3.3.10). He realises he must lead the men into battle so that the common danger will dissolve the jealous tensions. Once Cyrus is done with war and settles back to rule his empire he puts his observed knowledge of men’s competitive nature to more sinister use (Cyr. 8.2.26–28). He deliberately sets out to cause envy among his followers and friends in order to secure his monarchical position. He does this by setting up contests with prizes, ‘wishing to instil in his citizens philonikia concerning good and noble deeds’ (φιλονικίας ἐμποιεῖν βουλόμενος περὶ τῶν καλῶν κἀγαθῶν ἔργων), and to ensure the practice of virtue. It must be kept in mind that philonikia, too, can have positive or negative overtones and that Cyrus is playing on both. The result is that the best men ‘fall into strife and philonikia’ (ἔριδας καὶ φιλονικίας ἐνέβαλλον) with one another and therefore cannot set up any concerted opposition against Cyrus (Cyr. 8.2.26). As D. Gera rightly notes, ‘this policy of “divide and conquer”… leaves us uneasy’.139 Envy and rivalry are further encouraged by the fact that his citizens spy upon one another (Cyr. 8.2.10–12). Spying has the effect of preventing people from speaking badly about Cyrus since they do not know who might be listening. Cyrus’ system works, of course, only while he is alive; immediately upon his death, when the spies no longer have anyone to report to, rivalries break out and the Persian Empire disintegrates (Cyr. 8.8.2).140 137

Cf. Boys-Stones 2009: 44 for the argument that Plato allows no distinction between good and bad eris. 138 See also Cyr. 1.6.18 (contests in ‘warlike deeds’, τῶν πολεμικῶν ἔργων), 2.3.2–20, 6.2.5–6; HG 3.4.16 (set up by Agesilaus in the same skills as Cyr. 6.2.5–6), 6.2.28 (set up by Iphicrates concerning naval skills); Eq. mag. 1.26 (the cavalry commander is advised to offer prizes for skills performed well in public on the grounds that it would turn the Athenians very much towards philonikia). 139 Gera 1993: 294. 140 Compare also what Xenophon says in a similar vein in the Hiero. Hiero’s concern is to be seen

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Though philonikia is dealt with in a much less exalted fashion in Sparta,141 the parallels with this part of the Cyropaedia are striking, and the passage in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia elicits a similar unease to that Gera signals concerning Cyrus’ policies. Young Spartan men, like the Persian nobles, are continually set against one another. In the case of Sparta this is done ostensibly for good purposes – Xenophon always first presents the Lycurgan impetus for legislation in a positive way –, encouragement of andragathia and care for physical fitness; in the case of Persia the public goal is to increase philonikia for good and noble deeds and thus ensure the pursuit of virtue. Positive effects in each case would quite clearly contribute to Sparta’s and Persia’s (or perhaps just Cyrus’) power and renown. Negative effects, i.e. the breeding of envy and resentment which hinders mutual cooperation, which are made explicit in the Cyropaedia, are left implicit in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia,142 but are amply illustrated in the Anabasis and Hellenica.143 And a system of observation keeps the pressure on: in Persia constant spying and the risk of losing the goodwill of Cyrus, and thus access to all the privileges such attachment brings, has the effect of preventing resistance and rebellion; in Sparta spying, constant supervision, and various punishments have the same effect. It is worth remembering, too, that already as boys the Spartans were encouraged to become accustomed to evade public observation, and to use spies to do so, in order to steal food to augment their diets (Lac. 2.7). We see, therefore, the same sort of pattern as before in the presentation of the Lycurgan practices for this age group. The purpose of the contest herein depicted is to encourage andragathia, the reward is to be chosen as one of the 300, and the concurrent rivalry keeps all the young men fit, handing out rewards and prizes only, not punishments, to make his citizens more amenable to him (9.4–10). Philonikia is to be encouraged not just in contests of military skills but also in agriculture, commerce and every other kind of endeavour (echoes of Hesiod’s good strife here). There is conspicuously no mention of eris or envy in this passage. Hiero, like Lycurgus, also proposes contests with prizes, along the model of choral contests, to encourage philonikia (Hier. 9.6). This, however, is not his sole purpose; like Cyrus his real aim is to make himself more popular (Hier. 9 in general). Hiero will encourage good will towards himself by giving out the prizes, leaving others to chastise and train, just as Cyrus leaves the judgement of contestants to others so that anger will not be directed towards him. Hiero clearly, therefore, runs exactly the same risks as Cyrus. On the ‘Machiavellian’ nature of this, see Strauss 1963: 71 and 127 n. 17. 141 Tuplin 1994: 155 sums it up nicely as ‘brawling in the streets’. He also notes that ‘Cyrus and his Median friends already display philoneikia as paides (Cyr. 1.4.15)’. 142 Cf. also Mem. 2.6.21, where strife is regarded only as one of the warlike elements in man: ‘strife and anger arouse hostility; love of gain causes ill feeling, envy arouses hatred’ (πολεμικὸν δὲ καὶ ἔρις καὶ ὀργή· καὶ δυσμενὲς μὲν ὁ τοῦ πλεονεκτεῖν ἔρως, μισητὸν δὲ ὁ φθόνος). 143 See Chapter 6.1 on the negative effects of the envy Pausanias (HG 2.4.29) and Agesilaus (HG 3.4.8) harboured for Lysander. Lewis 1977: 32 notes that competitiveness certainly made its way into Spartan policymaking.

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enabling them to have the strength to serve their polis when necessary. This is the training which is to result in this age group having the greatest good influence for the polis (4.1) and which helped to create Sparta’s power and renown. Theoretically contests can promote the kind of strife which is positive, as the examples from the Persian training and Cyrus’ own practice as a military commander show, so in general terms we can see how such training could have aided Sparta’s rise in power. Under the influence of Plutarch’s much more positive presentation of this contest (Lyc. 25.4–5), we might imagine that those who are not chosen for the 300 strive earnestly to be as worthy as those who were chosen, spar regularly to keep fit, and generally break off sparring with self-restraint and in a spirit of obedience to the greater good, never falling prey to envy or resentment. Yet this is simply not a conclusion which can be drawn from Xenophon’s narrative in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, either on its own or in conjunction with his presentation of the actions of Spartans in the Hellenica and Anabasis. Xenophon, rather, highlights primarily problematic aspects of contests: that they result in rivals being at war with one another, encourage spying and involve actual physical brawling. He is careful to note that the apparent life-long cultivation of self-restraint and obedience does not necessarily lead to employment of either when it comes down to a fight. And the paradox inherent in the final statement can hardly be accidental. Punishment is not now for slacking or not doing what was necessary but for not showing enough self-restraint to obey. This is a serious problem since it is precisely obedience to the laws which is supposed to lead to the Spartans’ eudaimonia (Lac. 1.2). Thus the way in which Xenophon has highlighted these particular features again leaves the reader with the strong impression that the bad effects outweigh the good,144 and to suspect even more strongly, if there was any doubt by this point, that Xenophon has a second agenda running in parallel with the explicit agenda stated at the opening of the work.

3.6  Lac. 4.7: Provisions for Men over the Age of 30 The activities of those over 30 are dealt with only briefly in the chronological survey, though the rest of the work fills out the picture in a different way. Here we are told that it is from this age group that the greatest offices of the polis are filled. Explicit comparison is made again with other 144

For a different view, see Birgalias 1997: 39, who argues the opposite: that Xenophon tries to conceal a negative aspect of the Spartan polis by turning it into a positive one.

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Greeks, who are said to release men of this age from caring for their ‘physical strength’ (ἰσχύος) but nonetheless order them to campaign still. Lycurgus, by contrast, made hunting the finest custom, unless they were engaged in ‘some public duty’ (τι δημόσιον), so that they would be able to undergo the toil of war no less than the young men. The themes of physical fitness and strength pick up on what has just been discussed for young men: the young men need to be fit and strong to be the greatest good to the polis, while older men need to be fit and strong to be able to keep up with younger men on campaign. And as has been the pattern so far, specific tasks which would keep men away from hunting are left unspecified, but some of these, at least, can be easily inferred from the text itself.145 The section is short and, though there are parallels with what precedes it in the presentation of the material (not least the explicit comparison to other Greeks, the singular focus and the lack of specific details), there are no sub-measures here to make certain that adult males kept up their fitness through hunting (i.e. nothing to match legalised adultery, encouragement of stealing, and the institutionalisation of brawling), which is interesting in light of the fact that elsewhere Xenophon advocates hunting as good training for war (see n. 80). Comparison with the corresponding age group in the Cyropaedia, which starts at the age of 26/27 and continues for twenty-five years (Cyr. 1.2.13), shows a closer correlation between the activities of this age group in Persia and in Sparta, though as usual more concrete details are given about the Persian system. Persian men, like Persian youths, give themselves over to the rulers to be used for whatever is necessary for the common good, for tasks of the sort that required ‘already wise and still powerful men’ (φρονούντων τε ἤδη ... καὶ ἔτι δυναμένων). If it is necessary to campaign, those who have been educated in this way campaign not with the weapons of their youthful practices (bow and arrow, spear) but with weapons for fighting hand-to-hand. Finally, it is noted that from this age group too all the officials are picked except the teachers of the boys. Like the Spartans, then, Persian men of this age group are strong and from them magistracies are filled. How the Persians remain strong is not 145

Xenophon has already said that the office of paidonomos was chosen from the group who filled the greatest offices (2.2). The ephors (8.3–4) must also be chosen from this age group, and they, like the paidonomos, are very much concerned with enforcing obedience and having carte blanche to do so, the former over the whole population (see further, p. 146), the latter over boys. And the elders also must be assumed to be in this group since Xenophon gives no upper limit here (see on 10.1–3). We may presume that harmosts and nauarchs also come from this age group, possibly also the various magistrates who accompany the king on campaign (Lac. 13).

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set out and there is no mention of hunting here so we must presume it was not a regulated activity for mature men, though from various passages throughout the text it seems to have been a regular pastime of the aristocratic elite. Unlike in Sparta, however, wisdom in addition to strength is noted as being a fundamental characteristic of the Persian adult male. This conforms to what has been observed already. The Persians are presented as having a broader, more ethical upbringing, including teaching in justice and sôphrosynê. The Spartans, by contrast, do not derive their power and renown from any special consideration of these virtues, and their special emphasis on instilling obedience, enkrateia and aidôs through fear of punishment is not even particularly effective, given the difficulty noted in trying to separate young men who are fighting one another. Further, it is of interest that the Persians made a distinction in the type of soldiering this age group was to carry out, which shows careful and judicious separation of the military skills and talents of the age groups rather than in the Spartan system where the older men need to keep fit to keep up with the younger men, implying another arena of envy and competitiveness. The final remark, that the teachers of children are not drawn from this age group, is also surely meant to be contrasted with the Spartan system. Earlier in the discussion of the Persian system the supervisory structure was set forth: ‘and to look after the boys those among the elders are chosen who appear to reveal the best in the boys’ (καὶ ἐπὶ μὲν τοῖς παισὶν ἐκ τῶν γεραιτέρων ᾑρημένοι εἰσὶν οἳ ἂν δοκῶσι τοὺς παῖδας βελτίστους ἀποδεικνύναι, Cyr. 1.2.5), i.e. not one man from the over-30 age group with young men to help him carry out punishment (Lac. 2.2) but a number of carefully chosen elders. Xenophon does not make use of any imaginary interlocutor in this section, but his audience, having been attuned through his previous uses of such a figure to setting what Xenophon is saying about Sparta in a broader context, may be wondering why hunting was not introduced at an earlier age in the Spartan system. Not only is it introduced earlier in the Persian system, for young men aged 16/17–26/27 (Cyr. 1.2.10) – Cyrus himself first starts hunting around the age of 12 (Cyr. 1.4.11) – but in his treatise On Hunting Xenophon strongly advocates hunting as an activity for men much younger: ‘the individual who is at the point where he exchanges boyhood for maturity must turn to the practice of hunting with dogs’ (χρὴ ἐλθεῖν ἐπὶ τὸ ἐπιτήδευμα τὸ τῶν κυνηγεσίων τὸν ἤδη ἐκ παιδὸς ἀλλάττοντα τὴν ἡλικίαν, Cyn. 2.1). Though the period when boyhood is exchanged for maturity is not further defined, on whatever definition we use, it is still some years before the age of 30 (roughly age 14 in

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the Spartan system, age 16 in the Persian).146 The answer must be at least partially because Lycurgus instituted another activity earlier in the Spartan upbringing, which mimics some of the benefits of hunting in providing training for war, i.e. stealing, which was meant to make boys more capable of contriving to get provisions and more warlike, as it entailed spending sleepless nights, being deceptive, setting up ambushes and making use of spies (Lac. 2.7). But as noted there are significant flaws in the practice and aims of stealing which would seem to outweigh any possible benefits. And even though succeeding passages in On Hunting which provide more details on how hunting is the best training for war (it enhances fitness so that one will be less tired when marching and carrying arms; it makes one better able to obey orders passed along a line, etc., Cyn. 12.2–5) do not immediately conflict with what one thinks of as skills of the Spartans (see, p. 170, for example, on Lac. 11, particularly on the point of obeying orders down a line), the loose parallels end there. Xenophon goes on to point out that ‘[hunting] makes [younger men] moderate and just because it is a training in truth’ (σώφρονάς τε γὰρ ποιεῖ καὶ δικαίους διὰ τὸ ἐν τῇ ἀληθείᾳ παιδεύεσθαι, Cyn. 12.7).147

◊ These first four sections of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, then, are concerned in one way or another with specific parts of the education and further training of Spartans which are different from those of other Greeks and which contribute to their power and renown. Xenophon indeed provides a mini conclusion at Lac. 5.1: ‘The practices, therefore, which Lycurgus ordained by law for each age group have been stated more or less’ (ἃ μὲν οὖν ἑκάστῃ ἡλικίᾳ ἐνομοθέτησεν ὁ Λυκοῦργος ἐπιτηδεύματα, σχεδὸν εἴρηται). The order of presentation of some of the Spartan practices in each of these first two sections moves from the reasonable (women exercising to aid in producing stronger children and the conditioning of boys to endure hardships) to the extreme (legislated adultery and the encouragement of stealing). Moreover, the more extreme legislation seems to have been put in place because of inadequate provisions for enforcing the reasonable proposition. Yet, the practice of keeping boys, youths and young men in the public eye and under constant supervision, in order to instil obedience, self-restraint and aidôs through 146

See also Humble 2004b: 238 on this issue. David 1993: 398–9 argues for the importance of hunting in Spartan life and that the Spartans equated stealing with hunting, which may well be the case, but Xenophon certainly does not equate the two.

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threat of punishment, does not seem to have worked sufficiently to ensure that sparring ephebes would part when so ordered. The weaknesses in such a system are obvious as well. There is nothing specific in the Spartan education system which teaches its charges self-regulation. In fact, unethical behaviour is positively encouraged, since if one does not get caught, stealing is regarded as a good thing. It is hard to reconcile more than just the issue of stealing, either, with Xenophon’s approach in a number of his other works. The Cyropaedia has been the main point of comparison thus far, and whatever we think about its aim, comparing the two education systems has the benefit of highlighting further the oddities in the Spartan system. Even more important concerning broad pedagogical principles is the Memorabilia. Xenophon’s own teacher, Socrates, taught through example and through dialectic, pedagogical techniques notable by their near absence in the text thus far. Apart from pederastic associations, where indeed teaching by example may possibly be inferred, desired virtues have been described as being instilled through fear of punishment and shame. Reading the work as genuine critical enquiry, therefore, provides a better explanation for what appears to be going on in the text than reading it as an attempt to laud the Spartan system or, for that matter, to satirise it underneath the guise of praise. Xenophon knew very well how to write a work of praise: his Agesilaus is proof of that. But his rhetorical approach here is entirely different. He has, it is important to remember, even by the earliest possible date proposed for this work, experienced at close quarters the behaviour of a number of Spartans. Not all of them have behaved particularly admirably according to his own accounts of the period (see further Chapter 6.1 especially), and he surely cannot be capable of fully divorcing his real-life experience from his philosophical enquiry – why, indeed, would he want to? There is no reason, indeed, why the end result of such an enquiry could not be far more complex, even than what might initially have been anticipated, and Xenophon is capable of employing multiple narrative lines and agendas at the same time.148 148

As Bradley 2001 has well shown for the Anabasis.

chapter 4

Reading Lacedaimoniôn Politeia 5–10

4.1  Lac. 5: Common Messes As noted, there is a short transitional passage at the beginning of section 5, marking off the practices (ἐπιτηδεύματα) which Lycurgus put in place for each stage of life from the ‘daily life’ (δίαιταν) he arranged for everyone (Lac. 5.1). This account of the daily life of male Spartiates takes up the next five sections of the treatise, after which there is another transitional passage at the beginning of section 11 to move the discussion into the realm of practices which pertain to times of war (Lac. 11.1). Xenophon again starts out with an explicit comparison to other poleis. Lycurgus, ascertaining that the Spartans lived at home like other Greeks, came to the realisation that there was ‘the greatest slacking’ (πλεῖστα ῥᾳδιουργεῖσθαι) among them and so he established syskênia, i.e. the common messes.1 His belief was that they would then least transgress what was ordered (5.2). The common messes are set up, therefore, to prevent something undesirable, ‘slacking’, and to ensure obedience again by keeping everyone under the watch of others.2 This reasoning mirrors the 1

Though these messes are more commonly referred to elsewhere as syssitia, Xenophon eschews that term across his corpus when referring to the Spartan practice. See Lipka 2002: 149 on 5.2[5] for a discussion. Most interesting is his use of the term syssitia when he has Agesilaus advising Phliasian exiles to set up common messes specifically to train for war (HG 5.3.17), while just a few paragraphs later when reporting on Agesilaus mourning the death of Agesipolis he uses the verb συσκηνέω of the Spartan kings’ practice of messing together (5.3.20). In this treatise, however, Xenophon also uses another term – philition (Lac. 3.5, 5.6) – though not, interestingly, here where he introduces the practice. Further, at 15.4 he calls it a ‘public tent’ (σκηνὴν … δημοσίαν). For a discussion about these various terms, see Hodkinson 2006: 142–3, who notes that while the term syskênia has clear military connotations ‘it would be mistaken to view the syssitia in predominantly military terms’. See also Chapter 7.1.3. 2 Most assert that each syssition had around fifteen members between the ages of 20–59 (e.g., Proietti 1987: 53; Hodkinson 2000: 198; Lipka 2002: 149 on 5.2[5]), following Plutarch: ‘they met in cohorts of fifteen (a little more or a little fewer as well)’ (Lyc. 12.2). The latter part is read as allowing for visitors who sometimes join groups, younger potential members, etc. (e.g., Fisher 1989: 33–6; Hodkinson 2000: 198). The number is generally thought reliable for the Classical period even though it also mirrors the number used in King Agis’ proposed third-century BCE

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most notable features of the Spartan upbringing so far, at least as singled out by Xenophon: twice already the rather generic term for undesirable behaviour, ‘slacking’, has been used (2.2 regarding boys; 4.4 regarding young men) and ensuring obedience through constant supervision and fear of punishment has been a prime goal at every stage of the process (boys are supervised by the paidonomos, specially picked youths and any other citizen; youths are watched by public authorities and relatives; young men watch over one another in a fiercely competitive way). Obedience to the laws was, of course, one of the key elements of Sparta’s renown, but Xenophon is clearly showing that it was coerced obedience, dependent upon fear of punishment, which worked mostly – but not always, as Lac. 4.6 shows – because the Spartans’ way of life kept them under near constant supervision. Diet is then discussed. The food they eat is neither so much as to overfill them nor so little as to leave them wanting. In addition, there are many extra things from the spoils of hunting, and rich men sometimes contribute wheat bread. As a result, the table is never empty of food until they separate and retire; nor is the table extravagant (5.3). Lycurgus put an end also to compulsory drinking because it ruins bodies and minds, and instead allowed them to drink when thirsty, believing that drink, in this way, is least harmful and most pleasurable (5.4). As with many of the initial Lycurgan measures, it is possible here, too, to say that Xenophon very probably approved of this measure in principle, as elsewhere in his corpus moderate diet and drinking habits are presented favourably.3 Further it is not a stretch to see how such attention to diet played a role in Sparta’s gaining power and renown: men with a controlled diet would have a better chance of becoming stronger and healthier (as would be a benefit also of constant street brawling and hunting in the previous sections) than were they enfeebled by overindulgence. Xenophon then interrupts the flow of his narrative by asking a question, directly here, without the mediating trope of an imaginary interlocutor (5.4): ‘how could any of those messing together either by gluttony or reconstruction of the Lycurgan regime (see Fisher 1989: 33), some elements of which have been shown to have no basis at all in practices of the Classical period; see Hodkinson 2000: 43–8 and Humble 2002b. Lazenby 1985: 17–18 is a rare example of an admission of aporia regarding the numbers in a syssition and the problems of automatically retrojecting Plutarchan evidence. Youths attended at least periodically (Lac. 3.5, where it is called a philition; see Moore 1983: 103 and Hodkinson 1983: 252–3). About boys it is less certain. Xenophon speaks of an eirên bringing food for boys (Lac. 2.5), suggesting perhaps a separate mess for boys (Hodkinson 1983: 253 intimates this). At 5.5 Xenophon comments on ‘younger’ (νεώτεροι) and ‘elder’ (γεραίτεροι) at the dinners, but this does not help resolve the issue of boys’ attendance. 3 See Chapter 3.3 and n. 77 there.

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drunkenness ruin either himself or his household (oikos)?’ This is not the question to ask if you do not want to raise further questions. Idle speculation might suggest the following answers: either by drinking too much when thirsty, or by eating and drinking at home when not in the common messes. Indeed, it is clear from what follows that Xenophon intended that we be most worried about the measure to prevent drunkenness, because he sets out two further provisions to stop overdrinking, each increasingly more stringent, because drinking only when thirsty does not, without other compelling reasons, prevent drunkenness. First he notes that in other poleis when men mostly of the same age assemble together, aidôs is least present. Lycurgus, therefore, mixed the ages up in Sparta,4 so that the younger members are educated through the experiences of the older (5.5). In fact it is the custom in the common messes (here called τὰ φιλίτια) to report any noble deed anyone in the polis did, so there is little chance of unprovoked aggression, drunkenness, ‘shameful deeds’ (αἰσχρουργίαν) and ‘shameful speech’ (αἰσχρολογίαν) springing up (5.6).5 The comparison with other poleis and the lack of aidôs in gatherings of men of the same age is clearly a reference to drinking clubs (hetaireiai) in Athens and elsewhere.6 Overindulgence is, therefore, discouraged in Sparta because it contributes to the loss of something the system has been trying to instil, a sense of aidôs.7 Presumably for the older members of the group, this means behaving with appropriate decorum because they have the responsibility of setting a good example for the younger. For the younger, on the other hand, it must encompass showing respect for their elders and feeling shame to be caught acting inappropriately in front of 4

There is a small textual problem here, but the meaning seems clear. See Lipka 2002: 155 on 5.5[1] for a discussion. 5 Cf. Arist. Pol. 1336b1–36 on banishing ‘shameful speech’ (αἰσχρολογία) so that the young are not corrupted. See also NE 1128a23–5, which also links αἰσχρολογία and comedy (on which, see Sidwell 2009: 319 and, for a more conventional interpretation, Halliwell 2008: 219–37 on the ‘sociolinguistics of aischrology’, and 243–63 on ‘Aristophanic shamelessness’). 6 The members of which, as far as can be discerned, were of similar age and social standing; cf. Hansen 1987: 79–80. For the drunken, riotous behaviour of such groups, see Murray 1990: 149–61; and see Fisher 1989: 36–8 for a comparison between syssitia and symposia. See further Rabinowitz 2009 for convincing arguments that the Spartan syssition was only a slight modification of what had previously been common practice everywhere in the Archaic period, i.e. that drinking parties had been formal, public and political everywhere. 7 Other extended references to the general connection between overdrinking and loss of aidôs can be found in the Theognid corpus (on which, see Cairns 1993: 168–9, 174–5), Critias D-K 88(81) B6 (on which, see Fisher 1989: 30–1) and Plato Lg. 1.645d–50b, though Plato is unusual in suggesting that overdrinking can be a means towards attaining aidôs (on which, see Stalley 1983: 124; Fisher 1989: 37–8; Cairns 1993: 374–5). See pp. 130-1 for the full text of Critias B6.

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them. It is interesting that here, almost incidentally, we have, for the first and only time in the treatise, a positive form of education noted: in the common messes by listening to the noble deeds of their elders the younger members learn through listening and imitation, rather than by fear of punishment. The experience of the elders and the reporting of whoever acted well in the polis, does, of course, also serve to reinforce the values which are important to the whole group and which are encouraged throughout the whole system. As a further incentive not to drink too much, however, they are compelled (ἀναγκάζονται) to walk home in the dark (without a torch for those in the army) after their meal without stumbling drunkenly ‘knowing that they will not remain there where they were dining’ (εἰδότες ὅτι οὐκ ἔνθαπερ ἐδείπνουν καταμενοῦσι) (5.7). Interpretation of this last phrase is not agreed upon: it might simply be reiterating that they do not sleep where they eat, but equally it could mean that they are banned from the common messes if they are caught in a drunken stupor on the way home. Encouraging the latter interpretation is the fact that the narrative flow here recalls that used particularly in the discussion about procreation where an idealistic measure is set out first (here regulating drinking by thirst), and is then followed by two further measures which provide more pressing and realistic means of achieving the original goal (encouragement of aidôs by mixing up the age groups, and having to walk home steadfastly or risk losing their place in the common mess). Neither thirst, nor aidôs alone, it appears, can ensure overdrinking does not occur. The ultimate compulsion is either fear of not arriving home safely,8 or possibly even exclusion from the common messes. Xenophon must, therefore, be suggesting that allowing men to drink when thirsty still left open the possibility of abuse and wasting of property,9 so further measures were required – measures which relied again on shame and fear, as has most of the legislation so far presented. The emphasis on aidôs in the account of the first extra measure to ensure moderate drinking builds on the prominence given to the concept thus far in the treatise. It was the most frequently mentioned aim of the paideia of boys, and the only aim made explicit for youths, both of which groups were kept well supervised. It was also mentioned in the context of adult behaviour outside the common messes: at 1.5 where it was 8

Luppino Manes 1988: 66 and Lipka 2002: 157 on 5.7[2] both draw attention to the fact that road conditions were, in general, difficult and dangerous, and the way likely to be long due to the scattered settlement structure, citing Aristophanes Wasps 246–72 as an amusing but useful illustration. 9 Contra Fisher 1989: 31.

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emphasised that it was a source of shame for the man to be seen entering or leaving his wife’s chambers.10 The repetition of aideisthai there is more understandable now.11 Xenophon clearly sees the inculcation of aidôs, like the prevention of slacking and obedience through fear of punishment, as a key feature of the Spartan system which led to its power and renown. It is, thus, not a surprise to find him relating elsewhere that the Spartans considered Αἰδώς a goddess (Smp. 8.35).12 Yet the way he has developed his argument here again not only highlights this prominent feature in the Lycurgan system but also draws attention to its weakness. Either aidôs itself is not a sufficiently strong weapon against drunkenness or the way aidôs has been inculcated is not wholly adequate, since it cannot be guaranteed to regulate drinking in the common messes. The parallel with the account of the youths’ behaviour towards one another in the previous section (where an education meant to instil obedience and self-restraint is not enough to ensure they will break up a fight when so ordered) is clear: the prominent values encouraged by the system are simply not taught and instilled in such a way as to ensure adherence to the strict Lycurgan code. It is worth here considering also the extant fragment of Critias’ poetic Lacedaimoniôn Politeia on this topic (D-K 88(81) B6 = Athen. 10.432d–433b):13 καὶ τοδ᾽ ἔθος Σπάρτῃ μελέτημά τε κείμενόν ἐστι πίνειν τὴν αὐτὴν οἰνοφόρον κύλικα, μηδ᾽ ἀποδωρεῖσθαι προπόσεις ὀνομαστὶ λέγοντα, μηδ᾽ ἐπὶ δεξιτερὰν χεῖρα κύκλῳ θιάσου ......................................................................... 10

It might be noted again just as a point of comparison that in Persia there is no restriction on sexual intercourse, and its value for promoting aidôs is not a feature because, as noted earlier, aidôs is not of prime concern in the Persian system; cf. Cyr. 1.2.9 with Tuplin 1994: 155. 11 This sneaking in and out of the marital bed is, in fact, sandwiched between two other measures much more likely to attain the end of healthy offspring (see Chapter 3.2). Plutarch will also report this measure, and while also noting (undoubtedly influenced by Xenophon’s account) that shame and fear motivate the husband to keep his visits secret (Lyc. 15.4), he, unlike Xenophon, highlights enkrateia and sôphrosynê as overall benefits of Spartan marriage practices (Lyc. 15.5). Manfredini and Piccirilli 1998: 258–60 do not comment on this difference in emphasis between the two authors. 12 Whether this implies that aidôs was actually worshipped in Sparta is not clear. Erffa 1937: 57 is reluctant to reach such a conclusion and also speculates that the ‘statue of Aidôs’ (ἄγαλμα τῆς Αἰδοῦς) near Sparta to which Pausanias refers and which he identifies with Penelope (Paus. 3.20.10– 11) is a later association of a veiled female figure with the abstract concept; on this latter passage and the identification of this statue with Penelope, see LIMC 1.1: 352 and Cairns 1996: 153–4. For different theories about whom the statue represents, see Richer 1999: 93–6. He concludes that whatever the origins of the association of this statue with aidôs in Pausanias’ day, the very fact of the connection itself ‘demonstrates the duration of the significance accorded to this concept’ (99). 13 See Gerber 1999: 466–9 for the text and translation (which I have slightly modified).

Lac. 5: Common Messes ἄγγεα Λυδὴ χεὶρ ηὗρ᾽ Ἀσιατογενὴς, καὶ προπόσεις ὀρέγειν ἐπιδέξια, καὶ προκαλεῖσθαι ἐξονομακλήδην ᾧ προπιεῖν ἐθέλει. εἶτ᾽ ἀπὸ τοιούτων πόσεων γλώσσας τε λύουσιν εἰς αἰσχροὺς μύθους, σῶμά τ᾽ ἀμαυρότερον τεύχουσιν· πρὸς δ᾽ ὄμμ᾽ ἀχλὺς ἀμβλωπὸς ἐφίζει λῆστις δ᾽ ἐκτήκει μνημοσύνην πραπίδων, νοῦς δὲ παρέσφαλται. δμῶες δ᾽ ἀκόλαστον ἔχουσιν ἦθος· ἐπεισπίπτει δ᾽ οἰκοτριβὴς δαπάνη. οἱ Λακεδαιμονίων δὲ κόροι πίνουσι τοσοῦτον, ὥστε φρέν᾽ εἰς ἱλαρὰν †ἀσπίδα πάντ᾽ ἀπάγειν† εἴς τε φιλοφροσύνην γλῶσσαν μέτριόν τε γέλωτα. τοιαύτη δὲ πόσις σώματι τ᾽ ὠφέλιμος γνώμηι τε κτήσει τε· καλῶς δ᾽ εἰς ἔργ᾽ ᾽Αφροδίτης πρός θ᾽ ὕπνον ἥρμοσται, τὸν καμάτων λιμένα, πρὸς τὴν τερπνοτάτην τε θεῶν θνητοῖς ῾Υγίειαν καὶ τὴν Εὐσεβίης γείτονα Σωφροσύνην.

131 5

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15

20

ἑξῆς τε πάλιν φησίν αἱ γὰρ ὑπὲρ τὸ μέτρον κυλίκων προπόσεις παραχρῆμα τέρψασαι λυποῦσ᾽ εἰς τὸν ἅπαντα χρόνον. ἡ Λακεδαιμονίων δὲ δίαιθ᾽ ὁμαλῶς διάκειται, ἔσθειν καὶ πίνειν σύμμετρα πρὸς τὸ φρονεῖν καὶ τὸ πονεῖν εἶναι δυνατούς· οὐκ ἔστ᾽ ἀπότακτος ἡμέρα οἰνῶσαι σῶμ᾽ ἀμέτροισι πότοις.

25

This too is the custom and established practice at Sparta: to drink from the same wine-bearing cup, and not to give toasts while proposing them (to someone) by name, and not (to pass the cup?) to the right in the circle of company ... A Lydian hand, born in Asia, invented (wine) vessels, extending of toasts to the right, and challenging by name the person to whom one wishes to drink a toast. Then, as a result of such drinking, they loosen their tongues to tell shameful stories, and they enfeeble their bodies; upon their eyes a dark mist settles, oblivion melts away memory from their minds, and reason wanders completely away, tripped up. The servants have an undisciplined manner and oikos-ruining extravagance bursts in. But Spartan youths drink only enough (to turn?) their mind to cheerful ..., their tongue to friendliness and moderate laughter. Such drinking is beneficial for body, mind and property. It is well suited to acts of love, and to sleep, a haven from toils, and to Hygieia, most pleasing of gods to mortals, and Piety, the neighbour of Sôphrosynê. He goes on to say again: For toasts from cups that go beyond due measure, though they give momentary pleasure, bring grief for all time. But the Spartan way of life is

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Reading Lacedaimoniôn Politeia 5–10 evenly ordered: to eat and drink moderately so as to be able to think and work. There is no day set apart to intoxicate the body with immoderate drinking.

Without the complete texts of Critias’ works on Sparta it is not possible to be absolutely certain to what extent and on what level Xenophon engaged with them, but if the passages on drinking in Sparta are any indication we are indeed unfortunate not to have them. Critias explains what Xenophon simply refers to as compulsory drinking – to drink to someone’s health and pass cups around, such as the Lydians do – and the two concur on the fact that this practice, which tripped up mind and body alike, was not practised in Sparta.14 Xenophon’s following point, that Spartans were allowed to drink when they were thirsty because it was believed drink was most harmless and most pleasurable this way, is a less idealised version of lines 14–18 above and the start of the subtle but important deviations from Critias’ account, in which thirst is not actually taken into account. The question at Lac. 5.4 – ‘how could any of those messing together either by gluttony or drunkenness ruin either himself or his household (oikos)?’ – might seem to suggest that Xenophon had finished with the provisions for preventing overindulgence and that he concurs with Critias that overdrinking is an oikos-ruining extravagance and is therefore unknown in Sparta. Yet, just as he has previously done in the earlier portion of the treatise,15 Xenophon uses the question to launch into two further measures to prevent drunkenness, the description of which involves a more sophisticated analysis of aidôs and its cognates than that found in Critias. Xenophon echoes Critias’ αἰσχροὺς μύθους with αἰσχρολογίαν and improves on his model by adding the parallel αἰσχρουργίαν. It is notable, too, that the notion of moderation, which is highlighted in the Critian passage about drink (μέτριόν, 16; Σωφροσύνην, 21; τὸ μέτρον, 22; σύμμετρα, 25; and as a point of contrast, ἀμέτροισι, 27), is completely absent from Xenophon’s account,16 as it is almost completely absent from the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia in general.17 Thus, even if Xenophon is not directly engaging critically with Critias’ text, the 14

By contrast, Critias notes, the Spartans always drink from the same cup (cf. also D-K 88(81) B33 = Athen. 11.463e). On this fragment, see Fisher 1989: 30–1. 15 And compare also later at 7.4 and 8.2, where Xenophon likewise appears to be wrapping up the point but follows on each time with two further, more punitive measures to try to enforce the practice under discussion. 16 Contra Hodkinson 2000: 22, who argues that ‘Xenophon retains the moralizing theme of moderation evident in Critias’. 17 See Humble 1999 on this.

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comparison of the two texts reveals how much more positively Xenophon could have presented this practice had he wished. Comparison with the Cyropaedia also illuminates further what Xenophon is suggesting here. Xenophon depicts the Persians in the Cyropaedia conducting their symposia in a restrained manner.18 It is the Medes, by contrast, who are shown to be prone to excessive and intemperate behaviour. For example, the young Cyrus lectures his Median grandfather on the subject of excessive drinking, informing him that his Persian father stops drinking when he stops being thirsty (Cyr. 1.3.10– 11).19 The strong verbal reminiscences between this passage and Lac. 5.4 have been noted by Gera.20 But there is an important difference between Persia and Sparta. Owning one’s own cup and allowing each man to be in control of what he drank may be a sufficient guard against drunkenness for men who have been educated in sôphrosynê (i.e. the Persians), but for those who have not and who, for example, have been taught as children to satiate their hunger by stealing, there is no guarantee. If it had been sufficient, the extra measures instituted by Lycurgus would not have been necessary. The final measure discussed links diet and exercise. Lycurgus had observed well that on the same diet men who work hard are healthy and strong, but lazy men are ugly (αἰσχροὶ) and feeble. He also reflected that those who loved toiling of their own accord were healthy in body too. So he had the eldest in each gymnasium set the appropriate tasks to balance the amount of food eaten. Xenophon declares that he thinks Lycurgus successful in this measure, as it would not be easy for anyone to find men ‘healthier’ or ‘more useful’ (ὑγιεινοτέρους ... χρησιμωτέρους) with respect to their bodies than the Spartiates, for they exercise their legs, arms and necks alike (5.8–9). The emphasis on maintaining fitness here echoes the main aims of the activities presented for young men (keeping fit by fighting one another, 4.6) and adults (hunting to maintain fitness for campaigning, 4.7), and it would be perverse to disagree with the conclusion: watching diet and exercising appropriately would certainly make men healthier and more useful. Yet it is important to note that Lycurgus did not leave this practice to each individual but had it carried out under 18

Contrary to the earlier Herodotean picture (Hdt. 1.133), though Herodotus also says that before they conquered the Lydians the Persians only drank water (Hdt. 1.71). 19 See also Cyr. 4.5.7–8 and Fisher 1992: 99–100. 20 In fact, as Gera 1993: 158 points out, he uses the same phrase for the effects of overdrinking (σφάλλουσι μὲν σώματα, σφάλλουσι δὲ γνώμας, Lac. 5.4) at Cyr. 1.3.10 and Smp. 2.26 (though here thirst is not an issue; rather Socrates proposes smaller drinking cups to slow down the rate of drinking).

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supervision and, in view of the discussion about controlling drinking, it is hard not to be thinking at this point in the treatise that if the Spartans were left to their own devices and unsupervised, they would not be healthy, fit or useful. Thus, in this first section which examines the daily way of life for all in Sparta we find repeated and emphasised elements which are becoming familiar and are clearly the cornerstones of the Lycurgan system: eliminating rhadiourgia, encouraging aidôs, ensuring everyone is kept in the public eye and under public supervision, and enforcement of measures through fear of punishment. Punishment in the form of being denied access to aspects of the common way of life, in this instance dining at the common messes, links with previous discussions: youths were to avoid shirking or be excluded from ‘good things’ (3.3) and acceptance into the 300 was one of the ‘good things’ which awaited young men (4.4). Further, we find repeated narrative techniques (questions which encourage the reader to think about what is being set out and the practice of following ideal measures with increasingly punitive ways of implementing them) which both show the benefits of the measures discussed and at the same time the quicksand upon which they are built.

4.2  Lac. 6: Sharing of Goods Discussion about the daily life prescribed for all continues with the notice that in other poleis each man rules (ἄρχουσιν) his own children, servants and possessions. Lycurgus, by contrast, wanted to establish matters so that the citizens could do one another good while doing no harm. And in contrast to earlier sections where a number of practices in other poleis were listed but only some of them taken up as being different in Sparta, here Xenophon deals with all three categories in the same order. First, regarding children, Lycurgus set things up so that each man ruled (ἄρχειν) his own and others’ children similarly (ὁμοίως) (6.1). What reads like a concluding statement follows: ‘whenever someone knows that these men are fathers of the children whom he himself rules (ἄρχει), it is necessary for him to rule (ἄρχειν) in such a way as he would wish his own child also to be ruled (ἄρχεσθαι)’. The discussion, however, continues. If any child reports to his father that he has received blows from another, it is shameful (αἰσχρόν) if he does not further beat his son. Thus, Xenophon concludes, do they trust each other not to give any shameful orders (μηδὲν αἰσχρὸν προστάττειν) to their children (6.2). Such

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legislated sharing of parental duties carries on reinforcement of the fundamental Lycurgan preoccupations, the inculcation of obedience and aidôs, and does so using the favoured methods of promoting this behaviour pattern through public supervision and, for children, physical punishment. Recall how in the earlier discussion of the paideia, where obedience and aidôs were key concerns, boys were said to be under the rule of a paidonomos and subject to punishment by him and his whipbearers (2.2) and it was further mentioned that any citizen could punish them if the paidonomos was absent (2.10). The verb ‘to rule’ (ἄρχειν) dominates and though it is difficult not simply to superimpose what becomes a later commonplace about Sparta onto this passage, i.e. as the place where one goes to learn to rule and to be ruled,21 it is important to notice that that is not what is being set out here. Here it is all about being ruled and the emphasis is again on teaching the young obedience to authority and the laws, whatever forms they should take, which of course, as noted in Chapter 2.4, is one of the key aspects of Sparta’s renown at this point in time. Again, however, an abbreviated version of the narrative pattern seen previously is present: the initial provision that each man rule his own and others’ children in a similar manner clearly was not working simply on the grounds that everyone was ruling as they would want their own children to be ruled: otherwise there would have been no need for the additional measure. Boys must have been complaining to their own fathers about beatings at the hands of others and fathers were getting angry with one another. The additional measure to stop the boys complaining appears to be an attempt to stop things from deteriorating into a cycle of vengeance, and the usual methods are employed: fear of further punishment and attendant shame, for both the father and the boy. It is hard to see, however, upon consideration, how this would prevent secret grudges and retribution, particularly given the intensely competitive environment in which these adult wielders of punishment have grown up, and, consequently, to believe that Xenophon is not being somewhat ironic when he states ‘thus do they trust each other’. Trust has nothing to do with it: it is fear of further punishment and public shaming that keep the practice from escalating. The second part of this section concerns the sharing of servants and certain possessions. Lycurgus arranged it so that if anyone had a need (εἴ 21

This is found in Plutarch and the context is Agesilaus bidding Xenophon to send his sons to Sparta ‘to be ruled and to rule’ (Apophthegmata Laconica 212b and also Ages. 20.2). I would argue, however, that this is a post-Classical construct; see Humble 2004b: 232–4.

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τις δεηθείη) he could use the servants of another. Hunting dogs were held in common, so that those who had need (οἱ μὲν δεόμενοι) of hunting dogs would invite the owner along. If the owner does not have the leisure to go, he gladly sends the dogs. In this way, also, they make use of horses. If anyone is sick or has need (δεηθεὶς) of a chariot or wishes to get somewhere quickly, if he sees a horse, he takes it and uses it well and then returns it in good condition (6.3). The final practice is also pointed out as not being customary among others: when men are kept out late by the hunt and need (δεηθῶσι) provisions, if they do not happen to have brought any with them, he made those who did possess food leave it behind, and those in need (δεομένους) then opened the parcels, took what they needed (ὅσων ἂν δέωνται) and left them sealed up. The final comment is that by sharing in this way with one another, those who had little had a share in all the things of the land (πάντων τῶν ἐν τῇ χώρᾳ), whenever they had some need (δεηθῶσιν) (6.4–5). These provisions concerning servants, dogs, horses and food packages are dominated by a new and different theme: need.22 The verb δέομαι is repeated in various forms seven times. The closing remark has frequently been deemed naïve or exaggerated on the grounds that Xenophon has not shown that poor Spartiates were in a position to profit from all the resources of their more fortunate citizens.23 But it is likely, first, that ‘all’ is referring here only to slaves, dogs, horses and food parcels, because of the final qualifying reference to need which ties the summary statement closely to the immediately preceding discussion in 6.3–4 and because it is not usual in the treatise to find a summary statement referring to select pieces of information separated by other non-relevant items. It would indeed have been naïve of Xenophon to assert otherwise, since it has been apparent in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia so far that there were inequalities in wealth and resources (cf. 1.9, 5.3) and that provisions were actually in place to safeguard the possessions of the wealthy. One of these 22

See Hodkinson 1994: 191–2 and 2000: 23 on the emphasis here on need. Ollier 1934: 41: ‘Les services mutuellement rendus qu’il vient de mentionner, et dont il paraît bien exagérer l’importance, ne permettent pas d’affirmer que les Spartiates pauvres étaient de la sorte à même de profiter de toutes les ressources de leurs concitoyens plus fortunés.’ (‘The mutually rendered services he has just mentioned, and the importance of which he appears to exaggerate substantially, do not allow us to assert that poor Spartiates were in a position to profit from all the resources of their wealthier fellow-citizens.’) Cf. also Moore 1983: 108 (‘rose-coloured spectacles’); Bordes 1982: 174 (‘amplifie considérablement les indications précédemment données’ (‘he amplified considerably the indications given previously’)); Hodkinson 1994: 192–3 (‘naïve’) and, modified somewhat later, 2000: 23 (‘significant misrepresentation’); Lipka 2002: 163 on 6.5[2] (‘deliberately manipulating’).

23

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is that there was limited, polis-regulated sharing aimed at alleviating some of these inequalities without inconveniencing the wealthy too much.24 Lycurgus was attempting with the legislation in this section to create situations in which the citizens do some good to one another without doing any harm. Given that as boys, Spartans are encouraged by the meagre diet to steal, it might be presumed that without such measures they would be likely to steal from one another also while adults, which would be harmful. As it is, however, limited borrowing is permitted with safety features to protect the wealthy, such as asking an owner if hunting dogs could be borrowed. The tension between trying to accommodate the concerns of the wealthy and trying to establish new regulations to benefit the polis is behind these measures as it was behind the rules governing legislated adultery: the loosening of marital practices to ensure the begetting of healthy children (to do good) was balanced by legislation that protected the wealth of individual families (to do no harm) (1.9).25 But in the end these measures could only have reinforced the differences between the wealthy and the poor. Likewise, it is not entirely clear, upon consideration, how successful the limited communal parenting legislation could have been. Certainly it must have helped reinforce important societal values, but the limits on preventing preferential or discriminatory treatment would only work in the public arena and it is difficult to see how private grudges could be prevented.

4.3  Lac. 7: Wealth This section starts with clear verbal reminiscences of the opening of the previous section,26 though here Xenophon adds that these measures, opposite to those of the other Greeks, were established as customs (νόμιμα). In other poleis ‘everyone makes as much money as possible’ (πάντες χρηματίζονται ὅσον δύνανται), through farming, ship-owning, trade or crafts (7.1). In Sparta, however, Lycurgus forbade free men from engaging in any ‘of the matters concerning moneymaking’ (τῶν μὲν ἀμφὶ χρηματισμὸν) but ordered them to practise alone, as their own concern, 24

Cf. Proietti 1987: 54–5 and Powell 2001: 230 on limited sharing. One thing these measures were not meant to do was to create common ownership or to dissolve familial bonds as Plutarch presents it much later in the Life of Lycurgus. 25 The resistance and subsidiary legislation are likely to have been by and for those most expected to lose by a fully communal system – the wealthy. Xenophon does explicitly note twice that Lycurgus consulted with them (Lac. 8.1, 8.5). 26 6.1: ἐναντία γε μὴν ἔγνω καὶ τάδε τοῖς πλείστοις. 7.1: ἐναντία γε μὴν καὶ τάδε τοῖς ἄλλοις ῞Ελλησι κατέστησεν.

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deeds of the sort which ‘bring freedom to the poleis’ (ἐλευθερίαν ταῖς πόλεσι παρασκευάζει) (7.2).27 Here the key theme, ‘moneymaking’, is again hammered home through repetition and the use of cognate forms.28 Lipka argues that the explanation of what Xenophon means here is to be found in a passage in the Oeconomicus (4.2–3) in which Xenophon has Socrates say to Critobulos that banausic activities destroy the bodies of men and similarly weaken their souls, give them no leisure time to look after their friends and polis, and make them poor defenders of their native lands (ταῖς πατρίσιν); and that that is why in poleis with a reputation for being good at war (ταῖς εὐπολέμοις) citizens are forbidden to engage in banausic activity.29 The reference in the Oeconomicus is clearly to Sparta, but there is an important difference between what Xenophon has Socrates say in the Oeconomicus and what is said here: here citizens need concern themselves not with the freedom of their own polis, but with that of poleis in the plural. The idea is certainly generally the same, but the emphasis in the Oeconomicus is on defending one’s own polis and, by extension (though it is not stated) one’s own freedom. Another passage cited by Lipka, this time from Plato’s Republic, where guardians are likewise not to engage in banausic activity because they are to be ‘craftsmen of the freedom of the polis’ (δημιουργοὺς ἐλευθερίας τῆς πόλεως, R. 3.395c) similarly refers to the polis in the singular. Why the plural here? Xenophon is surely referring to the propagandistic slogan employed by the Spartans (and others) at various times claiming they were bringing freedom to the poleis. Raaflaub has well shown how this slogan was tied in with the Spartans’ reputation as leaders (prostatai) of Greece; he has also shown that it is perfectly clear that reality never matched up to propaganda on this front.30 This reputation of the Spartans as liberators is certainly present in Herodotus: for example, the Milesian tyrant Aristagoras goes to Sparta and begs the Spartans as leaders of Greece to save them from slavery (Hdt. 5.49). Thucydides has the Corinthians refer to this reputation (Th. 1.69.1) and reports at the beginning of the Peloponnesian War that goodwill was on the side of the Spartans because they 27

Cartledge 1976: 115–9 is a good reminder that here, as in many cases, this legislation could not have gone back much further than the sixth century BCE. Hodkinson 2000: 177–9 is a useful exposé comparing the different opportunities for moneymaking in Athens and Sparta, pointing out that farming, shop-owning, trades and crafts ‘hardly exhausts the options open to wealthy men in search of profit’. 28 7.1: χρηματίζονται; 7.2: χρημαστισμόν; 7.3: χρημάτων … χρηματιστέον; 7.4: χρήματα; 7.5: χρηματίζεσθαι; 7.6: χρηματισμὸς. 29 Lipka 2002: 164–5 on 7.2[1]. Cf. Arist. Pol. 8 1337b5–15. On the idea that devotion to one task only is more likely to bring success, see also Cyr. 5.1.30. 30 Raaflaub 2004: 193–202.

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announced that they were freeing Greece (τὴν ῾Ελλάδα ἐλευθεροῦσιν, 2.8.4; cf. Th. 2.72.1, 3.59.4, 3.63.3).31 Contrast is continually made with the Athenians or Persians who had been and/or were enslaving Greece, and with the actual actions of the Spartans, which were anything but liberating.32 That Xenophon, as well as his predecessors, was perfectly aware of the contrast between the rhetorical promise of freedom and the reality of Spartan practice is seen frequently in the Hellenica. His comments at the end of the Peloponnesian War that the exiles thought the day was ‘the beginning of freedom for Greece’ (τῇ ῾Ελλάδι ἄρχειν τῆς ἐλευθερίας, HG 2.2.23) recalls the comments Thucydides makes at the beginning of the war. Xenophon’s narrative thereafter shows how false a hope this was. Almost immediately following upon this statement he reports how Lysander besieged the Samians, allowed free men to leave if they wanted, gave over the polis to its former citizens and installed ten rulers (2.3.6–7) – rather stretching the definition of freedom. The force of the rhetoric, however, still holds enough weight for the Ionian Greeks to use it in an appeal to Sparta in 400 BCE for help against Tissaphernes (3.1.3),33 but it is clearly used as a matter of expediency, and those on the other side who want to defend themselves against Sparta can use it in exactly the opposite way.34 Consider what the Thebans say in an appeal to the Athenians against the Spartans in 395 BCE in reference to the poleis Sparta supposedly freed from the Athenians (3.5.13): ἀντὶ γὰρ ἐλευθερίας διπλῆν αὐτοῖς δουλείαν παρεσχήκασιν· ὑπὸ τε γὰρ τῶν ἁρμοστῶν τυραννοῦνται καὶ ὑπὸ δέκα ἀνδρῶν, οὓς Λύσανδρος κατέστησεν ἐν ἑκάστῃ πόλει. For instead of freedom they have provided them with a double slavery. For they are under the tyranny both of the harmosts and of the decarchies which Lysander set up in each polis.

31

See Seager and Tuplin 1980: especially 145 n. 55. Their article is valuable on this whole notion, though they concentrate on trying to discern when particularly the slogan ‘freedom of the Greeks in Asia’ arose. This may be why the Corinthians, in their appeals to Sparta, make use of the notion of freedom v. enslavement at Th. 1.69.1, 1.122.3. 32 See Hornblower 1995: 66–7. 33 Seager and Tuplin 1980: 144 comment on the similarity between this passage and Hdt. 5.49. In Xenophon, see also HG 2.2.23, 3.1.16, 3.1.20; Ages. 2.29. There are also a considerable number of references to autonomia: e.g., HG 3.2.12, 3.2.20, 3.4.5, 3.4.25, 4.8.14–15; Ages. 1.10. 34 And as Tuplin 1993: 51–2 points out, over the course of the campaigns of Thibron and Dercylidas (HG 3.1.1–3.2.20), freedom has certainly not been obtained and ‘the negotiations initiated in 3.2.19 sink without trace’.

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This type of rhetoric becomes even stronger in the 380s, particularly with the Spartan surrender of the autonomy of the Asian Greeks in the terms of the King’s Peace in 387 (5.1.31),35 and chimes in very well, as will be shown below, with the points highlighted in section 14 of the work. To fit with the praise theory about the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, it might be argued that Xenophon was either being careless, or was actually defending the glorious reputation of the Spartans for bringing freedom to the rest of the Greeks, being blinded by his bias to the fact that the Spartans were more prone to enslave poleis than to free them. But if Xenophon is neither careless nor naïvely pro-Spartan, it must be assumed that he is deliberately using the plural, poleis, and deliberately recalling this rather undeserved reputation of Sparta as a supporter of the freedom of other Greeks. The explanation is really no different from that posited for much of the legislation so far. In the first place the reputation – whatever the reality – is connected with Sparta’s power and renown, as is evident in both the positive and negative examples above. That Xenophon does not go on to explain what the activities are which the Spartan citizens engage in which lead to freedom for the poleis further exacerbates the unease generated by the recollection of the negative side of the reputation. Nor do any of the previously mentioned activities appear to address this point specifically: young men brawling in the streets (Lac. 4.6), men over the age of 30 hunting (4.7), regular physical exercise (5.8–9). So the statement stands on its own and serves only to draw attention to the false propaganda of the Spartans on the issue of others’ freedom. A question follows (7.3): ‘why should wealth need to be zealously pursued there at any rate, where, by ordering them to bring equal (ἴσα) amounts for their provisions and to live daily life in a like fashion (ὁμοίως), he brought it about that they do not yearn for money for luxuries?’ By now the reader should be alert to Xenophon’s technique of using questions to ask his audience to think and, usually, to signpost difficulties, which he then does not clear up. But here he actually seems to anticipate objections of the following sort: ‘But what about money to buy cloaks or to help messmates?’ For he goes on to note that one must not make money (χρηματιστέον) for clothing; for they are adorned not by the extravagance of their clothing but by the good health of their bodies (7.3); nor must one gather money (χρήματα) to spend on one’s messmates, since Lycurgus made it more honourable to benefit comrades by 35

For angry denunciations of the peace in oratory, see Seager and Tuplin 1980: 145 n. 54.

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toiling with the body than by spending money on them – the former is the work of the soul, the latter the work of wealth (7.4). The emphasis on the physical and bodies picks up numerous edicts thus far about fitness and health. No more is said about clothing, but the general comments here fit with other sources that say it was simple and uniform.36 In posing the question and anticipating objections to it, Xenophon shows that there was a concern in Sparta to mask socio-economic differences.37 That the masking was only superficial is also clear. Xenophon has already given evidence within the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia to show that wealth was seriously sought in Sparta, or at the very least that it was present and jealously guarded: extramarital arrangements do not impinge upon family fortunes (χρήματα, 1.9); Spartans may have been ordered to bring equal provisions to meals, but rich men brought extras (5.3); luxury items, such as hunting dogs and horses (6.3), were clearly not owned by all Spartans and were, moreover, highly visible manifestations of wealth.38 Yet even if we consider a practice which in theory should have been an ‘envy-reducing mechanism’, i.e. the ability to bring into the common messes spoils from the hunt,39 it is so only superficially (like the measure ensuring that all dress alike). The competitiveness inherent in the system, and greatly encouraged in young men, would ensure envy of one sort or another, whether because of hunting skills, the quality of dogs borrowed, the very fact of the visibility of the inequality, etc. None of those acts, therefore, could have helped foster a real feeling of equality among all the participants, whether in a common mess or out on a hunt, and must, as Hodkinson suggests, have encouraged ‘competition among members for a high place in the syssition hierarchy, not to mention competition between different syssitia over the quality and quantity of their extra 36

See Th. 1.6, and Critias D-K 88(81) B34 = Athen. 11.483e. It is worthwhile to point out that the tone in the Critean fragment seems undeniably laudatory: he notes that Spartan shoes are the best and their cloaks are the most pleasant and the most useful, and their cups most suitable for war. 37 Hodkinson 2000: 219. See more generally David 1989 (though he regards the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia as an ‘enthusiastically philo-Laconian treatise’ (p. 3)). 38 Regarding the poor condition of the Spartan cavalry, Xenophon says at HG 6.4.11 ‘for the richest men raised the horses’. Hodkinson 1994: 197 notes that chariot-racing, about which Xenophon is not ignorant (cf. Ages. 9.6, where there is the suggestion that there was even held to be a difference between raising horses for cavalry and raising them for chariot racing), is another area in which a Spartan had need of money. Indeed, it is known from other sources that wealthy Spartans had a good number of victories in chariot-racing at Olympia from 550–370 (see De Ste Croix 1972: 355; Cartledge 2002a: 135, 199; Hodkinson 1989: 96–100; Flower 1991: 89–90; Hodkinson 2000: 303– 33). It has been cogently suggested by Powell 2001: 230–1 (who also discusses the similarity to Athenian society) that allowing the wealthy such an ‘outlet for showing off wealth’ was, in part at least, a compromise to prevent the rich becoming too discontented. Costly dedications also required some sort of wealth; cf. Hodkinson 1989: 95–100 and 2000: 271–302. 39 Fisher 1989: 45 n. 24, followed by Hodkinson 2000: 218.

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donations’.40 To return to the question Xenophon posed, then, a further objection might be: ‘But what about wealth to compete within the common messes?’ Again, since the assumption here is that Xenophon is not being careless, he must be expecting us to recognise that this would be a problem. As if Xenophon’s prior narrative was not enough to confirm for us that desire for wealth was strong in Sparta and that the bringing of equal provisions, living a similar daily life, dressing the same and not spending money on one another could not actually have prevented a desire for money, the next two measures which he sets out hammer the point home. Lycurgus instituted these to prevent moneymaking (χρηματίζεσθαι) by unjust means (ἀδίκων). We might hardly be surprised that the possibility exists that money would be sought by unjust means, given the clear indication of its importance thus far, in combination, for example, with the lack of education in justice and the encouragement of stealing. First, Xenophon reports, Lycurgus established such a type of coinage that if even ten-minae worth came into the house it would not escape notice, because it would need a great space and a chariot for carrying it (7.5).41 Further, searches for gold and silver are carried out and if any is found the person in possession is penalised (ζημιοῦται, 7.6).42 Once again, therefore, we have an idealistic goal (preventing desire for wealth) – problems with which are brought to the reader’s attention by means of a question and the addressing of some anticipated objections – which in turn is followed by further more realistic and more punitive measures (making money bulky, instituting searches for hidden hoards) in order to try to achieve the original goal. The narrative pattern is the same as that employed in the discussion of the measures to produce healthy children (1.5–9), the measures to control overdrinking (5.4–7) and on a smaller scale the measures to ensure that limited communal parenting worked (6.1–2). In every case, because the ideal practice is difficult to impose, it is followed by increasingly punitive 40

Hodkinson 1983: 254 (where there can also be found a list of sources later than Xenophon which describe in detail the extra donations brought by rich men to the common meals). Cf. also Lac. 15.4 on the double portions of food assigned to the kings in order that they might honour whomever they chose. This practice can only have led to the same result. 41 Unlike Plutarch Xenophon does not refer to the ‘iron spits’. Hodkinson 2000: 164 explores what ten minae actually translates into in terms of weight and advises not holding Xenophon here to exacting mathematical standards, the point being simply that ten minae could not be kept under wraps. 42 As noted in Chapter 3.5 n. 132, where the verb ζημιόω is used it is not clear whether we are to read it as unspecified punishment or a fine. Presumably, in the case of those caught with silver and gold, fines could in fact be levied. See Hodkinson 2000: 170–1 on evidence for official fines.

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measures that do not really resolve the tensions but rather mask them. Here, the very fact that searches were carried out meant that wealth was accumulated in private.43 Xenophon himself, in his Hellenica, provides evidence of the ineffectiveness of the searches (HG 6.5.27).44 As noted in Chapter 2.2.2, this statement cannot be reconciled with the view that the work praises Sparta. Ollier recognised this and fell back on the weak argument that Xenophon was simply being careless and hasty. Yet if Xenophon is not being careless and hasty, he must fully expect us to conclude from his presentation that whatever regulations have been set up (forbidding moneymaking, making life superficially equal for all citizens, making money impossibly bulky), no matter how punitive (including penalties for hoarding silver and gold), were insufficient to crush the desire for accumulating wealth among the Spartans.45 Again, the compelling motivation to conform is fear of punishment, but at best it can only ensure conformity in public, and only to a limited degree, since visible manifestations of wealth were still very much in evidence (for example, hunting dogs and horses). Nothing, not even the threat of punishment, it seems, could prevent private accumulation of wealth. The section ends with another question (7.6): ‘Why, therefore, would moneymaking (χρηματισμὸς) be a matter of zealous pursuit there, where possession yields more pains than use pleasures?’ Moneymaking, or at least, a desire for money, was taken seriously because the measures to promote equality on these grounds were only superficial, and no attempt at morally inculcating citizens against desiring wealth was made. These are men who as boys are encouraged in private to act outside the bounds of what is normally considered lawful, i.e. stealing to supplement their diet, because the standard to which they must conform in public is too strict, nor have they been educated to distinguish right and wrong. This question, in fact, emphasises and reinforces the whole ethos of the Lycurgan system as Xenophon is portraying it: that the fear of punishment is used to ensure public obedience to the law. These last three sections (Lac. 5–7), therefore, seem to be emphasising not that socio-economic differences are levelled but that they exist and are only superficially masked through communal meals, similar clothing, 43

As indeed Strauss 1939: 515 notes, followed by Proietti 1987: 56. Cf. also Higgins 1977: 68. We are also perhaps meant to ask ourselves, too, how forbidding of engagement in banausic activity is to be reconciled with the private hoarding of gold and silver. 45 Further, as Hodkinson 1993: 151–2 notes, Xenophon provides evidence in the encomium that ‘private profiteering’ abroad was practised (cf. Ages. 1.17–19) and thus must have had some knock-on effect back home in terms of power or status. 44

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and the sharing of possessions such as dogs and horses, and, as with the provisions for child-production, they have been set up to ensure that the wealthy were still acknowledged as such (for example, asserting their standing through extra contributions to the communal meals, having to be asked for their hunting dogs, etc.). Why Xenophon is spending so much time on this matter of wealth at this point is a little puzzling, since it hardly seems to fit with what Sparta was renowned for (unless of course it is a negative aspect of their fame, i.e. their susceptibility to bribery),46 though of course in all three sections obedience to the law, though enforced through threat of punishment, is still in the forefront. At each step of the way, however, the tension between the Lycurgan ideals and the methods employed to implement them is highlighted, particularly by the use of direct or semi-direct (via an imaginary interlocutor) questioning and careful narrative patterning. And it will become clear later on in the treatise why the inability of Lycurgan legislation adequately to prevent desire for wealth is so important.

4.4  Lac. 8: Obedience to the Laws Having just made particularly clear the weakness of Lycurgus’ attempts to eliminate desire for wealth in Sparta (Lac. 7 is the only section which contains thoughtful questions halfway through and, at the end, sensible answers which show that the Lycurgan ideal has not been entirely successful), Xenophon starts this section by dealing directly with an undisputed feature of Sparta’s renown, and emphasising it by his use of the first person plural (8.1): ‘that in Sparta especially they obey both the magistrates and the laws, we all know’ (ἴσμεν ἅπαντες). As in the previous sections, the key concept, here ‘obedience’, is highlighted by verbal repetition.47 Xenophon had stated at the beginning of the work that Sparta’s eudaimonia depended very much on obedience to Lycurgan precepts, and making the Spartans obedient has been a constant feature of the Lycurgan system described thus far. Obedience has been gained through fear of punishment of some sort (2.2, 2.8, 2.10, 4.4, 4.6, 6.2, 7.6) or fear of exclusion (3.3, 4.3, 5.7), and public supervision and a cultivated sense of shame have played a significant role in enforcing it (see also 1.5, 46

On this, see, e.g., Noethlichs 1987: 136–45; and more broadly on Spartan venality, see Chapter 5.5 with n. 94. 47 Forms of the verb πείθεσθαι occur six times, and of ὑπακούειν twice (on the latter, see Bordes 1982: 182–3). Cf. ‘ruling’ in Lac. 6.1–2; ‘need’ in 6.3–6; ‘moneymaking’ in 7.

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2.13, 5.2, 6.2).48 What we get in this section is a discussion about obedience at a polis-wide level. Using the first person Xenophon continues: ‘I, however, think that Lycurgus did not attempt to establish this state of good condition (ταύτην τὴν εὐεξίαν)49 before he had brought it about in his own interests that the strongest men in the polis were in agreement’ (8.1). Then, given as evidence of this is the fact that in other poleis the more powerful do not wish to seem to fear the magistrates but think that to do so is servile. In Sparta, however, the strongest greatly defer to the magistrates and they take pride in submitting and in obeying (ὑπακούειν) at a run, whenever they are summoned, ‘believing that if they are the originators of strict obedience (τοῦ σφόδρα πείθεσθαι), the others also will follow’ (8.2). This, Xenophon then says, actually happened. Certainly Xenophon himself provides one of the outstanding examples of this type of public display of obedience in the Hellenica (HG 4.2.3): when ordered by the magistrates to return from Asia in 396 BCE to help defend Sparta from a coalition of other Greeks, Agesilaus obeys despite wanting to stay in Asia Minor.50 Further, the general principle that if the best men obey the rulers, lesser men will follow their example is espoused elsewhere by Xenophon (for example, An. 3.1.36). That said, we might also, reasonably, be somewhat suspicious of the efficacy of such a measure in view of the educative methods presented by Xenophon to this point. Here voluntary obedience is meant to be inspired by imitation of the leading men in the polis. Yet education through imitation has only been mentioned once, and in passing, thus far in the treatise (5.5). Obedience has, rather, been aimed at being ensured repeatedly by negative, punitive means. As if in answer to this doubt, the narrative continues by presenting measures more in line with what we have come to expect, following the narrative pattern now well established in this portion of the text. 48

And see further Lac. 9.4–5 and 10.6–7 on exclusion. There is some disagreement about the text here: εὐεξίαν is in the manuscript tradition and is accepted as such by Bordes 1982: 183. Preferring Dindorf ’s emendation of εὐταξίαν are Marchant 1920/1957, Rebenich 1998, Lipka 2002 (with his reasoning found on p. 168 on 8.1[2]) and Gray 2007. Lipka argues that εὐεξία is not used metaphorically of a polis until Polybius. Those who prefer the emendation are influenced by what they perceive as Sparta’s reputation for military precision. Xenophon does not, however, use εὐταξία elsewhere in the treatise, whereas εὐεξία is used twice in its non-metaphorical sense (Lac. 4.6, 7.3), and lack of fourth-century parallels is not a sufficient reason to assume Xenophon is not using it metaphorically here (e.g., Bordes 1982: 183 n. 92 elucidates the richness of the metaphor). Given the emphasis on physical fitness in the Lycurgan regime, it would be a suitable and obvious metaphor, and it fits generally with the observation by Brock 2013: 69–82 of health imagery employed to describe the state of the body politic. 50 The version of the story in the encomium naturally supresses his reluctance (Ages. 1.36). See further on this episode Chapter 6.2. 49

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Xenophon first says that it is probable that these same men helped in setting up the power of the ephorate since they realised that ‘obedience was the greatest good’ (τὸ πείθεσθαι μέγιστον ἀγαθὸν εἶναι) in the polis, in the army and in the household. The greater the power this office had, the more, they believed, that ‘it would terrify the citizens into obedience’ (καταπλήξειν τοὺς πολίτας τὸ ὑπακούειν, 8.3).51 The ephors are able to create such terror because they are given the authority to penalise whomever they wish and to do so on the spot, to depose magistrates in the middle of their terms, and even to imprison them and to bring them to trial on a capital charge. Because the ephors have such great power, they do not, as in other poleis, allow elected officials to rule however they wish for the whole year, but ‘like tyrants’ (ὥσπερ οἱ τύραννοι) and overseers of gymnastic contests, if they perceive that anyone is transgressing the law in any way, they punish him immediately on the spot (8.4). It turns out, therefore, that having the strongest citizens setting a good example is not sufficient on its own to ensure obedience. Obedience is, as usual, best gained in this polis through fear of punishment.52 But just in case even the ephors could not ensure obedience there is one more measure designed to aid this goal. And this final measure Xenophon regards as the finest of the many other good contrivances which Lycurgus designed to ensure that ‘the citizens be willing to obey the laws’ (τὸ πείθεσθαι τοῖς νόμοις ἐθέλειν τοὺς πολίτας). Lycurgus did not hand over the laws to the people before he had gone to Delphi with the most powerful men and asked the god if it would be more desirable and better for Sparta if she obeyed (τῇ Σπάρτῃ πειθομένῃ) the laws which he himself had laid down. Since the answer was that it was better in every way, then he handed the laws over, laying it down that ‘it was not only illegal but also impious not to obey laws delivered by the Pythian god’ (οὐ μόνον ἄνομον ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀνόσιον θεὶς τὸ πυθοχρήστοις νόμοις μὴ πείθεσθαι) (8.5). This is indeed ingenious. Having asked Delphi if his laws should be obeyed and having received an affirmative answer, he then proceeds to enact a further provision that was not passed by the oracle, i.e. that the laws must be obeyed because they came from the oracle. The manuscript reading of τοῦ ὑπακούειν is difficult. As Lipka 2002: 171 on 8.3[5] points out, καταπλήττειν + accusative + genitive is not attested. His solution is to emend the τοῦ to τό (some, like Marchant 1920/1957, suggest deleting the phrase τοῦ ὑπακούειν altogether). Given the emphasis on the importance of obedience in general in this section, it seems unlikely that the thought was not meant to be there (as Gray 2007: 167 also argues, though she retains the manuscript reading). 52 It is worth noting that there is later evidence of a sanctuary to Φόβος (‘Fear’) in Sparta (Plu. Cleom. 8.2, 9.1); see Marasco 1981: 2.424–5 and Richer 1999: 100. 51

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Xenophon ignores, as Lipka notes,53 the account of the origin of the laws which Herodotus says was current in Sparta, i.e. that they derived from Crete and were put in place by Lycurgus. He also ignores the alternative tradition presented by Herodotus that the laws were given to Lycurgus by Apollo at Delphi (Hdt. 1.65.4).54 His version is, rather, an amalgam of both: Lycurgus made the laws, had them sanctioned by Apollo, and then, the surprising twist, turned around and claimed that Apollo had given them, the better to achieve obedience to them. This alternative version allows the opportunity to present Lycurgus’ cunning manipulation and to follow one of the dominant narrative patterns used in the treatise thus far.55 First the more benign and idealistic measure is set out (willing obedience through imitation), then, because that in itself cannot ensure that the aim of the measure is met, two more motives, each more compelling by degree, are added: fear of the tyrannical power of the ephors and fear of the gods. The tradition of the laws being brought from Crete would not have created an extra level of compulsion to obey them. Saying they were from Apollo would have, but that would have denied Xenophon both the opportunity to present the (deceitful) cleverness of Lycurgus’ manipulation, and repeat one of his favoured narrative patterns. Paradoxically, then, voluntary obedience is only acquired through compulsion and out of fear of a tyrannical magistracy and of offending the gods, and so is not, therefore, voluntary.56 The same paradox is evident in the Cyropaedia. Xenophon states at the outset that one of the remarkable things about Cyrus was that people obeyed him willingly,57 but then only a few brief sections later, using 53

Lipka 2002: 173–4 on 8.5[1]. Plato Laws 1.624a, 632d follows this tradition. 55 The pattern that has been particularly effective in the sections concerning procreation, drinking, and wealth (see further on this patterning, Humble 2014: 218–22). This section is thus logical and coherent within the framework of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia itself. Van Wees 1999: 18 argues, by contrast, that it only makes sense if it can be ‘understood as an oblique polemic against Pausanias’ view’. I think there is no doubt that if the so-called Pamphlet of Pausanias existed, Xenophon would have made use of it. The problem is that there is little agreement on the content or tone of this elusive pamphlet: van Wees 1999: 14–15 reads it as a tract against the laws of Lycurgus, whereas others argue that it supported the laws of Lycurgus (e.g., Hodkinson 2000: 29). Still, if it was a tirade against Lycurgan ordinances, and, in particular, against the ephorate, Xenophon’s response that the ephorate was a tyrannical office hardly sounds as if it might have contradicted Pausanias (on this particular issue, see further Chapter 7.1.2 n. 26; and on the pamphlet more generally, see Chapter 6.3). 56 Gray 2007: 167 on 8.4 notes the paradox of the ‘terrifying ephors’ used to gain ‘willing obedience’ but does not explain why Xenophon phrased things so if he was so intent upon praising Sparta. 57 Cyr. 1.1.3: ‘Cyrus, at any rate, we know they obeyed willingly, both those who were distant a journey of numerous days, and those a journey of months, and even those who never saw him and even others who knew well that they would never see him; nevertheless they wanted to obey him’ 54

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l­anguage similar to that in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, remarks that ‘he [Cyrus] was able to reach over so great an amount of land out of fear of himself, so that all were terrified and nobody attempted anything against him’ (ἐδυνάσθη ἐφικέσθαι μὲν ἐπὶ τοσαύτην γῆν τῷ ἀφ᾽ ἑαυτοῦ φόβῳ, ὥστε καταπλῆξαι πάντας καὶ μηδένα ἐπιχειρεῖν αὐτῷ, Cyr. 1.1.5). Indeed, close attention to Cyrus’ techniques for ensuring willing obedience reveals that many of them involve compulsion of one sort or another.58 His actions as a ruler mirror his response to the conversation he has with his father about willing obedience. During the course of the conversation it is noted that the ordinary way to ensure obedience is by compulsion (to praise and honour the obedient and to dishonour and punish the disobedient, Cyr. 1.6.20) but that willing obedience is gained by seeming to be wiser than those obeying (Cyr. 1.6.21). This is the lesson Cambyses is trying to teach, but Cyrus is only taking out of it what he wants.59 Fear of exclusion from Cyrus’ inner circle is what keeps the nobles in line when the empire is secure and Cyrus also, like Lycurgus, exploits religious sentiment.60

4.5  Lac. 9: Cowardice From a discussion of general measures about ensuring obedience to the laws, one of the crucial facets of Sparta’s renown, Xenophon moves directly into a discussion of another main aspect of this renown which he introduces as being ‘worthy to be marveled at’ (ἄξιον ... ἀγασθῆναι), namely that Lycurgus brought it about that in the polis ‘a good death be chosen in preference to a shameful life’ (αἱρετώτερον εἶναι τὸν καλὸν θάνατον ἀντὶ τοῦ αἰσχροῦ βίου, 9.1). ‘Upon consideration, one would find’ (ἐπισκοπῶν τις ἂν εὕροι), he continues, that fewer of those who choose a good death actually die than those who retreat in fear (9.1). Some platitudes on the positive effects of this practice follow: safety comes from ‘valour’ (τῇ ἀρετῇ), not from ‘cowardice’ (τῇ κακίᾳ), because valour is easier, more pleasant, more resourceful and stronger; ‘glory’ (εὔκλεια) also follows on ‘valour’ (τῇ ἀρετῇ) and all men want to ally (Κύρῳ γοῦν ἴσμεν ἐθελήσαντας πείθεσθαι τοὺς μὲν ἀπέχοντας παμπόλλων ἡμερῶν ὁδόν, τοὺς δὲ καὶ μηνῶν, τοὺς δὲ οὐδ᾽ ἑωρακότας πώποτ᾽ αὐτόν, τοὺς δὲ καὶ εὖ εἰδότας ὅτι οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἴδοιεν, καὶ ὅμως ἤθελον αὐτῷ ὑπακούειν). 58 E.g., on Cyrus’ skilful manipulation of his uncle Cyaxares, see Tatum 1989: 119–33 and Nadon 2001: 87–100. 59 Cf. Nadon 2001: 168–74 for an excellent discussion of this. 60 Nadon 2001: 33. Cyrus notes that god-fearing men are less willing to do something impious against one another (Cyr. 8.1.25).

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themselves ‘with brave men’ (τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς) (9.2). Xenophon continues by explaining specifically how Lycurgus caused men to choose death over flight, i.e. he procured ‘happiness for the brave, but unhappiness for cowards’ (τοῖς μὲν ἀγαθοῖς εὐδαιμονίαν, τοῖς δὲ κακοῖς κακοδαιμονίαν, 9.3).61 It can be no coincidence that eudaimonia surfaces again in the treatise at this point, when such a central point in Sparta’s renown is under discussion. Again a contrast with other poleis is laid down. Elsewhere the only risk a coward runs is in being labelled a coward;62 he is still able to frequent the agora, sit beside and exercise with the brave.63 In Sparta, however, ‘everyone would be ashamed’ (πᾶς μὲν ἄν τις αἰσχυνθείη) to associate with a coward as a messmate, or to engage in wrestling exercises with him (9.4). The coward is also left out of ball games, in choruses he must stand in disgraceful (ἐπονειδίστους) places, in the streets he must step out of the way, he must give up his seat to younger men, he must support female relatives at home and must explain to them the cause of their unmarried state, he must himself remain a bachelor and pay a penalty (ζημίαν),64 and he must not wander around with a cheerful face nor imitate those who are without reproach or else he must submit to being beaten by his betters (9.5). Xenophon ends this long list with the remark that he does not wonder that death is preferable ‘to a life so full of dishonour and so disgraceful’ (ἀντὶ τοῦ οὕτως ἀτίμου τε καὶ ἐπονειδίστου βίου) when such ‘dishonour’ (ἀτιμία) is laid upon cowards (9.6). This list of punishments heaped upon a coward is compelling. A coward is essentially shut out from the tightly prescribed common way of life in which conformity is enforced. Shame is attendant both upon him and upon anyone who associates with him. Thus, once again, Xenophon dwells on the negative or punitive aspects of the legislation he is discussing: there is a great deal of detail about the kakodaimonia for the coward 61

The balance and juxtaposition of this carefully phrased sentence emphasise the points. There is certainly, as Moore 1983: 112 puts it, ‘rhetorical exaggeration designed to heighten the contrast’, since there is ample evidence, for example, that a conviction for cowardice in Athens carried with it disenfranchisement; see MacDowell 1978: 160 (with further references) and 75 for the implications of disenfranchisement; also see Carey 1989: 143–4 and Lazenby 1991: 106. The principle is echoed in Aeschines 3.175: ‘There exist actually indictments for cowardice. Yet some of you may wonder at there being indictments for an aspect of a person’s nature. They do exist, though. For what purpose? So that each of us may be a better contestant on his native-land’s behalf, if he fears the penalties of the laws more than he does our enemies.’ See Dover 1974: 90. See also Arist. EN 1116b15–24 on citizen armies being more likely to fight to the death than mercenaries because of fear of punishment at home. 63 Note, too, Xenophon’s deliberate juxtaposition here of ὁ κακὸς τἀγαθῷ (9.4); elsewhere coward and brave man can sit side by side. 64 Again whether this is a fine or some other kind of punishment is not certain (see n. 42). 62

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but nothing about the attendant rewards, the eudaimonia for the brave man.65 At Lac. 9.2 there are the general comments that valour tends to lead to an escape from death and brings with it glory, but of what precisely this glory consists we are not told.66 We might reasonably imagine that the talk in the common messes about who acted well for the polis (5.6) may be part of the attendant renown, but Xenophon is not interested in spelling out rewards here. The focus on how shame and other punishments are the prime motivators for obedience certainly fits tightly with how Xenophon has been presenting Lycurgan legislation to this point, but it is hard not to believe that he is not also engaging with well-known texts on this topic, such as Tyrtaeus’ poetry and Herodotus’ account of the Spartan stand at Thermopylae (with which Thucydides, of course, had engaged when describing the reverse situation on Sphacteria). We know, for example, that Tyrtaeus’ poetry retained its importance in Sparta in the fourth century BCE,67 and was not unknown to a broad audience in Athens, as attested by the fact that one major fragment is preserved in a court speech by the Athenian orator Lycurgus. Fragments 10–12, in particular, focus on avoidance of shameful flight and fear, the shame that awaits the coward, and the glory attendant upon the brave. All these general ideas are found here in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, but there are more specific points of connection to be made. The point about how those who stand fast lose fewer men is found in Tyrtaeus (11.11–14; cf. Lac. 9.1) and Xenophon’s use of ἀρετή in this section seems to be equivalent to valour (i.e. courage in battle), its primary sense in Tyrtaeus.68 Further, in fragment 12 part of the encouragement for standing one’s ground in opposition to shameful flight consists of enumerating the many rewards both for the one who dies fighting bravely – he ‘brings glory’ (εὐκλείσας) to 65

As Tuplin 1994: 157 notes. Concrete examples of Spartans being rewarded for bravery in battle are actually rare in historical narratives. Herodotus mentions that the Spartan admiral at Salamis, Eurybiades, was given a crown of olive (Hdt. 7.124) and Thucydides tells us that Brasidas was praised at Sparta for saving the polis of Methone when it was attacked by the Athenians in 431 BCE (Th. 2.25.2), which suggests certainly that there was public acknowledgement of bravery and victory in war. Hodkinson 1983: 259–60 notes these examples and a few others which come from Plutarch and later sources. 67 E.g., Plato Laws 1.629a–b; see Powell 1994: 302 for further references. 68 For ἀρετή in this sense in Tyrtaeus, see Adkins 1960: 70–3; Murray 1980: 128; Campbell 1982: 176– 8; Cairns 1993: 162 n. 55; Gerber 1997: 106. See also Hooker 1989: 134 on Simonides’ praise of Leonidas’ ἀρετή at Thermopylae (fr. 531 Page). Commentators vary regarding how engaged they think Xenophon is with Tyrtaeus here. For example, on Lac. 9.2, Ollier 1934: 48 denies that the ‘simples banalités’ are connected with Tyrtaeus, whereas Loraux 1995: 66–7 does see deliberate allusion. Lipka 2002: 174–5 on 9.1[1] and Gray 2007: 168 provide cross-references with Tyrtaean passages but only, it appears, as confirmation of what Xenophon is saying, not that he might be engaging with Tyrtaeus’ text. 66

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the polis, people and his father, all mourn him, his tomb and descendants are pointed out, and his ‘fame’ (κλέος) never perishes – and for the one who returns having fought bravely – he is honoured by all, experiences many joys, is conspicuous in old age, and no one deprives him of respect and justice, but all, the young, his peers and the old, give up their seats for him. There is even a neat reversal of this last point in Tyrtaeus’ list of honours (which itself is already a reversal of the normal practice of younger men giving up their seats to elders):69 Xenophon turns it around to present the negative example of cowards having to give up their seats to younger men. If these Tyrtaean poems were as well known as we think, anyone familiar with them would surely recognise the mirrored response in Xenophon. There are further echoes of the paradigmatic instance of Spartans not retreating in battle: Herodotus’ description of the stand of Leonidas, his 300 fellow Spartiates, 700 Thespians and 400 Thebans (unwilling in Herodotus’ version) against Xerxes’ troops at Thermopylae (7.210–32).70 The whole passage is artfully drawn and the description contains many of the elements noted by Xenophon. Initially the losses are high for the Persians and light for the Spartans (7.211), and the Greeks, once they know they are facing certain death, fight with extraordinary strength and recklessness and kill many Persians (7.223) – i.e. brave men standing their ground lose fewer men.71 In explaining why Leonidas sent away most of the allied troops (7.220), Herodotus first reports what was said (λέγεται), that Leonidas sent them away to save their lives but stayed with the Spartans because ‘it would not be seemly’ (οὐκ ἔχειν εὐπρεπέως) to leave. He then gives the reason he thinks most likely: Leonidas saw that the allies had no stomach for the fight, knew that ‘it was not good’ (οὐ καλῶς ἔχειν) for him to leave, and believed that he would win ‘great fame’ (κλέος μέγα; repeated twice in the passage) if he stayed and that Sparta’s eudaimonia would not suffer eclipse. In Herodotus if Leonidas does not retreat, he ensures his own glory and eudaimonia for Sparta; in Xenophon glory adheres to those who bravely stand their ground and personal eudaimonia is their reward (with the eudaimonia of the whole polis being assured if they do stand their ground and obey all of Lycurgus’ 69

Compare Mem. 2.3.16; Cyr. 8.7.10; and also Ar. Nu. 993. For the powerful propagandistic effect of this defeat, see Powell 2001: 236 and Hooker 1989: 134. On the exploitation of this event as inward-serving propaganda for other Spartans, see Barron 1988: 618–20. See also Chapter 5.2 on the possibility that there were also perioikoi at Thermopylae. 71 Loraux 1995: 71 comments on the echo of Tyrtaeus here by Herodotus. Further, though Herodotus does not say why the Thespians stayed, only that they stayed willingly (7.222), it might be surmised, in view of Xenophon’s comments, that part of the reason was that they wanted to ally themselves with brave men. 70

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precepts, Lac. 1.2). Further, Herodotus later notes that when the Spartan Aristodemus, who along with another Spartan, Eurytus, had been sent away from Thermopylae suffering from inflammation in their eyes, returned home to Lacedaemon, because Eurytus had, despite the affliction, returned to Thermopylae to fight, the Spartans were very angry with Aristodemus (2.229, with a slightly different account of how he survived at 2.230). He was held in ‘disgrace and dishonour’ (ὄνειδός τε καὶ ἀτιμίην): the dishonour consisted of having no other Spartiate give him fire or converse with him, and as part of the ‘disgrace’ (ὄνειδος) he was called a trembler (7.231). While Herodotus’ list of marks of disgrace is by no means the same as Xenophon’s, the two accounts are similar in tone and effect, and there are some striking verbal echoes in the use of atimos and oneidos. Concerning the latter term in particular, Xenophon has previously preferred some form of aischros to describe shameful behaviour; in this section alone, while he uses a cognate of aischros once, he actually prefers some form of oneidos, the prominent term in Herodotus’ account.72 In his Hellenica Xenophon describes a number of instances in which a Spartan stands his ground and perishes in battle: Mindarus in 410 BCE at Cyzicus, after those with him fled (HG 1.1.18); Peisander in 394 at Cnidus, having been abandoned by his troops (4.3.12); Pasimachus in 392 dies with a few volunteers fighting against many Argives (4.4.10);73 Anaxibius in 389 in Asia Minor, having sent those with him away with the words ‘men, it is good (καλὸν) for me to die here’ (4.8.32–9); Teleutias in 381 at Olynthus dies fighting, his phalanx in disarray and his troops fleeing once he fell (5.3.6); and Phoebidas in 378, after his too few peltasts, having not advanced with care, fled before the Theban cavalry, fell fighting ‘with two or three others’, after which his mercenaries also quickly took to their heels (5.4.44–5). Here we might include also 72

Cf. 152. Th. 4.38.3, where aischros is again the favoured term: on Sphacteria, when the Spartans are forced into a situation where they are bound to lose and when they ask the Spartan authorities for advice, they are told not to do anything shameful (μηδὲν αἰσχρὸν). 73 This vignette does not garner much attention, being but a small and inconsequential event in the wider battle at Corinth, overshadowed by the outrageous impiety of the Corinthians and their eventual defeat, the gods on this occasion being well and truly on the side of the Spartans. Pasimachus is the Spartan cavalry commander (ὁ ἱππαρμοστής) and the few volunteers appear to be cavalry members under his command. When they see that the Sicyonians are hard-pressed, they tie up their horses, pick up the Sicyonian shields (decorated with sigmas) and charge at the Argives, who naturally think that the Sicyonians are again attacking. Xenophon’s reporting of Pasimachus’ cry ‘by the twin gods, Argives, these sigmas will deceive you’ reveals the ruse, but the outcome is simply that the many Argives slay Pasimachus and his few volunteers, and his ruse and death have absolutely no effect on the main battle.

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Callicratidas, who in 406 BCE at Arginusae, having placed the fleet in an untenable situation, is reported to have said that flight would be disgraceful (αἰσχρὸν), though he is not given the honour of fighting to the death but is said to have fallen overboard (1.6.32–3). What is interesting about each of these examples is that though all these Spartan commanders choose to stand their ground in obedience to the Lycurgan precept, their deaths are pointless. On each occasion they have engaged rashly in battle and are either swiftly abandoned by their allies and troops during the battles or as soon as they fall. There is no personal glory attendant on any, and no attendant eudaimonia for Sparta as a result. Even in the case of Teleutias, who comes off well in Xenophon’s text up to this point, his end, which resulted from making a decision in anger, is explicitly held up by Xenophon as an example of what not to do (HG 5.3.7). Thus while it cannot be disputed that the tendency for Spartans to fight to the death rather than surrender was a particular feature of their renown and their eudaimonia, this renown and prosperity belong to the fifth century, and Xenophon, while composing this treatise, knows that while many Spartans are still upholding this Lycurgan precept, they are no longer contributing either to Sparta’s renown or eudaimonia.74 Thus, while Spartans may have been positively motivated by rewards unspecified, Xenophon has once again, by his method of presentation, emphasised that they are actually galvanised to comply through fear of the shame and disgrace associated with acting otherwise. Such fear was not exclusive to the Spartans,75 but it was more pervasive in Sparta: public shaming is more punitive in a society which conducts life in a more public way. The full narrative pattern of following an ideal measure with two increasingly punitive measures in order to ensure compliance is not in evidence here but, as at Lac. 6.1–2, we do find an abbreviated version: that being brave is more likely to ensure safety, and certainly to ensure glory, is not enough to guarantee men will stand their ground in battle, 74

The one clear exception to this rule, in Xenophon’s narratives, is the figure of Cleonymus, son of Sphodrias, whose behaviour on the battle ground at Leuctra in 371 BCE is the model of ‘a good death’, foretold during the description of the acquittal of his father in 378 (HG 5.4.33). Cleonymus, significantly, is not, like those just noted above, in a position of command, though Hodkinson has plausibly argued that he was probably a member of the elite group of 300. See Hodkinson 2007 (especially pp. 60–2) for a nuanced analysis of this episode. 75 Though Herodotus seems to imply the same (e.g., 7.104.4, 7.231, 9.71–4). On ‘fear of reproach [being] a major deterrent to wrongdoing’ in general, see Dover 1974: 228–9. Epps 1933: 16–17 draws attention to the following apposite remark in Plato Phd. 68d: ‘So then it is through fear of worse ills that brave men stand and face death, when they actually do stand and face it?’ Cf. S. Aj. 1073– 80; Williams 1993: 79 discusses the connection between fear and shame in battle in Homer, particularly with reference to Il. 15.561–4 (cf. also 196–7 n. 24); Cairns 1993: index s.v. aidôs and ‘fear’.

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but the extensive and punitive social shaming provides a more compelling reason to do so. This pattern in one way or another, therefore, is observable in the five central sections of the work which deal with the daily life of Spartan male citizens, i.e. a full third of the whole treatise (to which we can also add Lac. 1.5–9). It is the order of the points and the way in which Xenophon expresses them which is of importance. In all cases, if praise or defence – or praise in order to present a paradigm for imitation – had been Xenophon’s aim, he could easily have finished each of these sections halfway through (at the end of 5.4, after the first sentence in 6.2, at some point before the end of 7.4, just before the end of 8.3 and at the end of 9.3) and concentrated on emphasising the ideal measures, rather than revealing how much adherence to them actually depended on the establishment of further, often increasingly punitive, measures which depend upon fear of punishment and social exclusion for compliance.

4.6  Lac. 10.1–3: Elders Xenophon moves on to deal briefly with specific provisions to ensure the practice of virtue (ἀρετή) up to old age: Lycurgus accomplished this by placing the judgement (τὴν κρίσιν) about the Council of Elders76 near the end of life, making the Spartans not neglect kalokagathia in old age (10.1). As a marvellous ally for the old age of good men, he gave them power over capital charges, causing old age to be honoured more than the strength of those at their peak (10.2). Reasonably, he continues, this contest among those engaged in by men is zealously pursued, because whereas athletic contests concern only the body, the contest for membership in the Council of Elders is about the soul. Therefore, ‘by the degree to which the soul is stronger than the body, to that degree also are the contests of souls more worthy of zealous pursuit than those of bodies’ (10.3). The section is brief. No contrast with other poleis is mentioned and once again specific details are thin on the ground. Old age is not defined (Plutarch says those over the age of 60, Lyc. 26.1), nor are we told how many were elected to the Council (Plutarch, following Aristotle, says twenty-eight, Lyc. 5.7–8), nor who chose them or how they were adjudged (Plutarch says they were chosen by the loudest shouts from the The usual term for this council is γερουσία. The term Xenophon uses, γεροντία, is regarded as the Laconian variant and is only found here. On this, see Lipka 2002: 180 on 10.1[2].

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assembled ekklesia, Lyc. 26.2–3). Coming straight after the discussion of aretê as valour in battle, it is not immediately clear that here aretê has a wider meaning, and the ambiguity may be deliberate. The explanatory statement that ‘he brought it about that not even in old age was kalokagathia neglected’ and the fact that the contest is about souls not bodies, however, suggests that aretê now ought to comprise more than just valour. The reference to the bodily strength of those at their peak presumably refers to the young men aged 20–30, and the contest at this stage in life in some ways parallels the one they had to engage in at that stage of life: both elections – to the 300 and to the Council of Elders – are about some sort of virtue – in the first case, andragathia (i.e. bravery, 4.2), in this case, kalokagathia – with the reward being membership of an elite group. So kalokagathia by extension ought to be different from andragathia.77 As a basic definition kalokagathia encompasses the character and conduct of a καλὸς κἀγαθός,78 but what that means in Sparta may be different from what it means, for example, in Athens.79 How Xenophon uses the term elsewhere in a Spartan context provides some clues as to how it is meant to be understood here.80 Important in this regard is a further mention of the term at 10.4. There Xenophon says that Sparta surpasses all other poleis in virtue because she practises kalokagathia in public. F. Bourriot’s suggestion that the term is to be defined as ‘la somme de toutes les vertus concevables dans la vie publique’ (‘the sum of all virtues conceivable in public life’) is, I think, correct.81 According to Xenophon’s presentation thus far, then, kalokagathia in Sparta should include obedience, enkrateia, aidôs and valour in battle. A thought ascribed to King Agesilaus in Xenophon’s Agesilaus is also illuminating: ‘he [Agesilaus] 77

Contra Bourriot 1996: 132, who seems to equate it with andragathia. LSJ s.v. καλοκαγαθία. 79 On kalokagathia and kalos kagathos in general, De Ste Croix 1972: 371–6 provides a succinct overview. See also Dover 1974: 41–5 and Bourriot 1995: 1.287–352 and 2.261–312 for a lengthy, if somewhat unsatisfactory, examination of Xenophon’s use of the term. Bourriot also suggests it was originally a Spartan concept, but this view has been well countered; see Cairns 1997: 76. It is likely that the kaloi kagathoi are equal to the kratistoi (Lac. 8.1) and in reality were the ones who populated the Council of Elders. On this, see Arist. Pol. 1270b24; De Ste Croix 1972: 353–4; Hodkinson 1983: 264; Cartledge 1987: 121–2. 80 Roscalla 2004 and Waterfield 2004: 96–8 both examine the nature of kalokagathia in Xenophon. Neither deals with the term in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. 81 Bourriot 1995: 1.293, though he does not limit the virtues to the ones Xenophon specifically mentions in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, and perhaps stretches the evidence somewhat when he suggests that kalokagathia was a precise legal term in Sparta. The argument is not substantially different in Bourriot 1996. See now Davies 2013 for a careful assessment of the excesses in Bourriot’s argumentation. 78

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considered fitting for the kingship not slacking but kalokagathia’ (τῇ δὲ βασιλείᾳ προσήκειν ἐνόμιζεν οὐ ῥᾳδιουργίαν, ἀλλὰ καλοκἀγαθίαν, Ages. 11.6). Defining kalokagathia as the opposite of rhadiourgia is particularly apt in terms of Xenophon’s understanding and presentation of the Lycurgan system, 82 since he has emphasised throughout the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia the striving on Lycurgus’ part to eradicate slacking (Lac. 2.2, 4.4, 5.2, and, see further, 14.4). By keeping everyone under supervision and thus preventing slacking as much as possible he encourages the practice of obedience, enkrateia, aidôs and valour in public, the sum of which virtues, then, is kalokagathia. Though Xenophon elsewhere associates kalokagathia with knowledge in a broad sense, including of justice and sôphrosynê and their opposites (Mem. 1.1.16), 83 justice and sôphrosynê in particular should not be thought to be included in any definition of kalokagathia here, since they do not play a role in the Sparta Xenophon has been describing. Here, too, we learn that those over 30 years of age have in fact still been contesting with one another, this time for the honour of being part of a small group when they reach old age. It has already been noted (Chapter 3.5) that, whatever the positive benefit of the contest that young men engage in for ten years of their lives, i.e. maintenance of physical fitness and andragathia, fierce rivalry and competitiveness rooted in envy and jealousy were real negative outcomes, of which Xenophon had firsthand experience (see Chapter 6.1 in particular). In fact, the constant competitions of one sort or another that Spartans are engaged in for most of their lives must have encouraged not only fierce rivalries of the sort already examined but also equally strong networks of friends and supporters, particularly as the aimed-for sphere of glory and influence narrowed (from 300 to 28).84 That Xenophon was perfectly aware that rivalry existed on the group level as well as the individual level can be seen quite clearly in the Hellenica. There is no better example than the affair of Sphodrias (HG 5.4.25): οἱ μὲν οὖν τοῦ Κλεομβρότου φίλοι, ἅτε ἑταῖροι ὄντες τῷ Σφοδρίᾳ, ἀπολυτικῶς αὐτοῦ εἶχον, τὸν δέ γε ᾽Αγησίλαον καὶ τοὺς ἐκείνου φίλους ἐφοβοῦντο, καὶ τοὺς διὰ μέσου δέ·

82

The same contrast is noted once also in the Memorabilia, appropriately enough in the conversation between Socrates and the notoriously sybaritic Aristippus (Mem. 2.1.20). 83 Cf. also Smp. 3.4 (with justice) and Mem. 4.8.11. 84 Hodkinson 2000: 362–3. Agesilaus was a master at establishing networks of this type; see Cartledge 1987: 143–59.

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So on the one hand the friends of Cleombrotus, inasmuch as they were comrades of Sphodrias, were of a mind to acquit him, but on the other they were afraid of Agesilaus and his friends, as well as those in the middle.

Two of these groups certainly have as their focal point one of the two kings, but the third does not.85 If the members of the Council of Elders were indeed chosen as Plutarch reports (by the loudest shouts), then those contesting will, we might reasonably imagine, have spent a considerable amount of time cultivating supporters. In the end, however, it is not actually their outstanding kalokagathia that causes the members of the Council of Elders to be held in more honour than those at the peak of their strength, who were busy physically contesting with one another, but the fact that they presided over trials on capital offences. Their role as judges is the real reason they were respected at Sparta, and the implication is that if they had not been given this authority as an ally, they would not have been so honoured.86 This provides a nice parallel with the role given to the ephors: both groups of magistrates are obeyed because of the great power they have for allocating punishment. Control through fear of punishment continues to affect every aspect of Spartan life, according to Xenophon’s presentation.

4.7  Lac. 10.4–8: Public Practice of Virtue At this point a question moves the discussion away from the elders towards a more general overview of the practice of virtue in Sparta (10.4): ‘How is the following measure of Lycurgus not greatly worthy of marvel?’ Lycurgus observed that elsewhere when it was left up to each individual whether to practise virtue (τῆς ἀρετῆς) or not, these places do not increase in power,87 but in Sparta ‘he compelled all to practise all the virtues in public’ (ἠνάγκασε δημοσίᾳ πάντας πάσας ἀσκεῖν τὰς ἀρετάς, 10.4). To highlight and emphasise the point this sentence is heavily loaded with literary devices.88 Therefore, he continues, just as private individuals who practise virtue are superior to those who neglect to 85

Hodkinson 2000: 361 reads this passage as referring to three groups within the Council of Elders, not more widely within the Spartiate population, because Sphodrias was recalled on capital charges (HG 5.4.24). Whatever the case, the general point about factions remains the same. 86 Which point provides an interesting undercurrent for Pericles’ lament to Socrates about the Athenians (Mem. 3.5.15: ‘when will the Athenians thus show respect for elders like the Lacedaemonians…?’ (πότε γὰρ οὕτως ᾽Αθηναῖοι ὥσπερ Λακεδαιμόνιοι ... πρεσβυτέρους αἰδέσονται ...;). 87 For αὔξειν in this sense of ‘increase in power’, see LSJ I.2. 88 See Lipka 2002: 184 on 10.4[3].

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­ ractise it, so Sparta excels other poleis in virtue (ἀρετῇ), because she p alone practises kalokagathia in public (δημοσίᾳ) (10.4). ‘All virtues’, as noted above, must presumably be read in light of what has come before, i.e. they are the virtues which Lycurgus’ legislation has encouraged: obedience, enkrateia, aidôs and valour, and the sum of these is kalokagathia, i.e. what men over 30 years of age spend the rest of their lives cultivating so as to be chosen for the Council of Elders. A further pointed question follows (10.5): ‘For is this not also good, namely that while the other poleis punish anyone who harms another in any way, Lycurgus imposed no lesser penalties on anyone manifestly neglecting ‘being as good as possible’ (ὡς βέλτιστος εἶναι)?’ Xenophon speculates that Lycurgus must have thought that it is only the victims who are hurt by those who enslave or defraud or steal, but that whole poleis are betrayed by ‘cowards and the unmanly’ (τῶν κακῶν καὶ ἀνάνδρων); thus, reasonably, did he place the ‘greatest penalties’ (μεγίστας ζημίας) on these men (10.6). It can hardly be a coincidence that the two places in the text in which Lycurgan measures fail to acknowledge conventional morality have attention drawn to them with direct questions and are followed by justifications that are less than satisfactory (cf. 2.8). The question makes us consider the ‘goodness’ of imposing greater penalties on those who betray their polis than on those who betray a fellow-citizen. We are also led to recall the education of boys in which there was no training in justice and sôphrosynê and in which theft is encouraged and a thief punished not for doing wrong but for thieving badly. Public supervision, not inner morality, is to prevent a lapse into bad behaviour (cf. 1.5, 2.2, 2.10–11, 3.3, 4.4, 5.2, etc.). And we may compare here, by way of contrast, the comments given to Cyrus on the need to use positive methods to ingrain in a man’s nature the necessity of behaving well (Cyr. 3.3.53).89 Nor can we help but recall the long list of punishments for cowardice which were just set out in the previous section. Nowhere else in the treatise are punishments presented in such detail and the reason for this is made perfectly clear here: cowardice was considered one of the worst crimes because it was a crime against the whole polis. In fact, Xenophon continues, Lycurgus made the practice of ‘complete political virtue’ (ἅπασαν πολιτικὴν ἀρετήν) an ‘irresistible necessity’ (τὴν ἀνυπόστατον ἀνάγκην) (10.7). As in 10.4, Xenophon draws attention to the salient point by means of a literary device, here by heavy assonance. To all of those who fulfilled the Lycurgan customs (τὰ νόμιμα) alike he 89

On this, see Tuplin 1994: 157.

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made the polis their own, not taking into account weakness of body or money. But if anyone shrank from following the customs (τὰ νόμιμα), this man would not be considered one ‘of the similars’ (τῶν ὁμοίων) (10.7). Xenophon does give us several examples elsewhere of Spartans being exiled, for example, for disobedience: Clearchus disregards an order to turn back from a Thracian campaign he pestered the authorities to allow him to lead and as a result ‘was sentenced to death by the authorities at Sparta because of disobedience’ (ἐθανατώθη ὑπὸ τῶν ἐν Σπάρτῃ τελῶν ὡς ἀπειθῶν, An. 2.6.4).90 He lives out the rest of his life as an exile primarily in the pay of Cyrus. Thibron is punished and exiled because he allowed his soldiers to plunder allies in Asia (HG 3.1.8). He is found back in the fold nine years later (HG 4.8.17), perhaps because his crime did not strike as much at the heart of the Lycurgan system, possibly because of concerns about oliganthrôpia, almost certainly because he had significant internal patronage. We clearly see the effect of patronage, and undoubtedly also oliganthrôpia, outweighing idealistic considerations about obeying the laws in the case of Sphodrias, who was brought up on a capital charge for his unauthorised raid on the Piraeus. Despite his disobeying the summons out of fear – which presumably alone would have allowed the authorities to exile him – he is acquitted (HG 5.4.24).91 The insistence that money was irrelevant as far as being a full citizen (a homoios, 10.7)92 was concerned fits well with what Xenophon has been saying thus far. He has quite clearly shown, in a number of ways, that there were rich and poor in Sparta (for example, donations by the rich at the common messes, 5.3; possession of dogs and horses, 6.3), and that Lycurgus made some provision to make this disparity less offensive to the less wealthy (for example, sharing of property; eating the same food; wearing the same clothes; engaging in the same activities). At the same time, however, he has also clearly shown that Lycurgus made a point of appeasing the wealthy. Not only did he consult them and gain their goodwill before putting in place the laws (cf. 8.1, 8.5) but he set up marital practices that would prevent the wide dissemination of a family’s fortune (1.9). The latter point is important. That some Spartans would end up in reduced circumstances as a result of this state of affairs was inevitable. Xenophon knew that inequalities of wealth did matter and that there 90

Compare Th. 5.72, where two polemarchs, Aristocles and Hipponoidas, are said to have been exiled for disobeying Agis’ commands in battle. 91 De Ste Croix 1972: 134–5 and Cartledge 2001c: 104–5 also connect this incident with the problem of oliganthrôpia. 92 The term homoioi, literally meaning ‘similars’, was equivalent in use to the term ‘Spartiates’, i.e. denoting full citizens of the polis of Sparta.

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were ‘have nots’ who were not satisfied with the status quo, as his account of the conspiracy of Cinadon shows (HG 3.3.4–11). Cinadon is said to be a young man with a strong mind but not one of the full citizens (τῶν ὁμοίων, 3.3.5). His desire to become a member of this group is his motivation for conspiring (3.3.11).93 His co-conspirators are said to be helots, neodamodeis, hypomeiones and perioikoi (3.3.6). Cinadon is generally presumed to be one of the hypomeiones, who are thought to be men too poor to afford mess contributions, and who, presumably, were unable to obtain any sponsorship from wealthy Spartiates. 94 According to Xenophon’s statement here, however, lack of money is not a reason for not enjoying the life of a full citizen; rather the condition is the diligent practice of the customs. The assertion in 10.7 should probably, therefore, like the regulations for extramarital procreation (1.7–9), be viewed in light of the problem of oliganthrôpia (1.1). There were clearly ways of ensuring that a promising Spartiate was kept in the ranks of the homoioi, even if his family were poor.95 Two points, which aptly sum up the system which Xenophon has presented thus far, are highlighted in this section. First, there is an emphasis on the fact that virtues are practised in public: δημοσίᾳ is repeated twice (10.4), and the remark ‘if anyone openly neglects being the best he can be’ (εἴ τις φανερὸς εἴη ἀμελῶν τοῦ ὡς βέλτιστος εἶναι, 10.5) implies the same principle, as does the injunction to practise the whole virtue of a citizen (ἅπασαν πολιτικὴν ἀρετήν, 10.7). Privately neglecting being the best one can be or practising virtue as a private person is inconsequential. 93

The other main ancient source referring to the conspiracy is Arist. Pol. 5.6.1306b34–6. Modern discussions include: David 1979a; Cartledge 1987: 164–5; Gray 1989: 39–45; Flower 1991: 94ff.; Tuplin 1993: 52; Gish 2009. David 1979a: 239–40 attributes the conspiracy to a sudden influx of wealth into Sparta at the end of the Peloponnesian War and subsequent drastic inequalities to which this influx must have given rise, which fits with later explanations for Sparta’s fall but not with what Xenophon says. See further Chapter 5.5. 94 See Cartledge 2002a: 269; MacDowell 1986: 46 is more cautious. Hodkinson 2000: 363–4 suggests that we view some comments in the Agesilaus as confirming this. For example, Xenophon reports that Agesilaus gave half of the inheritance from his half-brother Agis to his mother’s family because they were in need (Ages. 4.5), and Agesilaus may also have given aid to ordinary citizens (Ages. 11.13). In general on the subclasses in Sparta, see Hodkinson 1997. 95 It is difficult to isolate Xenophon’s evidence regarding the conditions for being counted among the homoioi from what later sources say. While Plato concurs (Lg. 3.696a), among Aristotle’s criticisms of Sparta is that those too poor to provide the basic donation to the common messes were to be debarred from citizenship rights (Pol. 1271a26–37). Xenophon’s evidence, chronologically earlier, suggests the opposite: that money was not a barrier. The classic case is Lysander, who, if the later sources are to be believed, was a mothax (Phylarch. FgrHist 81F43 and Ael. VH 12.43). Plutarch makes much of his poverty but does not use the term mothax (Lys. 2). If our understanding is correct, a mothax was a free-born Spartiate whose family, for whatever reason, could not afford to put him through the public education system. On the definition of a mothax, see Lotze 1964: 433–4; Cartledge 1987: 28, who also connects this to the problem of oliganthrôpia and speaks of wealthier families sponsoring mothakes; Krentz 1989: on HG 1.5.1; Hodkinson 1997: 55–62.

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Secondly, citizens were compelled to practise virtue in public (ἠνάγκασε, 10.4; τὴν ἀνυπόστατον ἀνάγκην, 10.7) and the severest penalties were handed out for breach of public duty (μεγίστας ζημίας, 10.6; cf. ζημίας, 10.5). The previous discussion has shown innumerable examples of both these points. Punishments for deviating from the assigned course have already included beatings (e.g., 2.2, 2.8, 2.10, 6.2), threats of exclusion (e.g., 3.3, 5.7, 9.4–5), and other unspecified penalties (e.g., 4.6, 7.6). Compulsion has, in fact, been the driving force behind the Lycurgan decrees throughout the work. Even at 8.5, when Xenophon explains how Lycurgus makes the citizens willing to obey the laws, it turns out that willing obedience is actually compelled through fear of the ephors and of acting impiously.96 By starting this discussion with a question rather than a statement Xenophon leaves open to interrogation the real value of what he is presenting. He is thus able at one and the same time to show the particular practices of the Spartans which lead to their great power and renown and to throw doubt on the philosophical and practical efficacy of the system. It is certain that Xenophon advocated the public practice of virtue.97 For example, at Mem. 3.7.1–9, Xenophon shows Socrates chastising Charmides for not using his many skills for the benefit of the polis, getting Charmides to agree that a man should be considered a coward who, though capable of increasing the power of the polis, neglects this duty. This is precisely the principle on which Lycurgus’ provisions rest, with one important difference: Socrates points out to Charmides that he should practise in public precisely the same useful skills he does in private, i.e. Charmides is behaving virtuously in private already of his own accord. It is a particularly striking point about the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia that Xenophon never attributes to Lycurgus any provisions for ensuring that the citizens behave virtuously in private.98 There follows a short note on the great age of these laws of Lycurgus, explained by the fact that Lycurgus is said to have lived in the time of the Heraclids,99 followed by the observation that paradoxically, although the laws are old, they are most novel (καινότατοί) to others even still now, 96

Thus the emphasis on compulsion here does not present a contradiction between this section and 8.5 or anything previously put forth, as Luppino Manes 1988: 88 suggests. 97 And that he was by no means unique in this. For example, cf. Hornblower 1987: 123–6 on Th. 2.60.2 and Dillery 1995: 50–1 on the ‘utopian thinking’ of the Thucydidean passage and of Democritus D-K 68b252, 255, which both advocate putting the good of the polis ahead of the good of the individual. 98 As Strauss 1939: 517 noted long ago. 99 On the problems of dating Lycurgus, see Chapter 2.2.2 and n. 29 there.

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and the concluding statement that ‘the most wondrous thing of all is that all praise such practices, but no polis wishes to imitate them’ (τὸ πάντων θαυμαστότατον ἐπαινοῦσι μὲν πάντες τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐπιτηδεύματα, μιμεῖσθαι δὲ αὐτὰ οὐδεμία πόλις ἐθέλει, 10.8). This is the third mention of ‘practices’ (ἐπιτηδεύματα) in the treatise, bringing to a tidy close, by means of ring composition, the discussion of daily life for all (cf. 5.1). Mention of ‘laws’ and ‘practices’ also (chiastically) recalls the opening of the whole treatise, as do the verbal echoes of wonder and imitation. Recall that at 1.1–2 Xenophon said that reflection about Sparta’s power and renown had led to ‘wonder’, which was dispelled when he observed Spartan ‘practices’, and that Lycurgus, who had laid down the ‘laws’, had done so by not ‘imitating’ other poleis.100 That ‘all’ praise these practices is undoubtedly rhetorical exaggeration, though there is certainly evidence that many admired Sparta on various levels, and it is hard not to read these observations as ironic. Given the way that Xenophon has presented Spartan practices to this point, it is difficult to imagine that here he is presenting ‘an implicit challenge to other Greeks to adopt the laws’.101 He certainly has not made Spartan practices particularly attractive or, more importantly, shown them to be sound (constant supervision and constant threats of punishment, a skewed sense of justice, good behaviour left to the auspices of a person’s aidôs, etc.). The target of the comment is more likely to be just as indicated: those who praise Spartan practices, who could include social laconophiles such as those attacked by Aristophanes (Av. 1280–3) and both the many who praise Sparta moderately and the few who praise immoderately whom Isocrates targets (Panath. 12.41, 109– 11),102 all of whom, as Xenophon well knew, would never actually adopt Spartan practices. It is hard, for example, not to imagine that Critias is one of these implicitly targeted, given Xenophon’s hostile treatment of him throughout his corpus and the likelihood, as argued herein, of his critical engagement with Critias’ own writings on the Spartan politeia.103 100

Though I do not think, as Lipka 2002: 188–9 on 10.8[3] does, that this means that the treatise originally ended at this point. See further Chapter 5.1. 101 Gray 2007: 43, reiterated in 2011a: 52. 102 For further evidence of contemporary laconophilia, see Chapter 7.1.1 along with nn. 10 and 21 there. See also Fisher 1994: 358–61 for specific accusations of social and political laconophilia in court cases, in particular in the 340s and 330s BCE. 103 Indeed, Isocrates’ description (12.110–11) of ‘those who praise Sparta excessively’ (ὑπερβάλλοντας τοὺς ἐπαίνους) as focusing on her ‘moderation and obedience’ (τὴν σωφροσύνην καὶ πειθαρχίαν) brings to mind Critias and his treatise, since Critias made a point of emphasising moderation in Sparta (see Chapter 4.1), though whether by the time Isocrates is composing the Panathenaicus (c. 342–338 BCE) a reference to Critias’ work would be recognised and hold weight is another matter.

chapter 5

Reading Lacedaimoniôn Politeia 11–15

5.1  Lac. 11.1: Transition Xenophon here signals a change in the direction of his discussion: ‘And so these are good things shared both in peace and in war. But if anyone wishes to learn how, with regard to campaigns, he also contrived things in a better way than the others, it is possible to hear about these things also’ (Lac. 11.1). Lycurgus is not explicitly named at the beginning of the section but is meant to be understood as the subject (he is named again at 12.1). Lipka has argued that the original version of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia ended with section 10 and that the following sections were not part of the original plan but were addenda appended at different periods. His main supporting arguments are that Lac. 1–10 are encomiastic, resemble the Socratic way of life, and make use of the term ἐπιτηδεύματα (‘practices’) at structurally key moments (1.1, 5.1, 10.8), whereas 11–13 and 15 are technical and descriptive, cannot be linked to Socrates, and ἐπιτηδεύματα are no longer mentioned.1 I hope that the discussion thus far has shown, first of all, that to regard the work as encomiastic is to misread it. To regard the Spartan way of life also as equivalent to the Socratic is a further misreading. There are points of resemblance, to be sure, but they all, in Lipka’s analysis, essentially boil down to the role of enkrateia and the observation that just as the acquisition of enkrateia is a fundamental aim of the 1

Lipka 2002: 18–19, 29–30 and 188 (on 11.1). Ducat 2006a: 2 responds in a different way to the repetition of ἐπιτηδεύματα at these significant points in the treatise, suggesting that the original title of the treatise may even have been τὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα τῶν Σπαρτιατῶν (‘the practices of the Spartiates’) and that in the Panathenaicus Isocrates is deliberately alluding to Xenophon’s treatise when he has a pro-Spartan ex-pupil remark that the Spartans had discovered ‘the finest practices’ (τὰ κάλλιστα τῶν ἐπιτηδευμάτων, 12.202). That Isocrates is alluding to the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia at this point in the Panathenaicus is very likely but not, I think, dependent upon understanding a different title for Xenophon’s work. Further, I would argue, contra Ducat 2006a: 45–6, that Isocrates is in agreement with Xenophon (see Humble 2018c and Chapter 7.2).

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Spartan education system as Xenophon describes it, so, too, it is also a virtue of key importance in the Memorabilia – not only is Socrates clearly in possession of it, but at one point Xenophon even has Socrates suggest that it is the foundation of all virtue (Mem. 1.5.4): ‘should not every man consider enkrateia to be the foundation of virtue and establish it in his soul first?’ (ἆρά γε οὐ χρὴ πάντα ἄνδρα ἡγησάμενον τὴν ἐγκράτειαν ἀρετῆς εἶναι κρηπῖδα ταύτην πρῶτον ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ κατασκευάσασθαι;). 2 I have no objection to the argument that Xenophon approved of the Spartan emphasis on cultivating enkrateia early on in life, but that is not the same as agreeing that he endorsed the ways in which the Spartans went about this, which I think he clearly did not: the lack of attention to any education in justice and sôphrosynê,3 and the dearth of effective educational techniques such that the particular virtues encouraged need only to be practised in public can in no way be considered Xenophontic or Socratic ideals. The structural positioning of the term ἐπιτηδεύματα is undoubtedly deliberate, and, as noted at the end of Chapter 4.7, there are even stronger verbal links with Lac. 1.1–2 than Lipka notices. It does not necessarily follow, however, that these signal the beginning and ending of the whole work. Internal ring composition is just as possible (as it was at 1.3 and 1.10 with τεκνοποιία, and 2.1 and 2.14 with παιδεία). At any rate, we can hardly claim to be surprised when Xenophon signals a narrowing of discussion to military matters. No Greek polis could have attained any sort of power without some military success and success in this arena is not an insignificant part of Sparta’s renown (see Chapter 2.4). Further, as the discussion below will reveal, what Xenophon sets out in the final third of the treatise cannot be understood in isolation, i.e. without an understanding of his previous presentation of the ἐπιτηδεύματα, and there are plenty of verbal and thematic links to reinforce the connections between all portions of the treatise. 2

Dorion 2003b rightly highlights the importance of enkrateia in the Memorabilia. Like Lipka 2002: 19, Dorion 2013a: xxvi too readily, I think, equates enkrateia with sôphrosynê in Xenophon’s work, citing North 1966 as support. But there are problems with North’s analysis (as I have pointed out previously; see Humble 1999, and Chapter 3.3). There is certainly overlap between the two concepts but they are not absolute synonyms and there is no evidence that Xenophon thought the Spartans possessed sôphrosynê. Dorion further suggests that the role enkrateia plays for Xenophon is equivalent to the role ‘wisdom’ (σοφία) plays for Plato, but again I think this goes too far. See Johnson 2018b for cogent arguments against such an equation; his conclusion is that Xenophon thinks enkrateia is a necessary foundation for the acquisition of other virtues but that ‘Xenophon leaves plenty of important work to be done by sophia’. On sophia in Xenophon, see also Morrison 2008 and 2010.

3

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5.2  Lac. 11.2–10: Army Provisioning and Manoeuvres The first point of discussion concerns levies and provisioning. When a campaign is to be undertaken the ephors are said to be in charge of calling up the different age groups, both of cavalry and of hoplites, and then also the craftsmen. The result is that the Lacedaemonians on campaign have plenty of all the things that men find useful in the polis. All the implements the army is thought to need are brought on wagons and pack animals. Thus anything falling short is least likely to be overlooked (11.2). That Xenophon or any experienced soldier or general would be appreciative of such organisation is clear. Provisioning was a constant burden for military commanders,4 and when done well could be the difference between military success and failure. Mention of craftsmen and the use of the term Λακεδαιμόνιοι, however, alert us to a further change in scope. On the one hand Xenophon has narrowed his focus from discussing measures that apply both in times of peace and war to those that apply simply in war, and on the other hand he has widened his focus from dealing solely with Spartiates – the term of preference up to this point in the text (e.g., 1.1, 5.2, 5.9) – to Lacedaemonians. From this point on, in fact, Λακεδαιμόνιοι is the term favoured by Xenophon (see also 11.8, 12.5, 12.7, 13.5, 13.8, 14.2, 15.9). The obvious explanation is that Xenophon switches to the more general term because the Spartan army also contains non-Spartiates, particularly perioikoi.5 While the mention of levying of craftsmen (who cannot be Spartiates since they were forbidden to engage in banausic activity, 7.1–2) is the only specific reference to non-Spartiates other than the switch in terminology, we know that the perioikoi were a substantial presence in Spartan armies. For example, along with the 300 Spartiates who fell at Thermopylae were 700 perioikoi; and 5000 perioikoi fought alongside 5000 Spartiates at Plataea

4

Compare, for example, Cyrus’ elaborate preparations at Cyr. 6.2.25–3.4. See Lee 2007 in general. Proietti 1987: 64. Lipka 2002: 99 on 1.1[3] notes also that the two terms are not always so clearly distinguishable as they seem to be here, but that is partly because the treatise thus far has only dealt with measures which apply to full citizens. Compare also Singor 2002 for a nuanced approach to how the term ‘Lacedaemonians’ is to be interpreted in Thucydides. Indeed, even in the closing stages of this work there are instances perhaps where we might have preferred Xenophon to use the term ‘Spartiates’ rather than ‘Lacedaemonians’, in particular at 14.2, where he says that formerly Lacedaemonians preferred to live at home but now want to live abroad, since though there were perioikoi who were harmosts we do not have evidence of restrictions against perioikoi living away from home. Hawkins 2011 prefers to read Lakedaimonioi as referring to full citizens or hypomeiones, but he is overly influenced by the notion (p. 407), stressed by Lazenby (1985: 22), that the Spartiates regularly practised military drills, which is far from certain, as Hodkinson 2006: 134–5 and Humble 2006: 224–5 argue. See further, pp. 169–70.

5

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(Hdt. 9.28).6 Consistently, as van Wees notes, perioikoi made up at least half and usually more of the Spartan army in the fifth and fourth centuries.7 Nor was it unusual to find an army composed of perioikoi, exhelots, mercenaries, and allies led by one or only a few full Spartan citizens.8 Without the perioikoi and other troops (helots, ex-helots and mercenaries) the Spartans would have had trouble raising large enough armies to go to war, and so we might view the change in terminology as a reminder by Xenophon that though the power and renown is attached to the Spartiates, it was not built on their backs alone. Xenophon goes on to note that Lycurgus (again not explicitly mentioned but the presumed subject) is said to have devised a particular kind of battle outfit which comprised a red cloak (since it is the least feminine of colours and therefore most warlike, πολεμικωτάτην) and a bronze shield (because it polishes easily and tarnishes slowly); further, he permitted men over 30 to grow their hair long, ‘believing that in this way too they would appear taller and freer and fiercer’ (νομίζων οὕτω καὶ μείζους ἂν καὶ ἐλευθεριωτέρους καὶ γοργοτέρους φαίνεσθαι) (11.3). Assuming Xenophon is not being careless with his vocabulary, this uniform (at least the red cloak and bronze shield) appears to have been handed out by the centralised supply system (noted at 11.2)9 to all the Lacedaemonians, not just the Spartiates.10 The uniform not only makes the army as a whole look more warlike but also superficially elevates non-Spartiates to the visual status of free men, the Spartiates, giving them more of a sense of belonging and equality.11 The matter of hair length is slightly more 6

Indeed, Isocrates talks of 1000 Lacedaemonians at Thermopylae (4.90; 6.99–100); see van Wees 2004: 83–4 for a discussion of these passages and further references. 7 Van Wees 2004: 84. See also Cartledge 2002a: 217–20 and Singor 2002: 236–45. 8 Van Wees 2004: 45, 82–3 and 265 n. 2, citing, among other examples, Th. 4.80.5 (Brasidas); X. HG 1.3.15 (Clearchus), 3.1.4–6 (Thibron), 3.4.2 (Agesilaus and thirty Spartiates). See also Humble 2006: 222. 9 Cartledge 1977: 12–15 and Hodkinson 2000: 221. 10 Proietti 1987: 67–8. See also Hodkinson 2000: 222 on this without reference to Xenophon. Compare Ages. 2.7, where Xenophon comments on Agesilaus leading into a battle at Coronea in 394 BCE an army which appeared ‘completely bronze and completely red’. In the Anabasis the Greek army while being inspected by Cyrus in front of the Cilician queen is described as wearing bronze helmets (rather than shields) and red cloaks (An. 1.2.16); Ollier 1934: 54 suggests that this reflects the influence of Clearchus. An extension of this is the use, by Spartans, of taking the ­finest-looking troops with them when negotiating with the enemy: for example, when addressing heralds of the King, Clearchus ‘takes the best-armed and the best-looking of his soldiers’ (τούς τε εὐοπλοτάτους ἔχων καὶ εὐειδεστάτους τῶν αὑτοῦ στρατιωτῶν, An. 2.3.3); Dercylidas takes with him his ‘best-looking troops’ (τοὺς κρατίστους τὰ εἴδη, HG 3.2.18) when negotiating with Tissaphernes and Pharnabazus. 11 Hodkinson 2000: 222 suggests that the centralised supply system may even have evolved because of the increasing need over time to incorporate non-Spartiates into the army on equal terms.

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­ roblematic both because of how it has been interpreted in the past and p how it would work for non-Spartiates.12 It is generally understood that Spartan males grew their hair long from the age of 20 and the prime evidence for this comes from Plutarch (Lyc. 22.1): ‘for this reason they start wearing their hair long straightway from the age when they become ephebes’ (διὸ κομῶντες εὐθὺς ἐκ τῆς τῶν ἐφήβων ἡλικίας).13 Xenophon is, therefore, assumed to be saying the same thing here. Yet that is not quite the case. He says, instead, that Lycurgus ‘permitted men past the youthful [i.e. ephebic] time of life also to let their hair grow long’ (ἐφῆκε δὲ καὶ κομᾶν τοῖς ὑπὲρ τὴν ἡβητικὴν ἡλικίαν) (11.3).14 The emphasis here seems to be on the fact that men over the age of 30 could keep their hair long, unlike in other poleis, such as Athens, where after the ephebic period males cut their hair short. The question is whether this permission extended to perioikoi and other groups such as neodamodeis, who as members of the Spartan army would be handed out red cloaks and bronze shields. The comparative ‘freer’ would make sense if this is the case, particularly if it further distinguished the various groups of free men from the helots who also accompanied the army.15 Notably Xenophon is not saying that they are more free, just that they would appear more free. Superficial masking of socio-economic differences among Spartiates themselves (by the wearing of similar clothing and the discouragement of spending money on adornments, etc.) has already been shown by Xenophon to be a key feature of the system which brought Sparta such success, so the extension here of masking differences between full citizens and other free but not fully enfranchised groups, even if on a temporary basis, fits with the whole ethos of the system described so far, and the benefits are clear: they give the subordinate groups a greater stake in maintaining the status quo.16 But Xenophon has also already shown that such levelling within the Spartiate group was indeed only superficial, and that status and wealth were still of key importance among the citizen 12

David 1992 is the best overview of the evidence. MacDowell 1986: 167; David 1992: 13; and Lipka 2002: 193 on 11.3[4]. 14 That ἡβητικὴν ἡλικίαν refers to those aged 20–30, see Lipka 2002: 141 on 4.1[1]. Despite the likelihood that Plutarch’s statement is based on Xenophon, MacDowell 1986: 167 takes Plutarch as his starting point and then makes Xenophon’s evidence fit with it, arguing that ὑπέρ here must mean ‘having attained’. Compare the cautionary remarks of Millis 1997 on uncritical acceptance of Plutarch’s evidence at Cleomenes 9.2 on the issue of Spartan practice regarding moustaches. 15 Note also that long hair is the sign of a free man according to Arist. Rh. 1.1367a29–31. Compare the pseudo-Xenophon Ath. 1.10, where there is a comment that citizens and slaves cannot be told apart by their appearance. On this, see David 1992: 17–19, followed by Hodkinson 2000: 226. 16 G. Shipley 1997 is good on this; see also Ducat 2010: 201–3. 13

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population. We might, therefore, be thinking here also that whatever inherent problems there were between the different classes of people in the Spartan polis which may indeed have been temporarily masked, they would certainly not be dissolved by such superficial means and they would continue to simmer beneath the surface, as Xenophon quite clearly showed in his reporting of the conspiracy of Cinadon early in King Agesilaus’ reign (HG 3.3.4–11; see also Chapter 4.7). The discussion then moves on to the specific organisation and movements of troops. First comes a description of the strict hierarchical structure in the army: there are six morai of cavalry and six of hoplites.17 In each of the citizen morai18 there was one polemarchos, four lochagoi, eight pentêkostêres and sixteen enômotarchai. At a command sometimes two enômotiai, sometimes three, sometimes six from these divisions stand abreast (11.4).19 Clearly the general point is about how well structured the 17

For a discussion of the various units in the Spartan army, see Lipka 2002: 257–64. Lipka 2002: 194 on 11.4[3] follows the reading found in most manuscripts: πολιτικῶν μορῶν, i.e. ‘citizen divisions’. Rebenich 1998: 126 and Gray 2007: 173 on 11.4, however, prefer the less common ὁπλιτικῶν μορῶν as found in Stobaeus, on the grounds that it fits the flow of the argument better, i.e. that Xenophon has mentioned previously both hoplite and cavalry morai and is now here narrowing down the discussion to purely hoplite matters. Jackson 2006: 40 also chooses this reading. In support of the former option Lipka 2002: 261 argues that Xenophon wants us to consider only citizen, i.e. Spartiate, morai, because his interest is only focused on Spartiates and he generally only uses the term πολιτικός of Spartiates, particularly in the context of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia (e.g., 2.10, 6.1, 8.3). The problem is that, just as with the term Λακεδαιμόνιος, it appears that context is the arbiter of use for πολιτικός as well. Thus, at HG 4.4.19 πολιτικός, describing the army, includes both Spartiates and perioikoi and the contrast is with other allies (Lipka 2002: 261 n. 17 provides this and other examples; notably all his examples from Xenophon’s Hellenica show Xenophon using the term in this inclusive way). Because of all the evidence which shows that the perioikoi were over time increasingly integrated with the Spartans in military settings (e.g., see Cartledge 1987: 42–3 and van Wees 2004: 84, 248–9), if the reading πολιτικῶν μορῶν is to stand – as I think it should – it should be understood as referring to units composed of both Spartiates and other Lacedaemonians, especially perioikoi (pace Ducat 2010: 207 n. 35, who thinks Lac. 11.4 refers just to the Spartans (sic) not Lacedaemonians). Parablepsy could easily have been responsible for switching the οπ to πο or vice versa, but that still does not prove which one Xenophon originally wrote. Flower 2002: 202 argues that the creation of morai of cavalry is an invented tradition of the fifth century BCE. This seems eminently reasonable, though he puts, I think, too much faith in Thucydides’ assertion that the first time the Spartans raised a cavalry force was in 424 BCE (Th. 4.55.2). 19 The meaning of this sentence is slightly obscure and commentators all deal with it differently. It has to do with the positioning of the enômotiai within the morai. None of the various solutions offered has adverse implications for the overall interpretation of the passage. Rebenich 1998: 74–5 and n. 124 follows earlier commentators in making enômotiai the subject of the sentence; Lipka 2002: 195 on 11.4[7] regards the text as explicable without emendation; Gray 2007: 174 follows Anderson (1970: 74 n. 41) in arguing that ‘one’ (ἕνα) is required, citing Cyr. 2.3.21 as a point of comparison. I follow Marchant 1957, who proposes that ‘two’ is required on the grounds that the term enômotiai is here in the plural. 18

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army units are at every level. The implicit contrast is that the armies of other poleis must not have had such elaborate hierarchical structures.20 Xenophon then reports the following (11.5–7):21 [5] But in respect of what the majority think, namely that the Laconian battle order under arms is most complex, they have supposed the very opposite of the truth. For in the Laconian battle order the men in the front rank are leaders, and each row has everything it needs to provide for itself. [6] It is so easy to learn this battle order that no one who is able to tell men apart could make a mistake. For to some it has been assigned to lead, to others it has been ordered to follow. Deployments are made clear through speech by the enômotarchês as though by a herald, the lines of battle become both thin and deeper. Of these things none is, in any way whatever, difficult to learn. [7] Nevertheless to fight in the same way with whomever is next to them, even when in disorder, this battle order is no longer easy to learn except for those who have been trained under the laws of Lycurgus.

The most striking thing about this passage is the emphasis on how easy these practices are said to be. Ollier, because he views the work as one of praise and defence, believes that Xenophon is defending Spartan practices against those who think they are difficult,22 but this is an awkward stance to take. Why would the point need defending? If Xenophon thinks the Spartans are the best, then would he not want to emphasise, rather than diminish, their special skill in this area? That Xenophon does point out that there are some things that are easy only for full Spartiates (‘those who have been trained under the laws of Lycurgus’) also rather negates this theory. Luppino Manes provides a more nuanced interpretation which fits with her idea that the whole work is a project of reform. She implies that Xenophon emphasises the ease of formations to show that anyone could learn them and likewise emphasises the difficulty of fighting when in disorder except for those educated under the Lycurgan regime in order to encourage (re)implementation of Lycurgan measures. This theory certainly makes better sense of the passage, but for it to hold, the treatise as a whole would still have to be viewed in a more positive light than I am suggesting here. What makes these manoeuvres so easy? It is often assumed that continual practice of formation-drills is what distinguished the Spartans 20

As van Wees 2004: 98 suggests. I have discussed this passage in some detail in Humble 2006. 22 Ollier 1934: xxvi. 21

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militarily from others and made their performance of manoeuvres look easy,23 but this is not what Xenophon is saying here (nor has he said anywhere else in the treatise that such drilling was a significant feature of Spartan upbringing and daily life). Certainly Xenophon’s silence on the matter is not proof that the Spartans did not practise military drills; simply that if they did, he did not view it as a significant factor in their acquisition of power and renown, but the very fact that the army was made up of a significant number of non-Spartiate troops is hard to square with this assumption.24 H. van Wees suggests that ‘all-round athletic exercise in the gymnasium … was far more prominent than either formation- or weapons-drill’ in general for would-be hoplites in all Greek poleis, citing in support Xenophon’s description of Agesilaus training his troops in Asia Minor in 395 BCE (HG 3.4.16), where Agesilaus is said to judge the hoplites by the state of their bodies not by their skill as swordsmen.25 This view certainly works with the emphasis on physical fitness which Xenophon has stressed throughout the treatise: young men must keep fit because they are at war with one another (4.6), adult males must hunt to keep fit (4.7), elders make sure everyone exercises properly in the gymnasium (5.8–9) and the health of their bodies was deemed better adornment than fancy clothing (7.4).26 Yet physical fitness is not what Xenophon is explicitly pointing to in this passage either. Rather, the distinguishing features about the Spartan system that allow for ease of manoeuvring (except in disorder) appear to be preparedness and a readiness to obey a strict hierarchy of command (11.5–6). These two issues were highlighted at the opening of this section (preparedness, 11.2; the complex many-layered command structure, 11.4). Certainly for the full Spartan citizens in the army, these features are just an extension of their daily lives. In particular, obedience, enforced by constant supervision, is the most important aim of the upbringing and lifestyle which Xenophon has set out. However, even if the other 23

Cf. Anderson 1970: 107; Pritchett 1974–91: 4.63 n. 164; Powell 2001: 232; and Millender 2017: 94 (‘Spartan hoplites’ superior training’). By contrast, Hodkinson 2006 argues that there is no evidence of systematic training. 24 See Humble 2006: 224–5, and, more fully on the problematic nature of the evidence evinced in support of the standard view, see Hodkinson 2006: 133–6. 25 Van Wees 2004: 92, though he goes on to speculate that ‘the Spartans’ comparative proficiency in battlefield manoeuvres means that their training must have included some formation-drill’. 26 Thus if the Spartans differed from others in this regard it was in the degree to which they institutionalised the practice of physical fitness. Compare the later assessment by Aristotle (Pol. 1338b24– 9) in which he says that they surpassed all others ‘as long as they attended to love of toiling’ (ἕως μὲν αὐτοὶ προσήδρευον ταῖς φιλοπονίαις). The term φιλοπονία is also used of the Spartans by Plato at Alc. 1.122c.

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Lacedaemonians have not been brought up this way, all they have to do is note who stands beside them in battle line and follow orders from above. It may not always work, but they are simple rules to follow: attention to order and the command structure ensures ease of movement.27 The one thing which is easy only for those educated under the laws of Lycurgus, however, is to fight equally with anyone beside them when in disorder. Xenophon has already described the social conditioning which ensures that the Spartans will stand their ground in battle whatever the situation: Lycurgus made an honourable death preferable to a dishonourable life (9). He imposed such crippling public humiliation on a coward that invariably Spartans fought to the death once they found themselves in hopelessly disordered battle situations. In the examples which Xenophon provides of Spartans fighting to the death once order has been lost (see Chapter 4.5), it is notable that almost always, at the first sign of disorder, allied and Lacedaemonian troops flee: those with Mindarus fled (HG 1.1.18); once Callicratidas’ fleet lost its order and he fell overboard, the rest fled (HG 1.6.33); Peisander’s troops fled while he stood firm (HG 4.3.12); many of Anaxibius’ mercenaries, Lacedaemonians and Abydians fled (HG 4.8.39); Mnasippus also is abandoned by his troops (HG 6.2.22; though here his appalling generalship contributes to the situation); Teleutias’ troops flee when he falls (HG 5.3.6), etc.28 Mention of what is easy only for those educated under Lycurgan laws also presents us with the only mention of disorder in this section (indeed within the wider discussion of army life in sections 11–13). It stands out not just because of 27

Compare the description Thucydides gives of the Spartans being surprised by an enemy army drawn up before them (5.66.2–4): ‘The Lacedaemonians indeed suffered the greatest shock at this present moment in their collective memory. For their preparations had to be made with very little delay, and they at once with haste fell into their usual battle-order, with their king Agis making the individual directions in the manner prescribed by their law. For when a king is leading the army, everything begins from him, and while he himself tells the polemarchoi what needs to be done, they pass this on to the lochagoi, these to the pentêkontêres, and they in turn to the enômotarchoi and these to the enômotia. And any orders that they want to make run along the same lines and arrive quickly, since almost the whole Lacedaemonian army, with a small exception, is made up of leaders of leaders, and what needs to be done is the province of many individuals.’ (μάλιστα δὴ Λακεδαιμόνιοι ἐς ὃ ἐμέμνηντο ἐν τούτῳ τῷ καιρῷ ἐξεπλάγησαν. διὰ βραχείας γὰρ μελλήσεως ἡ παρασκευὴ αὐτοῖς ἐγίγνετο, καὶ εὐθὺς ὑπὸ σπουδῆς καθίσταντο ἐς κόσμον τὸν ἑαυτῶν, ῎Αγιδος τοῦ βασιλέως ἕκαστα ἐξηγουμένου κατὰ τὸν νόμον. βασιλέως γὰρ ἄγοντος ὑπ᾽ ἐκείνου πάντα ἄρχεται, καὶ τοῖς μὲν πολεμάρχοις αὐτὸς φράζει τὸ δέον, οἱ δὲ τοῖς λοχαγοῖς, ἐκεῖνοι δὲ τοῖς πεντηκοντῆρσιν, αὖθις δ᾽ οὗτοι τοῖς ἐνωμοτάρχοις καὶ οὗτοι τῇ ἐνωμοτίᾳ. καὶ αἱ παραγγέλσεις, ἤν τι βούλωνται, κατὰ τὰ αὐτὰ χωροῦσι καὶ ταχεῖαι ἐπέρχονται· σχεδὸν γάρ τι πᾶν πλὴν ὀλίγου τὸ στρατόπεδον τῶν Λακεδαιμονίων ἄρχοντες ἀρχόντων εἰσί, καὶ τὸ ἐπιμελὲς τοῦ δρωμένου πολλοῖς προσήκει.) And see Singor 2002: 245–7 on this passage. 28 Brasidas’ non-Spartan troops appear an honourable exception, but there is still a Spartiate, Clearidas, on the field at the time (Th. 5.10).

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the contrast with ease and order which surrounds it but also because it encourages us to recall that, despite the seemingly numerous examples of Spartans fighting to the death, there are also notable examples of them not fighting well or standing their ground in disorder, for example, at Sphacteria in 425 (Th. 4.31–40) and at Lechaeum in 390 (HG 4.5. 13–17).29 Xenophon can hardly be ignorant of this fact since he narrated the latter event. Xenophon continues with a further comment about ease of manoeuvring – ‘most easily, too, do Lacedaemonians do those things which seem to hoplomachoi to be very difficult’ – and follows this statement with a seemingly disproportionate amount of detail explaining how a marching army manoeuvres when the enemy attacks from any of four directions, front, back or either side (11.8–10).30 Xenophon certainly does not have too many positive comments to make elsewhere about hoplomachoi (i.e. men who train others in the use of heavy arms),31 and, as has been suggested, the emphasis on ease here is at least partially meant to show up those hoplomachoi who claim manoeuvres are difficult and require a lot of training from experts such as themselves.32 But this is not the main point of the passage. Coming, as it does, immediately upon the heels of the statement that only those educated under Lycurgan laws easily stand their ground in disorder in battle, this passage would seem to be presenting precautions put in place to try to prevent disorder happening in the first place. In mixed companies of Spartans and perioikoi, having some standard manoeuvres would certainly be practical. But Xenophon is surely not so naïve as to think that these manoeuvres will serve the army well in all situations.33 For despite the detail in which he presents them, he must expect his reader to recognise that they hardly account for all types of enemy encounter or all types of terrain upon which such encounters occur or even to recognise that they do not always work in a straightforward situation.34 And if the battle situation does not fit these carefully 29

Hodkinson 1983: 266–7. For a detailed discussion of these manoeuvres, see Anderson 1964: 175–8 and 1970: 104–10, and more recently Lipka 2002: 265–8. 31 See Mem. 3.1 and Cyr. 1.6.12–14. 32 E.g., Ollier 1934: 52 and Moore 1983: 115. Compare Plato’s dig at hoplomachoi at Laches 183b, where Socrates with amusement notes that hoplomachoi avoid treading on the holy ground of Sparta in order not to be shown up. 33 As Moore 1983: 115 suggests. Lipka 2002: 198 on 11.8–10 seems to lean towards this view too. See also Humble 2006. 34 E.g., Mnasippus’ failure to get his troops to operate the usual wheeling movement (HG 6.2.20) was undoubtedly aggravated by poor morale. Dillery 1995: 167–9 suggests that it was also indicative of a wider problem – loss of the fabled Spartan discipline. 30

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defined parameters and disorder ensues, non-Spartans are quick to flee, as already noted, not having been conditioned to fear disgrace more than death. This long and detailed description of basic manoeuvres and the further thoughts they bring to mind serves to highlight the conservatism and concurrent inability to adapt inherent in Spartan military practice (which mention of the Spartans fighting in disorder had indirectly raised). The Spartans were not known on the whole for their innovative tactical skill, though there were some exceptional commanders. When faced with unusual military situations Spartans generally could not cope; rather they clung stubbornly to tried and true methods despite their unsuitability,35 often fighting to the death, or they panicked36 or relied on others to extricate them from their difficulties.37 Consider, for example, Thucydides’ description of a battle conducted by Agis at Mantineia in 418 against the Argives and their allies (Th. 5.63–83). Although initially the Lacedaemonian army, caught by surprise, draws up in battle order quickly enough according to their customary procedure (5.66; quoted in n. 27), disaster strikes when two of the polemarchoi, Aristocles and Hipponoidas, disobey King Agis’ orders (5.72). Agis does his best in the situation, responding to the rapidly changing circumstances, sometimes unsuccessfully (the Sciritae cannot follow his orders in time to close up a gap, 5.72), sometimes successfully (sending a good portion of the army to aid his beleaguered left wing, 5.73) and the Spartans eventually win the battle. Thucydides’ judgement part way through is that ‘the Lacedaemonians, despite being very much weaker in terms of their experience, on this occasion demonstrated that they were no less strong in terms of their bravery’ (μάλιστα δὴ κατὰ πάντα τῇ ἐμπειρίᾳ Λακεδαιμόνιοι ἐλασσωθέντες τότε τῇ ἀνδρείᾳ ἔδειξαν οὐχ ἧσσον περιγενόμενοι, 5.72.2), i.e. in the end it is not tactical skill but bravery (andreia) which saves the day. Once again Xenophon’s method of presenting his argument leads us directly to consider measures which, while they certainly contributed to 35

Cf. Clearchus at the battle of Cunaxa: he employs conventional hoplite tactics, remaining close to the river so as not to be surrounded (An. 1.8.13); though he maintains discipline and routs the Persians stationed opposite (1.8.17–20), he has in fact acted contrary to Cyrus’ orders to lead his men against the centre of Artaxerxes’ army (1.8.12). 36 Despite their reputation for bravery, see Epps 1933: 14–15; also see Hodkinson 1983: 266 for examples. 37 E.g., in 410 BCE the second-in-command of the Spartan fleet, Hippocrates, appears unable to make a decision about how to act after the death of the admiral Mindarus. Cf. Th. 2.39 and Rhodes 1988: on 2.39.2.

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Spartan power and renown, are not inherently praiseworthy and indeed have inbuilt problems. The level of organisation for preparing for battle (provisioning, levying troops, outfitting troops, strict hierarchical structures for ease of incorporating non-Spartiates) is admirable. The manoeuvres are not difficult; they are simply the result of superior organisation and preparation and rely heavily on that key Spartan virtue, obedience. But the mention of disorder followed by the excessive detail about standard manoeuvres engenders unease, leading to contemplation of the inherent conservatism in the Spartan system and to what is likely to happen when there are few full Spartan citizens on the ground. The system that led to the renown is inevitably going to break down. One other point bears noting. Despite twice mentioning cavalry (11.2, 4) Xenophon focuses on matters pertaining more to hoplites and finishes this portion of the discussion without ever mentioning the cavalry again, though cavalry is mentioned in passing at 12.2 (where they, along with the Sciritae,38 are responsible for guarding the encamped army from enemy attack) and 13.6 (again in conjunction with the Sciritae, cavalry precede the king while advancing into battle). Certainly, Sparta was not renowned for having an outstanding cavalry. Xenophon quite explicitly comments in the Hellenica on the disgraceful state of the cavalry in 371 BCE (HG 6.4.11): For it was the richest who used to keep horses [cf. Lac. 6.3]. And it was only when the levy had been announced that the individual summoned came along. Then, taking his horse and whatever arms had been given him, he would go into battle at once. Of the soldiers, again, it was the weakest physically and the least in love with honour (φιλότιμοι) who were on horseback.

This cavalry force was, not surprisingly, humiliated (HG 6.4.13).39 Earlier sources are no more flattering. While describing Spartan defensive movements in 425–424 BCE after the defeat at Sphacteria, Thucydides notes that they set up a cavalry of 400 ‘contrary to their custom’ (παρὰ τὸ εἰωθὸς) to cope with the coastal raids of the Athenians, comparing their 38

Very little is known about this group. They may have been light-armed troops. Their status has been suggested as similar to that of the perioikoi (Cartledge 2006) or simply allies; see the discussion in Lipka 2002: 203–4 on 12.3[2]. See Singor 2002: 247–8 on the Sciritae at the Battle of Mantineia in 418 BCE. 39 Another notable cavalry defeat took place in 382 BCE (HG 5.2.41). At Sicyon in 392 Spartan cavalrymen dismount to fight as hoplites (HG 4.4.10) but in fact to no effect (see Chapter 4.5 n. 73). Spence 1993: 4 notes, without reference to Xenophon, that ‘the rigid Spartan agoge, or training system, was presumably not particularly effective in imparting flexibility – one of the key characteristics required of a good cavalry’.

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inexperience in this area to their foray into naval affairs (Th. 4.55.2).40 By the very act of mentioning the cavalry, therefore, Xenophon is drawing attention to an area in which Sparta was not renowned or powerful. The Spartans, in fact, despite keeping horses as prized possessions, seem not to have been particularly interested in developing a trained unit of cavalry, relying instead on allied troops despite continual lessons in how vital having a strong cavalry was.41 This again does not sit well with the view that the work is encomiastic, but it does fit well with the picture emerging thus far here: an analysis of what led to Spartan renown presented in such a way that its flaws, and hence what leads to a loss of this renown, are also made clear.

5.3  Lac. 12: Encampment Having discussed military formations and preparations for war, Xenophon goes on to explain the Lycurgan method of setting up camp in the field. Once again comparison with other poleis is left implicit. A circular form was used unless there was some protection in the rear (a hill, wall or river) (12.1).42 Then details about guard duty are enumerated. During the day the guards were set up to look inside the camp toward the weapons store. They were there appointed ‘not on account of the enemy but on account of friends’ (οὐ γὰρ πολεμίων ἕνεκα ἀλλὰ φίλων). The enemy on the other hand are watched by cavalry from places where they can see the farthest (12.2). Furthermore, by night, the Sciritae guarded the forward positions outside the camp. Any mercenaries43 present are also allocated some sort of guard duty, but a lacuna in the text prevents knowledge of what this might be (12.3). They always go about with their spears for the same reason as they keep slaves (τοὺς δούλους) away from the weapons store. Also, when they go off to answer calls of nature, they never go further from each other or from the weapons store 40

On this passage and the Spartan cavalry in general, see Lazenby 1985: 10–12 and Spence 1993: 2–4. Millender 2016 has recently argued that Thucydides has deliberately downplayed Spartan naval competence. It is possible too that he has done the same regarding Spartan cavalry. 41 In 382 BCE most of the success that Teleutias had around Olynthus can be put down to the superior cavalry of Derdas of Elimia (see HG 5.2.42, 5.3.1–2). 42 For the tendency of Greeks to use unfortified camps, see Lipka 2002: 202 on 12.1 with further references. 43 I have, both here and at Lac. 13.4, translated the Greek word ξένοι as ‘mercenaries’, as does Lipka (see 2002: 204–5 on 12.3[4] for a discussion). It could possibly also just simply mean ‘foreigners’ (the choice preferred in both places by Kuiper and Collins 2018), but as Trundle 2004: 14–15 notes ξένοι was a term commonly used to refer to ‘mercenaries’ in the time of Xenophon and indeed by Xenophon himself, especially in the Anabasis.

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than will not cause each other distress. These things are all done for the sake of security (12.4). Finally, still in this vein, they move camp frequently to harm their enemies and to assist their friends (12.5). The overwhelming emphasis in this opening section is on the need for Spartans to protect themselves and guard against their own army even more than against the enemy. The statement that guards are set up to watch out for friends is quite extraordinary and requires more comment than it usually receives. Who are these friends? One suggestion is that they are allies, on the grounds that the same word, philoi, is used less ambiguously in that sense at 12.5.44 Since that passage, however, is all about helping, it is somewhat at odds with a statement that they would also need to guard against the same friends. Another suggestion is that he means helots.45 That solution, however, is also problematic because of Xenophon’s specific reference to douloi a few sentences later,46 though certainly 12.2 and 12.4 are linked by mention of the arms depot within the camp. There is another possible explanation. There is no doubt that the contrast is very definitely between those inside the camp, ‘friends’, and those outside the camp, ‘enemies’. Those inside are not just helots and Spartan citizens but also ex-helots, perioikoi (both craftsmen and soldiers), possibly all sorts of other sub-citizen groups (nothoi, hypomeiones, etc.) and allies. Xenophon’s description of the conspiracy of Cinadon provides a fitting parallel and helps illuminate his statement here. The informer in that instance portrays the Spartiates as the enemy and everyone else in the market-place and all but the owners on estates as allies, later specifically including in this group helots, neodamodeis, hypomeiones, and perioikoi (HG 3.3.5–7). The ratio is 100 to 1. If the term ‘friends’ is being used ironically here at 12.2, as indeed I think it is, the group being referred to will include more than just the helots. Notably, in the description of the conspiracy of Cinadon the informer reports that those who served in the army had their own weapons (3.3.7). This reading also allows the passage, then, to offer another critical corrective to a fragment of Critias preserved in Libanius: on campaign a Spartiate ‘goes around always with his spear, in order to be stronger than the helot in this regard’ (τὸ δόρυ ἔχων ἀεὶ περιέρχεται, ὡς κρείττων γε ταύτῃ τοῦ εἵλωτος 44

Ollier 1934: 62, 64. Lipka 2002: 203 on 12.2[4] also prefers this solution though he does note the alternative view as well. Luppino Manes 1988 and Rebenich 1998 make no comment. 45 Gray 2007: 177 on 12.2, unusually allowing that Xenophon is being ironic. 46 It is generally agreed that Xenophon uses the term δούλοι interchangeably with εἵλωται; see, e.g., MacDowell 1986: 37; Rebenich 1998: 130; and Lipka 2002: 206 on 12.4[2] (who has a full list of examples).

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ἐσόμενος, D-K 88(81) B37 = Libanius Or. 25.63). Xenophon radically and critically expands the groups that the Spartans must guard against. Sparta’s power and renown, it appears, depend upon successful guarding against ‘friends’, just as it also concurrently depended upon amalgamating ‘friends’ into the army (Lac. 11.2–6). Xenophon spends the rest of the section on what goes on inside the camp. All Lacedaemonians, it transpires, are required by law to exercise while on campaign, with the result that they become more magnificent to themselves and ‘appear freer than other men’ (ἐλευθεριωτέρους δὲ τῶν ἄλλων φαίνεσθαι) (12.5). The use here of the comparative form of ἐλευθέριος recalls its use earlier (11.3) and again the emphasis is on appearance (φαίνεσθαι). There the Lacedaemonians were given equipment and clothing to give them the same outward appearance as the Spartiates, the full-Spartan citizens. Here they join the Spartiates, who exercise frequently at home, in exercising while on campaign. The aim must be the same: superficial elevation of non-Spartiates to the visual status of free men, the Spartiates. Dressing up the other Lacedaemonians and allowing them to participate in exercises all together also gives to the enemy the appearance that there are far more Spartiates in the army than there actually are. But this brings us back to the basic point with which Xenophon opened this section: that guards were posted inside the camp against friends. These superficial levelling practices did not erase or redress the grievances of figures like Cinadon. So the safety precautions continue. When they set up the area for exercising, they again must take care not to be too far from their own weapons (12.5). After exercising they are inspected, take breakfast and quickly (ταχὺ) relieve the outpost. Safety again. There are unspecified activities and periods of rest before evening exercises (12.6), and then dinner, sacrifices and songs to the gods and rest close to their weapons (12.7). The central concern in the first section of the discussion for safety is not dropped in the second but is reinforced thrice. Thus, while we can be impressed with the precautions and organisation and the routine, a sense of unease is again engendered. The safety precautions are overwhelmingly internal. Energy that could be directed against the enemy is instead directed towards ‘friends’. To close off this section Xenophon remarks as follows: ‘that I am writing a great deal, one should not wonder at, for anyone would discover that the least number of things of those requiring care have been overlooked by the Lacedaemonians in military matters’ (12.7). Across sections 11 and 12 Xenophon has certainly shown that significant

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attention is paid on a regular basis to basic details concerning campaigning (provisioning, levying, basic manoeuvres, superficial integration of subordinate troops, encampment, routine procedures governing life in the camp). Many of these measures are necessary, in order both to integrate and to guard against the very people the conquest of whom led to Sparta’s rise to power in the first place. The methods of integration, however, are ultimately superficial, and rely on subordinate groups participating in upholding their own status, a situation which always has the potential for unravelling (since the methods of guarding can only really have reaffirmed the subordinate status of many of the soldiers). Once again by his very method of presentation Xenophon has raised questions about the overall efficacy and underlying problems of these procedures.47

5.4  Lac. 13: Kings on Campaign The ‘power and honour’ (δύναμιν καὶ τιμὴν) allocated by Lycurgus to the king on campaign is next discussed. Though the Spartans had a dual kingship Xenophon uses the term βασιλεύς only in the singular in this section, which is generally thought to be an implicit nod to the rule, which he notes elsewhere,48 that usually only one king went out on campaign at a time.49 He starts off with the following points. The king and his immediate circle are supported by the polis while on campaign. The polemarchoi mess with the king for the purposes of taking common council if there is a need. Three of the homoioi also mess with the king. Their role is to see to provisions for the king and his group so that they are not distracted from the business of war (13.1). When the army sets out, the king is responsible for various sacrifices (at home, at the borders, and along the way), advance only being made if the sacrifices are propitious; Zeus and Athena are the named deities (13.2–3). A considerable number of senior officers watch the sacrifices, as well as two ephors who ‘observing what each does, chasten (σωφρονίζουσιν) them all, as is reasonable’

47

Cf. also Proietti 1987: 68, who notes that ‘the doubts raised by their [Lacedaemonian soldiers] political reliability or loyalty do not seem to have been answered’. 48 For example, at HG 5.3.10 the Phliasians are counting on the rule that only one king is sent out on campaign at a time, but they are, in fact, disappointed in this hope (5.3.13-15). The rule was clearly breakable when circumstances dictated. 49 See also Lipka 2002: 209 on 13.1[2]; Thommen 1996: 90–2; and Millender 2009: 19, who points out that in general Xenophon does not say much about the Agiad dynasty, and that his Agesilaus likewise seems to treat the Spartan dyarchy as a more conventional monarchy.

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(13.4–5).50 After the sacrifices are completed, the king, having summoned everyone, announces what must be done. The result of watching these things is that: ‘you might hold that whereas others are “improvisers” (αὐτοσχεδιαστὰς) in military matters, the Lacedaemonians alone are “craftsmen” (τεχνίτας) in matters of war’ (13.5). This first set of powers and honours of the king on campaign does not seem exceptional.51 Like the rest of the Spartans in the course of their upbringing and daily life, the king is to be well supervised. The extensive powers of chastisement allotted to the ephors here recall and add to those listed at 8.4, where Xenophon reported that ephors have authority to remove magistrates from their office, imprison them and bring capital charges against them, and, in short, have tyrannical powers,52 which we learn now clearly extend over the king(s) as well (13.5). Indeed, there are examples elsewhere of ephors receiving accusations about a king (e.g., Cleomenes, Hdt. 6.82.1) and even imprisoning the regent Pausanias (Th. 1.131.2, 134.1).53 The phrasing of the king’s reportage of the meaning of the sacrifices, which is highlighted by strong alliteration (προσκαλέσας πάντας παραγγέλλει τὰ ποιητέα, 13.5), is interesting too. The alliteration calls attention to the phrase,54 but why? It would appear to be presenting a further control over the king’s actions and a further curb on his power, rather than a power per se. The king may be the one to relay the results of the sacrifices to everyone, but as much control as possible over his freedom to make these decisions on his own is put in place by his being kept in check by means of the routine and public nature of the sacrificial process, and then by the fact that decisions are made public to all.55 But at the same time, as Xenophon himself well knew, it was a far from foolproof system: a beleaguered king could be kept under control by being kept well supervised,56 and a particularly wilful king, who was able to The sense here of σωφρονίζουσιν is general; see Humble 1999: 344. Cf. Hodkinson 2005: 241. Cf. Richer 1998: 409, who, in commenting on this passage, notes that the ephors do not have a military role but represent here the polis. 53 See the survey in Richer 1998: 430–53. 54 As Gray 2007: 179 notes. 55 Proietti 1987: 71–2 suggests that what it means is not that the king decides what is actually done but that what is being passed on are ‘the instructions of the gods through the medium of the sacrifices’, so that it is the total reliance on the messages from the gods that makes the Spartans military technitai and the king is simply the medium through which the divine instructions are made known. This seems to me an over-interpretation of what is a fairly normal Greek practice. Parker 1989: 158–9 raises the important point that despite the restrictions the king would have decided what question to pose, but it is not entirely clear in this passage that that is so. 56 As Agis was in 418 BCE (Th. 5.63), on which, see Powell 2010: 114. 50 51

52

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surround himself with supportive subordinates and had the ephors on board, would have considerable room for manoeuvre.57 The summary statement at 13.5, about others being improvisers at war compared with the Spartans, who were craftsmen, is provocative. This is the second time in the treatise that Xenophon has used the second-­ person singular to address his imaginary audience (cf. 3.5),58 and, as on the previous occasion, the imagery in the address is striking. If we read Xenophon’s narrative patterning as he has developed it thus far, it seems that being military craftsmen is primarily a matter of paying strict attention to the orderly procedures surrounding sacrifices. Certainly there is plenty of evidence in our sources for the seriousness with which the Spartans regarded sacrifices: 59 for example, there are no recorded instances of Spartans advancing beyond their borders upon taking inauspicious omens, and several indeed of them turning home again for this reason,60 and there are plenty of examples of all the types of sacrifices detailed in this passage being carried out.61 Indeed, R. Parker’s observation that Spartan religion differed not in substance from elsewhere, but in the degree of orderliness with which it was carried out and in the obedience with which it was followed,62 meshes perfectly with Xenophon’s assessment thus far of what was singular about the Spartan system: the degree to which it relied for its success on conformity and obedience, achieved through constant supervision and threats of punishment. Though the most obvious interpretation of αὐτοσχεδιαστής here is ‘one without any skill’, i.e. in opposition to τεχνίτης, a skilled craftsman,63 it is hard not to believe, given the tenor of the treatise, that 57

Cf. Parker 1989: 158–60 with examples, including Agesilaus in 396 BCE (HG 3.4.15), though Parker does not think that Xenophon realises the irony of the situation in this passage. There are, however, fewer addresses to or from an imaginary interlocutor in this final third of the work (the most notable being at 14.1). Further, the use of the verb γράφω at 12.7 does not seem to elicit much comment. 59 See particularly Parker 1989. Also see Hodkinson 1983: 273–6; Holladay and Goodman 1986: 154– 60; Cartledge 1987: 417; Jameson 1991: 197; and, specifically on divination, Powell 2010. 60 See Hdt. 6.76; Th. 5.54.2, 5.55.3, 5.116.1; and X. HG 4.7.7. Or abandoning a particular course of action upon a bad sacrifice: HG 3.4.15. Cf. also Pritchett 1974–91: 3.68–71 on the role of kings in military sacrifices and at border crossings. 61 E.g., border sacrifice (HG 6.5.12); sacrificing at dawn (HG 6.5.17). 62 Parker 1989: 162. 63 Cf. X. Mem. 3.5.21: in conversation with Pericles, who is despairing of the indiscipline of the Athenians compared with the Spartans, Socrates says many of the Athenian generals are incompetent and ‘improvisors’ (αὐτοσχεδιάζουσιν). The meaning here is certainly negative, though the context needs to be taken into account. The negative view of the Athenians is put almost entirely in Pericles’ mouth. Socrates is, on the other hand, trying to persuade him into a leadership position. See Gray 1998: 138–42. 58

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the reader is not meant to pause and think about what is being said here, because the verb αὐτοσχεδιάζω and its cognates can also be used to mean ‘improvise’ in a positive way.64 In the Hellenica, for example, Agesilaus defends Phoebidas on the grounds that he showed initiative in the capture of the Cadmea: ‘it was an ancient custom to be allowed to make improvisations like these’ (ἀρχαῖον εἶναι νόμιμον ἐξεῖναι τὰ τοιαῦτα αὐτοσχεδιάζειν, HG 5.2.32).65 That Agesilaus is here probably guilty of inventing an ancient custom in order to secure Phoebidas’ acquittal does not alter the fact that the meaning is complimentary, not derogatory. Thus, Xenophon appears here to be reinforcing the two main points brought out particularly in the previous two sections dealing with military affairs: both the positive aspects of the highly regulated system – its central organisation for provisions, standard procedures for manoeuvres, etc. – and the negative side that this, in turn, discouraged innovation.66 The list of the king’s powers and honours continues. While the army is on the march the king leads, preceded only by the Sciritae and the reconnaissance cavalry (the two groups which saw to the guarding of the camp from the enemy, 12.2–3). When the enemy appears the king leads the first division, between two other divisions under the command of polemarchoi (13.6). The troops in support are organised by the eldest of his close circle, with the result that ‘none of the needful things is left unprovided for; for nothing is unforeseen’ (ὥστε τῶν δεομένων γίγνεσθαι οὐδὲν ἀπορεῖται· οὐδὲν γὰρ ἀπρόσκεπτόν ἐστι, 13.7). This statement leads into an account of what arrangements Lycurgus made concerning how the troops proceed into battle. After a sacrifice, pipe players play and everyone wears a wreath. The order is given to polish weapons. It is possible for a young man to go into battle anointed, ‘of glad countenance᾽ and ‘honoured’ (φαιδρὸν ... εὐδόκιμον, 13.9).67 Orders are passed along to the enômotarchai, for it is difficult for them all to hear along the whole division.68 That this is done well is the responsibility of the polemarchos (13.9). The positioning of the king – an honour – leads to a rather expansive account, given the topic of the section, of the duties and then the S.v. αὐτοσχεδιάζω in LSJ. It is also used positively of Themistocles at Th. 1.138.4. 66 The immediate context of this comment is rarely taken into account when it is taken as a wholly positive assessment by Xenophon of Spartan military prowess: see, e.g., Lazenby 1985: 48 and Millender 2017: 94. 67 The only other use of the term eudokimos in the treatise is concerning the cheese-stealing ritual (Lac. 2.9). 68 I follow Lipka 2002: 224 on 13.9[5] for the meaning here of parakeleuontai. 64 65

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positioning of others leading up to engagement with the enemy. E. C. Marchant remarks that 13.8–9 seems out of place and should actually be viewed as following 11.3–4.69 Although he leaves his reasoning unexpressed, it is presumably because none of what is described in 13.8–9 directly involves the king. He is right to notice the anomaly, though this is not the first time in this section that we have been told what the king is not responsible for (three peers deal with the maintenance of the king and his staff, 13.1; a senior member of the king’s staff actually arranges most of the troops, 13.7). Indeed, not much in 13.7–9 concerns the king directly but recalls previous assertions that everything was provided for concerning preparing for war (11.2) and encamping (12.7). Indeed, in a section purportedly devoted to revealing the power and honour of the king on campaign, there is rather a lot of space given over to the activities of others. Even when the activities described involve the king (such as the sacrifices), they show conformity to preset, minutely organised practices, confirming the lack of room for innovation. At every stage the king is surrounded by and thus supervised by other high-ranking officials, and many of the organisational tasks are delegated to others. So again the position of the king seems more an honour than a power and the excessive attention to procedural detail leaves the reader wondering what happens if the enemy engage in an unexpected way (cf. pp. 172–3): not only can these procedures not be completed but the very fact of their existence stifles flexibility at the very time when it would be most needed. The final few comments of the section refocus on the king by presenting three additional tasks the king performs while on campaign. First we are told that the king does choose when and where to encamp (13.10). This is a power, though the where is presumably dictated to some degree by the regulations just laid out in the previous section (12.1). That said, even with Lycurgan rules aiding encampment, mistakes can apparently still happen. For example, it escapes Agesilaus’ notice on his Arcadian campaign in 370 BCE that he is encamping in a valley surrounded by mountains (HG 6.5.17–18). Though he takes great precautions to retreat safely out of the valley, the manoeuvre is successful only because the Mantineans decide to wait for the arrival of the Thebans before attacking (HG 6.5.19). Secondly, ‘the sending out of embassies both friendly or hostile, this again belongs to the king’ (τὸ μέντοι πρεσβείας ἀποπέμπεσθαι καὶ φιλίας 69

Marchant 1968: 183.

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καὶ πολεμίας, τοῦτ᾽ αὖ βασιλέως, 13.10). This point has been the cause of some debate. Though the textual tradition unanimously reads αὖ,70 on the suggestion of B. Weiske many modern editors have preferred οὐ, so that the sentence reads: ‘but the sending out of embassies … is not the task of the king’.71 Lipka, who supports the latter reading despite providing linguistic and stylistic evidence in support of the manuscript reading, provides a list of examples, but they do not entirely support his argument. Instances of the kings sending and receiving embassies can be found in Herodotus, Thucydides and Xenophon.72 It is certainly true that there are other examples which show ephors dealing with embassies,73 but in the three cases Lipka cites there is actually no king on campaign at that time (and this obviously becomes a significant issue over time as the Spartans overstretch themselves and dispatch armies under harmosts and other commanders; see further, p. 186). Other examples in the Hellenica show both the king and ephors involved (which is not surprising, given what Xenophon has reported on a few sentences earlier about two ephors supervising the king while he is sacrificing),74 but the embassies invariably expect first to be able to deal with the king, who then himself sends them off to the ephors; further, the king appears in each case to be using this approach as a stalling tactic.75 It seems unnecessary, therefore, on this evidence to choose the emended reading. Finally, it is noted that all start from the king whenever they wish to do anything. So anyone in need of justice is sent by the king to the hellanodikai, anyone needing money is sent to the treasurers, anyone bringing 70

Muratore 1997: 110. Weiske 1804: 47 made the proposal on the grounds that the initial μέντοι in this sentence must be adversative and evidence from Xenophon himself (HG 2.2.13 and 2.4.38) which showed ephors dealing with ambassadors (see n. 73 for examples). His emendation has been adopted by a significant number of editors and commentators: e.g., Ollier 1934 (and thus reprinted in Colas 1996); Marchant 1957 and 1968; Lipka 2002: 225–6 on 13.10[2]; and d’Alessandro 2009: 126. Richer 1998 does not comment on this passage. Accepting the manuscript reading are Luppino Manes 1988: 107–8; Rebenich 1998: 135–6 (with reference to earlier adherents to this view); and Gray 2007: 181 on 13.10–11. Proietti 1987: 70–1 remains undecided. 72 Kings and embassies: Hdt. 5.49–51; Th. 2.12.1, 8.5.1; X. HG 2.4.31, 3.4.11, 4.5.6. 73 Ephors and embassies: Hdt. 9.7–11; X. HG 3.1.1, 5.2.9, 11. 74 At HG 2.4.35 Pausanias arranges ambassadors to be sent to him and the ephors who were with him. 75 At HG 2.2.12–13 Athens sends an embassy to Agis, who says he has no authority and sends them on to Sparta where they deal with the ephors. At HG 3.4.25 a Persian embassy comes to Agesilaus, but he has to consult with the authorities at home (who presumably include the ephors). At HG 2.2.16–17 Athens sends Theramenes as ambassador to Lysander, who is in command of this particular expedition, and who, like Agis and Agesilaus in the examples above, is reported by Theramenes to have said that he had no authority and that Theramenes would have to consult the ephors. 71

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booty is sent to the booty-sellers. With things being done in this way the only task left for the king on service, other than being a priest with respect to divine matters, is to be a general to his men (13.11). Lipka argues that all these officers to whom Xenophon says the king devolves responsibility are actually personally instructed by the king,76 and that Xenophon is thus idealising the situation here.77 But if we have been attentive to the way in which Xenophon has been presenting his material thus far we are more likely to see how such a system can be open to abuse. Xenophon himself provides us with the classic example of just how much power a king could exert in this area. While Agesilaus’ army is stationed in Ephesus in 396 BCE, Lysander is besieged by petitioners hoping that he can intercede with Agesilaus on their behalf. Agesilaus is enraged by this, and the thirty Spartiates with him are consumed with jealousy, with the result that Agesilaus refuses to grant the requests of any who are known to Lysander (HG 3.4.8). This example both reveals the power the king has and also that it can be easily abused: if all must start from the king, access to other officers depends on his goodwill. It might be argued that it is stretching matters to presume that Xenophon expected his audience to know this precise example, but he himself certainly knew it when he came to write this work. Once again, therefore, the material presented stimulates thoughtful enquiry. The polis maintains the king – an honour (13.1). The king performs important sacrifices on behalf of the army and tells everyone what must be done (13.2–5). This would seem to be a power, but the king is well supervised by ephors and others, and consults on a daily basis with the polemarchoi (13.1), so the degree of freedom the king has would seem to be predicated on whether or not he had the goodwill of these other authorities. Xenophon could, therefore, have been much clearer if he wanted to say the king had complete control over policy decisions. The king leads into battle – an honour (13.6–7). He decides where to camp 76

Cf., e.g., Ages. 1.8, where Xenophon suggests that Agesilaus had control over the booty-sellers. Lipka 2002: 227 on 13.11[3] calls on Plutarch for support because in his reporting of the incident between Lysander and Agesilaus in Asia Minor he says that Agesilaus had control not just over requests but over court cases too (Plu. Ages. 7.4–5). The Plutarchan passage, however, is clearly based on Xenophon’s account and the easiest explanation for the addition of court cases by Plutarch is that he has simply engaged in amplificatio of his source for rhetorical effect (see D.  Shipley 1997: 134). MacDowell 1986: 124–5, to his credit, tries to reconcile the two sources without dismissing Xenophon’s evidence in the way that Lipka does, by suggesting that the kings had jurisdiction over disputes concerning Lacedaemonians whereas the hellanodikai dealt with disputes involving non-Spartans. A corrupt and difficult to interpret Aristotelian passage (Pol. 1285a4–10) is also used as support for this argument. Though I prefer the argument presented above, this theory is also possible.

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(13.10) – a power of sorts. He deals with embassies (13.10) – a power. And everyone must take their requests through him (13.11): though this is the greatest power allotted the king on campaign in Xenophon’s presentation, it conjures up at the same time thoughts about how it could be abused because of envy and competitiveness, the natural outcomes of the Lycurgan system described in Lac. 1–10. But there is more to say when a comparison is made with Herodotus’ discussion of the powers of Spartan kings. The similarities in structure and terminology of Xenophon’s and Herodotus’ accounts look suspiciously like intertextual engagement on Xenophon’s part.78 For example, Xenophon follows the same tripartite structure as Herodotus in his description of the Spartan kings’ privileges: war (Lac. 13; Hdt. 6.56), peace (Lac. 15.1–7; Hdt. 6.57) and death (Lac. 15.8; Hdt. 6.58). Further, where they coincide on information they do so in the same order.79 However, although both allocate a similar space to the king’s honours in peacetime, Xenophon’s account of their power and honour in war is well over five times as long as that of Herodotus, and his account of their privileges after death well under five times as short. Herodotus also refers consistently to two kings throughout his exposition, unlike Xenophon, who uses the plural on three occasions only (Lac. 15.4, 8, 9). Further, Herodotus’ list of privileges of the Spartan kings in war, despite being much shorter, reveals far greater powers: (1) two priesthoods, of Zeus Lacedaemon and Zeus of Heaven; (2) the power to wage war against whatever land they want and any Spartiate who hinders them will be considered to have acted sacrilegiously; (3) to be first to lead the army and last to retreat; (4) to be guarded on campaign by 100 chosen men; (5) as many cattle for slaughter as they want at the setting-out sacrifices; and (6) they receive the skins and chines of the sacrificed animals. Though Xenophon’s account also notes the importance of Zeus in the context of war and that the king was at the head of the army,80 Herodotus presents the kings as completely authoritarian: it is a sacrilege to question their judgement. This is far from being the case in Xenophon’s account, where the kings are well supervised, particularly when they are taking sacrifices 78

There have been numerous studies looking at Herodotean echoes or elements in the Hellenica, most notably Gray 1989. The latest examination (to the best of my knowledge), Tamiolaki 2008, discusses additional important verbal echoes (section 2.1), and see her n. 9 for other previous scholarship on the topic. 79 See Carlier 1984: 256, followed by Lipka 2002: 27. Since the main points of coincidence are all in Lac. 15, they will be discussed there. 80 That the kings were the recipients of an abundance of sacrificial animals is a privilege which Xenophon lists only in peacetime (15.3).

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from which the path of action is to be decided, and the tyrannical ephors are keeping watch. It follows, therefore, that when the king in the field adheres to his role as outlined above, Sparta prospers and grows strong. But as noted already in the preceding discussion Xenophon is well aware of examples of kings overstepping or abusing their role as defined here, and Agesilaus is certainly not exempt in this regard, though he works hard to maintain the outward appearance of conforming to these restrictions (see further Chapter 6.2 and 6.3). But there is one final point to note which could scarcely have been absent from the minds of Xenophon’s original audience during contemplation of the material in this section. In Herodotus’ work, Spartan kings (or a regent if the king was too young) led the army in the field. However, in Xenophon’s lifetime, ordinary Spartan citizens were often found in command of armies, as a glance at Thucydides’ Histories and Xenophon’s Hellenica and Anabasis reveals. H. W. Parke notes that sending out ordinary Spartans, i.e. not kings, at the heads of armies was a development in Spartan military practice which began in the early part of the Peloponnesian War. The earliest example is Eurylochus against Naupactus in 426 BCE (Th. 3.100), followed soon thereafter by Brasidas to Thrace in 424 (Th. 4.80). Parke further persuasively argues that these commanders should be regarded as harmosts, regardless of Thucydides’ eschewal of the term, and that there were two types of harmost, one who commanded an army operating over a large area, the other who governed particular poleis.81 Xenophon nowhere in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia reports on provisions made to guarantee supervision and control of this type of commander on campaign. Upon examining his texts and that of Thucydides, it does seem as if these non-royal, often ad hoc, commanders had considerably less immediate supervision than did kings on command (both in theory and in practice). In general their troops were non-Spartan. Brasidas was sent out in 424 BCE with 700 helots (Th. 4.80); Alcamenes and Melanthus in 411 with 300 freed helots (Th. 8.5); Thibron in 399 was sent to Asia Minor with 1000 neodamodeis and 4000 other Peloponnesians, and further added to his number 300 Athenian cavalrymen and other troops from mainland Greek poleis (HG 3.1.4–5). Agesilaus, by contrast, when he went to Asia Minor in 396, though the bulk of his army was made up of 2000 neodamodeis and 6000 allies, was also accompanied by thirty Spartiates (HG 3.4.2). The only provision for

81

Parke 1930: passim (with convenient summaries at 49, 70, 76–7) and on Thucydides’ terminology, pp. 78–9.

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supervision for the harmosts seems to be a yearly inspection; apart from that they appear to follow their own agendas when allowed to do so.82 The cases of Thibron and Dercylidas in Asia Minor in the early fourth century provide a good illustration of the degree to which harmosts were left free to operate as they wanted. Thibron was originally sent out to protect the Ionian Greeks from Tissaphernes ‘because they wanted to be free’ (ἐλεύθεραι βουλόμεναι, HG 3.1.3). He was replaced by Dercylidas when complaints from allies that his soldiers were plundering friends reached the authorities at home. Dercylidas, contrary to the initial purpose of the expedition, promptly made a truce with Tissaphernes and attacked Pharnabazus (3.1.9). Xenophon here interjects into the narrative of events of 398 an incident from Dercylidas’ past. We learn that when he was governor of Abydus in 407, he had been slandered by Pharnabazus and punished for insubordination (ἀταξία) by having to stand holding his shield (i.e. act as a sentry). With this short digression Xenophon shows that Dercylidas’ motives for attacking Pharnabazus are entirely personal – revenge – and that whether the original charge of insubordination was true or not, the current circumstances certainly show him acting insubordinately.83 Xenophon makes it perfectly clear that Dercylidas does not make the same mistake as Thibron concerning friends and allies (3.1.10) and so, despite following his own agenda, he is not, unlike Thibron, recalled upon his yearly inspection (3.2.6). Further, upon hearing that Sparta was intending to send an army to the Chersonese, of his own volition he made a truce with Pharnabazus and promptly crossed to the Chersonese (3.2.8–9). Again he is not punished for this behaviour, and when told to return to help the Ionian Greeks after a second appeal in 397, he does so. There are clearly many factors at play here, not least of which is the Spartans’ general lack of serious commitment to freeing the Ionian Greeks,84 and the question of the strength of each commander’s patronage back in Sparta,85 but the main point here is the clear power of, and lack of central control over, this type of commander. Xenophon, therefore, clearly knows this type of command position exists and is equally aware of its arbitrary and loose nature. It is also clearly a command position which does not, by its very nature, fit into 82

E.g., see Parke 1930: 42 on Brasidas. Contra Westlake 1981: 259 and 1986: 414 with n. 23, who prefers the testimony of Justin (6.1.2–3) about Dercylidas’ motive for attacking Pharnabazus, i.e. because Tissaphernes was militarily stronger. 84 See Tuplin 1993: 50–1 on these events and how Xenophon’s narrative does not show Dercylidas in a good light. 85 Dercylidas must have had stronger patronage in Sparta than Thibron, for the latter is exiled when he returns home, whereas Dercylidas is allowed a free rein. See Parke 1930: 66. 83

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the Lycurgan system. Constant supervision would be far too costly in terms of manpower. It might be argued that there has not been sufficient indication in the text at this point to direct our thinking in this way, but I would suggest that the fact that harmosts are central to the discussion in the very next section is an argument in favour of this reading. Mention of the kings leading in the field leads to the thought that they are not the only Spartan commanders in the field and on to the thought that harmosts really had nothing to do with the creation of Sparta’s power and renown and much to do with the dissolution of her power and renown. This train of thought also leads to the observation that harmosts are, by the nature of their position, more frequently portrayed as autoschediastai than technitai.

5.5  Lac. 14: Deviation from Lycurgan Ways Having set out how much better than others the Spartans managed various aspects of campaigning, Xenophon poses and answers a hypothetical question (14.1): ‘But if anyone should ask me, if even still now the laws of Lycurgus seem to me to remain unchanged, this, by Zeus, I would no longer assert confidently.’ He goes on to give four examples of what he means, and in all of them he contrasts what was previously the case with the present (14.2–5): [2] For I know that previously (πρότερον μὲν) the Lacedaemonians chose to live together with one another at home with moderate possessions rather than to be harmosts in other poleis and be corrupted by flattery. [3] Also I know that previously (πρόσθεν μὲν) they were afraid to be seen with gold, but now (νῦν δ’) there are some who actually pride themselves on its possession. [4] I know for certain also that previously (πρόσθεν) for this reason there were expulsions of foreigners (ξενηλασίας) and going abroad was not allowed so that the citizens might not be filled with slackness (ῥᾳδιουργίας) by foreigners. Now (νῦν δ’), however, I know for certain that those reputed to be the foremost among them are zealously pursuing how never to stop being harmosts in a foreign land. [5] And there was a time when (καὶ ἦν μὲν ὅτε) they took care that they might be worthy to lead, but now (νῦν δὲ) they exert themselves much more to become rulers rather than to be worthy of this.

Consequently, the Greeks previously (πρότερον μὲν) begged them to take the lead against those reputed to be doing wrong, but now (νῦν δὲ) many call upon each other to try to prevent the Spartans from ruling again (14.6). And, Xenophon concludes, one must not wonder that they are

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held up to blame, since they are manifestly not obeying either the god or the laws of Lycurgus (14.7). Since the work has been analysing the practices peculiar to Sparta which brought her great renown and power (1.1–2), it follows entirely naturally that Xenophon should comment on a change in power and renown (14.6–7), whatever overall view of the work one subscribes to.86 That this change is brought about in his view possibly by a change in the laws (14.1), and certainly by a lack of obedience to them (14.7), is also an entirely natural consequence of the system that has just been described, since obedience to the particular laws devised for them by Lycurgus is, above all, fundamental to their power and renown (1.2). In addition to the strong juxtaposition between present and past, there is also a contrast between the Spartans’ former insularity and their present hegemonic aims, their former apparent contentment with what they had and their present lust for more, both in terms of wealth and power. There are also two explicit thematic links with measures that have already been discussed. The comments about previously being afraid to be seen with gold but now taking pride in its possession recall precisely the discussion in section 7. It is usually argued that Xenophon is contrasting a traditional disdain of wealth, which he is presumed to have set out in section 7, with contemporary lust for it.87 But he has already shown that while disdain for wealth may well have been Lycurgus’ aim, it was impossible to guarantee in practice, or at least it was impossible in the way Lycurgus tried to accomplish it. Xenophon has shown us that he is perfectly aware that wealth was sought and valued in Sparta, that desire for it was not eradicated (1.9, 7.5–6), but that there were plenty of measures limiting the visible display of it (2.4, 7.1–6, 10.7), and what could not be hidden – bounteous crops, dogs and horses – was shared in a limited manner (5.3, 6.3). Fear of punishment was the only real constraint upon attempts to accumulate wealth, but, as already noted, there would have been no need to institute searches for gold and silver, if there had been no lust for it and no secret accumulation of it. The Spartans formerly feared to openly show their wealth (14.3) because punishments making it more painful than pleasurable to do so were firmly in place (7.6). The other important explicit link with what has already been discussed is the mention of ‘slacking’ (ῥᾳδιουργίας, 14.4). Slacking had been very 86

It is frequently noted that the aorists in 1.1–2 had already prepared us for this eventuality. E.g., Ollier 1934: xxxiii; Momigliano 1966: 343; Rebenich 1998: 115; Azoulay 2004a: 187; Ruzé 2010: 22 n. 21; Liebert 2016: 125–6.

87

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much discouraged at all stages in the Lycurgan system. The paidonomos was to punish boys if they were caught slacking (2.2); young men inside and outside the chosen group of 300 were to watch each other for any signs of slacking (4.4); and the explicit purpose of the common messes was to prevent slacking (5.2).88 Keeping Spartans in the public eye and under constant supervision, and having them conform to a particular standard of behaviour in public were the means established in the attempt to keep slacking at bay. Xenophon also introduces two other, previously unmentioned, measures which were directed broadly towards the same purpose: the institution of xenêlasia, i.e. the periodic expulsion of foreigners, and an injunction against living abroad. These measures, limiting contact with foreigners in two different ways, are the first Xenophon has mentioned which are set up to deal with the world outside Sparta. Both measures prevent the Spartans from viewing and becoming familiar with alternative, less constricting lifestyles. This reason for the practice of xenêlasia is the opposite of that which Thucydides puts in the mouth of Pericles, where it is understood as a measure to prevent foreigners from seeing anything that might be to their advantage in battle (Th. 2.39.1; cf. 1.144.2). Pericles is quite naturally made to view the situation from his point of view, the outsider looking in. Xenophon, on the other hand, stresses that it is the corrupting influence of foreigners that must be guarded against.89 Xenophon may not have spelled out explicitly why the Spartans no longer obey the laws and possibly even change them, but the answer is clearly embedded in this section in the strong juxtaposition between the Spartans’ former insularity and their current unworthy lusting for life and power abroad. We do not, I think, have to understand that any one event brought this about, just simply that Spartan involvement in outside 88

Admittedly, these thematic links also support Lipka’s assertion (2002: 30) that Lac. 14 was originally written as a sort of conclusion to Lac. 1–10, but I hope I have shown how closely integrated Lac. 11–13 are also with Lac. 1–10 and that the former really only make sense when read in conjunction with the latter. 89 In Aristophanes’ Birds (1012–13) xenêlasia appears on the surface simply to be used in the sense of keeping unwanted quacks out of the polis, but see Sidwell 2009: 242–4 on the idea that the play is a satire of Critias. Plato employs a limited use of xenêlasia for cultural purposes in constructing his new polis in the Laws (12.950a–3e), while in the Protagoras (342b–d) he plays with both senses (comically suggesting first that the Spartans employ xenêlasia to keep Athenian laconophiles from discovering that the Spartans engage in philosophy, but also that they do not permit their young men to travel abroad so as not to unlearn what they have been taught in Sparta). For further examples and discussion, see Rebenich 1998 and Figueira 2003 (especially pp. 53–6 on xenêlasia and cultural isolation).

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affairs led inexorably to the breakdown in the functioning of the internal system, following which they had gained such renown in the first place, renown which, in circular fashion, led to them being drawn into outside affairs. The breakdown occurred because, as Xenophon has shown, the foundations upon which the internal system was built were weak: success of the Lycurgan measures relied on an elaborate system of supervision and punishment to work, not on internalisation of core virtues achieved by imitation and positive examples. The two biggest attractions of life outside, slacking and accumulating wealth openly, are precisely the things Lycurgus tried particularly to regulate against with his punitive internal system. But the way the system was set up did not eliminate the attractions of these activities; it simply drove desire for them underground. It is not coincidence, or bad editing, that caused Xenophon to stress that the practice of virtue in public was the goal of the Spartan system (10.4–7). The way in which he has presented the Lycurgan measures shows repeatedly that the practice of virtue in private was not addressed. At every stage, from the encouragement of thieving involving deceit, ambushes and spies when children (2.7), to the encouragement at all stages of life of the key virtue controlling public behaviour, aidôs, to the superficial measures for creating the appearance of equality, the emphasis is on not getting caught and punished, rather than on practising virtue for its own sake. Even if internalisation of aidôs, obedience and selfrestraint does take place – and this cannot be guaranteed because of the negative methods of education – there are still notable problems. There has been no education in justice (hence the allowance of thieving) or sôphrosynê (hence no proper curb on private behaviour). Rather than address the problem of how to encourage the practice of virtue in private, the Spartans have been brought more and more into the public arena and under supervision. As a result idealistic principles constantly have to be backed up with compromise measures, which require increasingly punitive strictures. Even here in this section the structure of the argument reveals this: the Spartans may have formerly preferred to live at home (14.2), but, as Xenophon shortly thereafter notes, it was against the law to do otherwise anyway (14.4).90 Thus the former preference for insularity (14.2) is not as suggestive of free will as it might appear, nor as openly praiseworthy as scholars have tended to read it. In the end, had Lycurgus set up provisions for the practice of virtue for its own sake he would not have had to worry so much about the citizens being corrupted by 90

Proietti 1987: 74 notes the incongruity and thus reads ‘preferred’ (αἱρουμένους) in 14.2 as ironic.

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foreigners and thus not have had to set up measures such as xenêlasia and forbidding Spartans to live abroad. The Cyropaedia once more provides us with a contrasting example. Cyrus, as a boy in the court of his grandfather, is not tempted from austere Persian ways by the excessive diet of the Medes (Cyr. 1.3.4–6, 14) because he has been properly educated by positive means in all the important civic virtues (self-restraint, obedience, justice and sôphrosynê). That the system also creates men who strive to rule rather than be worthy of it (14.5) is hardly a surprising statement at this point either. At home Spartans would strive to be worthy of rule according to the Lycurgan way. Near-constant supervision would keep their behaviour acceptable, by their standards. Their internal contests for power were highly competitive. Between the ages of 20–30 young men spied on one another and physically fought with one another over the honour of being chosen as members of the 300. Stringent rules had to be put in place to break up the fighting; tempers clearly ran high and rivalries must have been fierce. From the age of 30 on they continued contesting with one another, though in a less violent way, to be chosen eventually for the Council of Elders. This latter contest illustrates the sum of the virtues they practise, kalokagathia, which, as noted, does not include, in Xenophon’s opinion, justice and sôphrosynê. It requires little imagination to visualise how those men, who have learned to steal and not get caught when young, who have built up fierce rivalries over a lifetime, might behave once their daily constraints have been removed. Outside Sparta there were few regulations on their behaviour. The kings may have been accompanied by ephors or other Spartiates on campaign,91 but harmosts abroad often commanded troops composed of ex-helots, perioikoi, allies and mercenaries, and were unaccompanied by peers. It has thus rightly been observed that the system of sending individual harmosts abroad was an undemanding (and under-committed) type of imperialism, in terms of citizen manpower,92 but while it was undemanding in a numerical sense, it was not so in terms of the tension it put upon the internal system. Handed power without on-the-spot supervision and thus with the fear of immediate punishment removed, in the short term at least, the 91

E.g., Agesilaus plus thirty Spartiates in 396 BCE (HG 3.4.2), who were replaced by another thirty after a year of service (HG 3.4.20); Agesipolis plus thirty Spartiates in 381 (HG 5.3.8). See Andrewes 1978: 98–9. Hodkinson 1993: 152–9 has useful tables on numbers abroad, frequency and duration of positions, and social background of these commanders, with the cautionary note that his figures are only a rough guide and probably ought to be tripled to get closer to the real numbers.

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potential was great for someone brought up in the Lycurgan system to behave rather differently abroad than they did in public at home. The more Spartans were exposed to the outside world, the more potential there would be for these problems inherent within the system to come to the fore, not to mention new problems produced by the need to cope with foreigners whose behaviour was governed by entirely different sets of rules. Xenophon’s own observations and presentation of harmosts and other Spartan leaders abroad in his Anabasis and Hellenica in fact exemplify what he reports in this section (see also Chapter 6.1). As noted in Chapter 2.4, obedience to the laws, a stable government and a reputation for bravery in battle, founded on the principle of fighting to the death, earned Sparta her power and renown and led to Greeks coming to Sparta to ask for aid. This image does not come about because of Sparta’s victory in the Peloponnesian War but is firmly in place in the fifth century BCE. However, there are also counter-images in our fifthcentury sources, which are not flattering, do not bring renown and which, over time, contribute to a significant drop in power and renown. It has already been noted (Chapter 4.3) that Sparta’s reputation for aiding those seeking freedom from others, i.e. from Persians or Athenians, was primarily rhetorical rather than actual. That it still managed to hold some weight during the Peloponnesian War was less because of what the Spartans were actively doing and more because of fear of what others might do without the threat of reprisals from the Spartans. However, it became increasingly clear in the fourth century, as Xenophon shows, that their reputation and authority in this area were undermined repeatedly by their actions. Other tensions can be seen in the fifth-century sources between the positive aspects of the renown and various negative images which drained it.93 Xenophon’s comments about unworthiness to rule and susceptibility to flattery are already present in earlier sources, particularly Thucydides, where there can be found examples of Spartans behaving badly abroad and showing a tendency towards venality.94 Thucydides presents us with the paradigmatic Spartan behaving badly abroad, the regent Pausanias in 478 BCE (Th. 1.95, 128–35). His case is 93

Millender 2016 argues that Herodotus and Thucydides both help construct the notion that the Spartans are particularly hopeless at naval warfare, and Millender 2017 focuses on the negative presentation of the Spartans by Thucydides in the Archidamian War. 94 The Spartans had a longstanding reputation for venality, on which, see Noethlichs 1987; Hodkinson 2000: 359–60; Millender 2002b: 36–9; and Figueira 2003: 56–8. We are, of course, dealing with Attic sources in the main, as Figueira notes, but if it is just a matter of Athenian perception, Xenophon differs in no way from his predecessors and contemporaries on this point. Christesen 2016: 394–7 is a good analysis of Xenophon’s attribution of pleonexia to the Spartans.

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interesting because the particular ways in which he was corrupted fit rather well with Xenophon’s observations here in Lac. 14. Thucydides tells us that Pausanias’ violence turned the other Greeks against him and drove them into the arms of the Athenians (1.95.1). The Spartans were no less displeased with his behaviour and put him on trial, noting that he was behaving more like a tyrant than a general (1.95.3), but he was eventually acquitted of medism (1.95.5).95 Shortly thereafter he left Sparta unofficially and set off to pursue his ambition to rule Greece with Persian help (1.128.7). His overweening ambition is highlighted: flattered by praise from Xerxes he thinks so highly of himself that he can no longer live in the ordinary (i.e. Lycurgan) way and so he changes his clothing, picks up a bodyguard and holds luxurious banquets (1.130). He is recalled again and returns home, ‘confident that he will put an end to the slanderous attack by means of bribery’ (πιστεύων χρήμασι διαλύσειν τὴν διαβολὴν, 1.131.2). Thucydides notes particularly in relation to Pausanias that, ‘the Spartans sent out no other commanders thereafter, fearing that any who went out might be corrupted, as they saw had happened in the case of Pausanias’ (1.95.7).96 Even though Pausanias is no ordinary harmost, all the key elements in Lac. 14 are present in this story: he is exposed to flattery and enjoys it, he casts aside Spartan trappings for Persian ones, displays wealth openly, shows no sign of enkrateia or aidôs, and his ambition is to rule all Greece, which demonstrates that he is more eager to exercise rule than to be worthy of doing so. That he believes he can be acquitted by offering bribes is just one of the many examples supporting Xenophon’s observation that desire for money was in no way eradicated in Sparta. Thucydides’ comments on the founding of Heraclea by the Spartans in 426 BCE are also pertinent. Parke convincingly argues that the system of harmosts as governors can be traced back to this event (despite Thucydides’ lack of use of that specific term).97 The colonists are Spartan citizens, perioikoi and other Hellenes (3.92.5) and there are many of them 95

See Graf 1984: 15. Herodotus’ few comments about Pausanias’ behaviour after the Persian Wars mesh with those of Thucydides: he betrothed himself to a noble Persian woman ‘with the desire to become tyrant of Greece’ (ἔρωτα σχὼν τῆς ῾Ελλάδος τύραννος γενέσθαι, Hdt. 5.32.1). He also mentions that the Athenians later used his hybris as a pretext to wrest hegemony from the Spartans (Hdt. 8.3.2). 97 Parke 1930: 38–9. By contrast, Connor 1987: 138 n. 77 (followed by Hornblower 1996: 409) dates the beginning of the harmost system to 423 BCE and the appointments of Clearidas and Pasitelidas in Amphipolis and Torone respectively (Th. 4.132; on which passage, see further, p. 195). Cartledge 1987: 91–2 argues that this latter date is when the system really began to emerge. Regardless, the exact beginning of the practice well precedes Xenophon’s own experience of the system. 96

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(3.93.2). Thucydides’ comments succinctly encompass both positive and negative images of Sparta’s renown (Th. 3.93.2): πᾶς γάρ τις Λακεδαιμονίων οἰκιζόντων θαρσαλέως ᾔει, βέβαιον νομίζων τὴν πόλιν· οὐ μέντοι ἥκιστα οἱ ἄρχοντες αὐτῶν τῶν Λακεδαιμονίων οἱ ἀφικνούμενοι τὰ πράγματά τε ἔφθειρον καὶ ἐς ὀλιγανθρωπίαν κατέστησαν, ἐκφοβήσαντες τοὺς πολλοὺς χαλεπῶς τε καὶ ἔστιν ἃ οὐ καλῶς ἐξηγούμενοι Everyone, since it was the Lacedaemonians who were founding the polis, came along confidently, thinking that it would be secure. Nonetheless, to no small extent it was the leaders of the Lacedaemonians themselves who arrived there that disrupted matters and caused a state of oliganthrôpia, by terrifying the people with their harsh and occasionally bad leadership.

The eagerness to join the colony because of the positive aspects of Spartan renown are juxtaposed with the reality of the negative, the harsh and poor governing style of the Spartan governors.98 When the Boeotians take over Heraclea in 419 BCE, they send away the Spartan governor, Agesippidas, also for not governing well. As S. Hornblower notes, the terminology is exactly the same in both cases (οὐ καλῶς, 5.52.1).99 The conquest of Thrace by Brasidas, himself a type of harmost with a military mission in a particular area,100 leads to harmosts being placed in Amphipolis and Torone.101 Thucydides’ comment on this action is as follows: ‘they brought with them, contrary to the law, some young men from Sparta, intending to establish them as rulers of the poleis and not to entrust the poleis to chance persons’ (καὶ τῶν ἡβώντων αὐτῶν παρανόμως ἄνδρας ἐξῆγον ἐκ Σπάρτης, ὥστε τῶν πόλεων ἄρχοντας καθίσταναι καὶ μὴ τοῖς ἐντυχοῦσιν ἐπιτρέπειν, Th. 4.132.3). While many aspects of this comment are the subject of debate, what precisely is meant by παρανόμως is of interest here.102 It might not be such a long shot to regard this remark as the breaking of the law Xenophon refers to at 14.4 about not living abroad.103 We might further note that these men are said to be hêbontes,  98

Of interest also is the use of the term oliganthrôpia here and that harsh and poor leadership was its cause. It is difficult to know if Thucydides means us to take this as a metaphor for what is going on in Sparta itself.  99 Hornblower 1995: 66–7. 100 Parke 1930: 40–3. 101 See Cartledge 1987: 91–2. 102 See Hornblower 1996: 408–9 for a succinct overview of past theories. 103 Nairn 1929 argues in favour of this by citing Isocrates Busiris 11.18, but the Isocratean passage says simply that men of fighting age cannot go abroad ‘without the consent of the rulers’ (ἄνευ τῆς τῶν ἀρχόντων), so does not accurately describe what is happening in this Thucydidean passage. Citing Lac. 14.4 would have been more to the point.

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and thus under the age of 30, i.e. those who were described as spending their days fighting one another in order to have the greatest good influence on the polis (Lac. 4.1–6), and who, according to Xenophon’s account, have not been taught justice or sôphrosynê but only to behave according to a particular code in public or be punished and excluded from the benefits of being a citizen. How do these young men cope with governing? We learn nothing much on this front in either case, but there are a few interesting details to note. Pasitelidas at Torone is easily defeated the following year by a large Athenian force under Cleon, and captured alive, contrary to standard Spartan practice (Th. 5.3.3). Clearidas at Amphipolis is also attacked by Cleon, but Brasidas comes to his aid and devises a strategy; Clearidas follows his orders perfectly and victory ensues though Brasidas dies in the battle (Th. 5.6.1–10.12). Shortly thereafter a peace treaty is signed and the Spartans agree to give Amphipolis back to the Athenians (Th. 5.14–20). Three Spartan envoys go to Thrace to ensure Clearidas respects the treaty. He refuses on the grounds that the Amphipolitans are not happy with the treaty terms, but hastens home quickly to defend himself lest he be accused of disobedience. When he discovers that the agreement cannot be altered in any way he goes back to Amphipolis with instructions either to comply with the terms of the treaty or at least to pull the Peloponnesian troops out (Th. 5.21.1–3). The politics of internal rivalries at Sparta are well in evidence here. Clearidas is clearly Brasidas’ man and obeys his instructions word for word in the battle. Yet he does not hesitate to question and disobey the envoys. Since he does not appear to do this because of a general trend towards disobedience – this refusal is bracketed by his obedience to Brasidas and subsequent obedience to the polis – his actions must be governed by internal rivalries. The fact that he achieves an alternative line of action from the authorities at home suggests that he has further influential support there.104 Thucydides also twice puts in the mouths of Athenians comments about the difference between Spartan behaviour at home and abroad. The first instance is in a speech addressed to the Spartans on the eve of the Peloponnesian War (Th. 1.77.6): ‘For the customs (νόμιμα) you follow amongst yourselves are incommensurable with those of others and in addition each person who goes away from the polis uses neither these laws nor those the rest of Greece recognises as valid.’ 105 The same 104

He is thus far less of an exceptional Spartan than Westlake (1980: 337) would make him out to be. Cf. Hornblower 1996: 59. 105 See Gomme, Andrewes and Dover 1944–81: on Th. 1.77.6, with further reference to Th. 1.128–30, 1.95.7, 3.93.2, 5.52.1. Figueira 2003: 53 notes that a scholion on Th. 1.77.6 brings up xenêlasia in explanation of this passage.

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sentiments are echoed in a later speech by the Athenians to the Melians in which they comment on Spartan virtuousness with respect to their own affairs in contrast to how they deal with others, in which cases ‘they regard what is enjoyable as noble and what is expedient as just’ (Th. 5.105.4). Thucydides is not, of course, specifically analysing what makes the Spartans behave so badly abroad, but Xenophon is. Xenophon can hardly be unaware of the picture of Spartans abroad drawn by Thucydides, not least because it mirrors his own personal experiences (see especially Chapter 6.1). And these observations must have been part of the accumulated data in his mind as he set out to investigate how such a thinly populated polis became so powerful and renowned. This section of the treatise, therefore, cannot be explained as the result of some later-in-life disillusionment. Far from contradicting Lac. 1–13, Lac. 14 confirms the shortcomings that the presentation of those measures implied, that there were weaknesses in the legislation which manifested themselves immediately upon any loosening of the supervision and punitive strictures. The apparent ease with which Spartans deviated from the Lycurgan way once out of Sparta is sure evidence of deep problems within the system. Xenophon’s contemplation and knowledge of Sparta’s power and renown and what it is based on, of the often vast gulf between the reputation and the reality of how Spartans behaved abroad (both from his own experience and from previous accounts) and of the coincidence between the dropping off in renown and the frequency with which Spartans were sent abroad all lead to the type of presentation which he engaged in here. Xenophon has, in effect, shown how the Spartan system contained the seeds of its own destruction.

5.6  Lac. 15: Kings at Home In contrast to the possibly changed, and certainly disobeyed, laws of Lycurgus in the previous section, Xenophon opens here by remarking on what still continues as was intended from its inception (15.1): I want also to describe the compacts which Lycurgus made between the king and the polis. For indeed this office (αὕτη ἀρχὴ) alone continues just as it was established from the beginning, whereas one would find the other politeiai (τὰς δὲ ἄλλας πολιτείας) to have changed and still even now to be changing.

There are sufficient indications to show that this section is also an integral part of the work and is in the correct position. First, that the office of king alone, with respect to its relationship vis-à-vis the polis, remains as it

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was originally established is the reason that it does not precede section 14.106 Secondly, it maintains temporal continuity with both Lac. 1–13 and Lac. 14, the former in that the point being discussed belongs to the original ‘Lycurgan’ setup and, therefore, contributes to Sparta’s power and renown, the latter in that it continues to exist in the period described in Lac. 14. Thirdly, the rhetoric of the opening remarks – i.e. the comparison between Sparta and other poleis – strongly links this section to the rest of the work, particularly the earlier part, in which Xenophon was consistently, and often in considerable detail, comparing Lycurgan practices with those in other poleis. There are numerous explicit examples, frequently occurring at the beginning of a new topic of discussion, as here (e.g., 1.2, 3, 5, 10; 2.1–4, 12, 14; 3.1; 4.2, 7; 5.2, 5; 6.1, 4; 7.1; 8.2; 9.4; 10.5; 11.1, 7; 12.5). Finally, the section ends with a hexameter verse, which provides a rather showy flourish, a fitting conclusion for the whole work. Certainly, none of these arguments are proof that the section was not added at a later time (something which cannot be verified anyway), but they are proof that this section was carefully integrated into the work as a whole. There has been some debate over whether Xenophon intends a distinction to be made here between archê and politeia.107 The question centres on the meaning of the two terms: are they being used as equivalents here, or does politeia encompass both archai and nomoi (and other practices)?108 There is no other use of the term politeia in the treatise for comparison,109 other than the fact that it has been transmitted under the title of Politeia. Since it has already been noted that politeia is a much more encompassing term (Chapter 3.1), and since where archê is used in the work it seems always to mean a particular office or magistracy,110 Xenophon would indeed appear to be differentiating between the two, i.e. that archai are a constituent part of politeiai. Further, the continuity of those archai mentioned prior to Lac. 14 (including the king’s position 106

See Momigliano 1966: 343. The same point about the unchanging nature of the office of the king is made by Xenophon at Ages. 1.4. 107 A brief look elsewhere in Xenophon’s corpus reveals that he at times uses archê where we might expect politeia (e.g., at Ages. 1.4 archê is used to describe democracy, oligarchy, tyranny, and kingship; at Mem. 4.6.12 kingship and tyranny are called archai, but then aristocracy, plutocracy and democracy are called politeiai), but he does not appear to use politeia to mean archê in the limited sense of an ‘office’. 108 For the former view, e.g., see Ollier 1934: 71, followed by Luppino Manes 1988: 110; for the latter, see, e.g., Momigliano 1966: 344. 109 See Bordes 1982: 165–6, who uses this point to discuss what type of work she thinks the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia is. 110 2.2: the paidonomos is chosen from among those who hold the greatest offices; 4.7: men over 30 are those who hold the greatest offices; 8.1: obedience to the magistrates and the laws is found in Sparta; 8.2: the most powerful men in the polis defer to the magistrates; 8.3: the greater power the office of the ephor had, the more people would be terrified into obeying.

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in wartime) and the rest of the politeia can be presumed to have been compromised, since Xenophon is not prepared to vouch for the continuing practice of anything prior to Lac. 14. This must be a qualified nod, however, to one of the points of Sparta’s renown: her reputation for longheld political stability. The ‘compacts’ between polis and king are as follows. The king is to make all the public (dêmosia) sacrifices on behalf of the polis because he is descended from a god (15.2). He is to lead an expedition wherever the polis tells him to lead it (15.2).111 These two measures link this section closely to the closing comments of Lac. 13 with its reiteration of the twin roles of the king on campaign: as priest and general. Such careful paralleling of ideas again speaks in favour of the work having being composed as a unit. The king is further assigned gifts of honour from the sacrifices and given choice land in many of the perioikic villages, just so much that he is not lacking moderate means nor surpassing in wealth (15.3). The kings – the first time the plural has been used – belong to a particular public mess112 and are given a double portion of food in order to use one portion to honour whomever they please (15.4). Each king is allowed to choose two messmates called Pythioi,113 and a pig from each litter so he never lacks sacrificial victims (15.5). A lake supplies them with plenty of water. (15.6) These are particular honours which mark out the kings from the other citizens. On the one hand they show that some of the Lycurgan concerns, particularly with wealth and slacking off, are being taken into consideration here: not even the kings are to be surpassing in wealth, though clearly they are a cut above everyone else. And their participation in the public mess system, that institution which is particularly set up to regulate against slacking, ensures that they too are compelled to practise virtue in public.114 So even the highest and most honoured magistracy in the Lycurgan system partakes to some degree in the superficial levelling of the male citizens. The double portion of food, however, carefully marks out the king, just as the extra donations mark out the rich, and

111

The formula of the polis bidding the kings to carry out campaigns is found also in the Hellenica (e.g., HG 6.5.10, in respect of Agesilaus’ command against the Mantineans in 370). Again Xenophon uses different terminology to refer to this practice of public dining: here σκηνὴν … δημοσίαν, literally ‘public tent’. See Chapter 4.1 and n. 1 there. 113 On these officers, see Lipka 2002: 241–2 on 15.5[2]. Cf. Hdt. 6.57.2, where they are described as liaisons with Delphi. 114 Though there is some disagreement about the frequency of the kings’ participation in public messes (see Lipka 2002: 240 on 15.4[1]), it would certainly be in their interests and in the interests of social cohesion and their patronage networks if they participated regularly; on which, see Hodkinson 2006: 142–3. 112

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would allow them to show favour to others of their own choosing, thus feeding into the system of envy and competitiveness. Relations with the ephors round off the description of the kings’ honours and power in peacetime: all rise in the king’s presence, except the ephors, with whom the kings exchange a monthly oath (15.6–7): ‘the oath of the king is “to rule according to the laws of the polis”, that of the polis “to preserve unshaken the kingship, while the king abides by his oath”’ (ὁ δὲ ὅρκος ἐστὶ τῷ μὲν βασιλεῖ κατὰ τοὺς τῆς πόλεως κειμένους νόμους βασιλεύσειν, τῇ δὲ πόλει ἐμπεδορκοῦντος ἐκείνου ἀστυφέλικτον τὴν βασιλείαν παρέξειν). The rather old-fashioned language used here, it is suggested, must reflect actual usage and thus the considerable age of the oaths.115 Before closing with the honours given the king after he has died, Xenophon reiterates that the honours described in this section do not greatly exceed those of private men, for Lycurgus did not wish to inspire ‘tyrannical pride’ (τυραννικὸν φρόνημα) in the kings, nor envy (φθόνον) of their power in the citizens (15.8). This mention of tyrannical pride is surely meant to recall the earlier passage in which the representatives of the citizens who take the oath on their behalf, i.e. the ephors, were described as ‘like tyrants’ (ὥσπερ οἱ τύραννοι, 8.4). Xenophon does not comment on whether or not he viewed Lycurgus as succeeding on this front, but since plenty of examples exist both in his works and in the writings of others of Spartan kings acting with tyrannical pride, and conversely of envy of their power among the citizenry, it is legitimate to ask whether or not he really believed that this had been accomplished. Thus, also in this section, unless we believe Xenophon is wilfully ignoring the experiences of his own life, it is hard to see how he agrees that Lycurgus was actually successful in this regard. The final short section is about the honours Lycurgus gave to the kings after death. It is woefully lacking in detail.116 It has already been noted above that there is a strong intertextual relationship here with Herodotus, who in fact spends the majority of his time on the honours allocated to the Spartan kings after they have died. The reason is, of course, partly because of the very different contexts of the discussions: Herodotus is 115

Lipka 2002: 245–6 on 15.7[2] and Gray 2007: 185 draw attention to instances in which Plato (Lg. 3.684a–b) and Isocrates (Archidamus 6.21) both mention such mutual oaths, going back as far as the time of the Heraclids. Given all the debate elsewhere about when the ephorate was established, an archaic date is likely in reality. Lipka further is tempted to suggest that Xenophon might have paraphrased a version of this found in Critias’ poetic Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. 116 Not much is learnt either at HG 3.3.1, where upon the death of Agis we learn only that ‘he received a burial more splendid than belongs to man’.

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concerned to equate the Spartan kings here with the barbarian other; his specific comparison to similar practices among the Egyptians and Persians is only the most obvious manifestation of this tendency.117

5.7 Recapitulation Nick Fisher begins his conclusion to an examination of Athenian public attitudes to Sparta between Leuctra and the Lamian War with the following statement:118 Even in what we can deduce of the work of intellectuals active in Athens, we can find, with the exception of the greatest, relatively little trace of any serious attempts to explain Spartan decline in terms of internal tensions or contradictions.

By ‘the greatest’ Fisher means Plato and Aristotle (though strictly speaking they fall outside his remit of examining public attitudes).119 Of Xenophon he makes no mention. Yet the above examination of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia shows that Xenophon has engaged in a serious and detailed attempt at tracking the internal tensions and contradictions within the Spartan system. In the treatise Xenophon interrogates the peculiarities in the system, trying to determine the rationale behind the measures and judging them. In these measures he can see the features which brought Sparta great renown and power in the past but also the limitations and problems which caused the system to collapse and hegemony on every level to be lost. The details under discussion may at first sight appear idiosyncratic, but a closer examination shows that they are carefully chosen and carefully presented. Xenophon uses the narrative structure of his argumentation and different types of addresses to an imaginary audience – in imitation of the dialectical process, the preferred mode of philosophical enquiry – not only to lead the reader along the same train of thought he himself had followed on each of the points under consideration but also to encourage the reader to think more deeply about the implications of what was being set out, without always spelling everything out – since to lead one’s interlocutors to discover 117

See Hartog 1988: 152–7, who argues that one of the ways in which Xenophon’s treatment differs from that of Herodotus is that Herodotus interprets the customs ‘horizontally’ (in comparison with barbarian rites) whereas Xenophon interprets them ‘vertically’ (the kings are honoured in death not as mere men but as heroes, 15.9). 118 Fisher 1994: 379. 119 Ibid.: 382.

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things for themselves was a key feature of the approach to philosophical enquiry practised by his mentor, Socrates. That he is very much on the same page as Plato, in particular, about the key internal problems in Sparta will be argued in Chapter 7.1.3. But before situating Xenophon more broadly within the fourth-century BCE intellectual debate about Sparta, I want to position this treatise within his own literary corpus, specifically vis-à-vis those other works which focus heavily on Sparta, and so this will be the focus of the next chapter. For although I am more than content with Tuplin’s reading of Xenophon’s critical treatment of Spartan behaviour in the Hellenica from 2.3.11 onward, there are points to be made both about the earlier part of the Hellenica and the Agesilaus, which are still too often read as demonstrating his pro-Spartan bias.

pa rt i i i

chapter 6

The Place of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia within Xenophon’s Literary Project

How a philosophical enquiry into the origins of the power and renown of the hegemonic power of Xenophon’s lifetime fits into a literary project, one of the main aims of which was to be of benefit to others, particularly to those who were considering entering into public life, is I hope self-evident. In the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia not only is Xenophon examining what singular factors led to Sparta attaining hegemonic leadership in the Greek world but also how these same factors led to serious problems in relation to maintaining this position. Thus, for anyone who was considering importing or adapting aspects of the Spartan sociopolitical system in order, for example, to increase the power or renown of their own polis, Xenophon has shown that the Spartan politeia had serious shortcomings, particularly for any polis intent on expanding its reach,1 not least because keeping its citizens under constant surveillance and using punishment to enforce conformity were practices which, however successful they might have been within the polis itself (though he has shown that they were not wholly effective even internally), were very difficult to maintain abroad. The Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, therefore, complements the exploration of Sparta’s hegemonic rule in the Hellenica (and indeed in the Anabasis as well), wherein Xenophon repeatedly shows that once Spartan citizens were released from this system, they generally either exported their behavioural patterns or succumbed to newly available temptations, and in most cases with less than desirable results. Only exceptionally did they adapt and thrive. In this chapter, therefore, I will argue that the ambivalent and critical stance towards Sparta in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia is consistent with the stance Xenophon takes towards Sparta in the rest of his corpus, i.e. that just as Xenophon does not idealise the Spartan past, he does not idealise 1

And, therefore, that the work is doing exactly the opposite of what Luppino Manes has argued, i.e. it is not encouraging Spartans or others to follow traditional Spartan practices (see further, p. 247).

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the Spartan present either. There are two areas which I want to focus upon in support of this contention. First, I want to examine Xenophon’s portrayal of harmosts and other commanders in the Anabasis and Hellenica in the light of this reading of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, starting from the comments in Lac. 14. Secondly, I want to look more closely at Xenophon’s portrayal of Agesilaus in the Hellenica and Agesilaus, since the view that Agesilaus is Xenophon’s ‘perfectly good man’ – to employ the rhetoric of the encomium – and is somehow a shadowy presence behind the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia persists. Certainly the reading of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia proposed herein does not support this view, but there is more to say about Xenophon’s dual portraits of Agesilaus which likewise undermines the traditional approach.

6.1   Spartan Leaders in the Anabasis and Hellenica In Chapter 1.4 it was argued that the prime purpose of the Anabasis was Socratic self-examination and that while Spartans were a constant presence throughout the work, they were more part of the backdrop than the foreground, which focused on Xenophon’s depiction of his own development and actions during the pivotal period in his life, which shaped the direction the rest of it took. That does not mean, however, that Xenophon’s representations of Spartans and Spartan action in the work are not crafted and thoughtful. Nor does the fact that the work is intensely introspective mean that it does not function on a politico-historical level as well. It provides much useful information about the wider political situation in the Mediterranean world for the years 401–399 BCE and, more particularly for the discussion at hand, about Spartans abroad, since they are a constant presence.2 In Book 1 of the Anabasis the most prominent mercenary leader among Cyrus’ troops is the Spartan exile Clearchus. In fact, Clearchus is the first Greek named: it is he whom Cyrus has been using secretly to build his own private Greek mercenary force. He is the dominant mercenary leader throughout Book 1 up to the death of Cyrus at the battle of Cunaxa and remains a key player throughout Book 2, when the Greek mercenaries are playing cat and mouse with Ariaeus and Tissaphernes. Upon his death another Spartan, 2

This aspect of the work has attracted less attention than it deserves (exceptions being Humble 1997 and Millender 2012), such has been the fascination with the feat accomplished by the abandoned Greek mercenaries in fighting their way back to the Greek world from the heart of the Persian Empire. For scholarship on this, see n. 25 in the Introduction.

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Cheirisophus, who commands the official Spartan force,3 rises to the fore and is one of the co-leaders of the katabasis. Once the mercenary army reaches Trapezus Cheirisophus goes off to Anaxibius, the Spartan admiral at Byzantium, to attempt to secure naval transportation for the mercenary army (An. 5.1.3–4). He returns when the army have advanced to Harmene in Sinope but without ships and only vague promises of pay from Anaxibius should they advance beyond the Black Sea (6.1.16–7). His return does not stop the army from splitting temporarily, to disastrous effect. Upon their reunification, he dies (6.4.11).4 Shortly thereafter Cleander the harmost at Byzantium arrives but with only two triremes (6.6.5). The mercenary army reach Byzantium not long after and can then only respond to the changing dictates of the various Spartan leaders (the harmosts Cleander and Aristarchus and the nauarch Anaxibius). After a foray with the Thracian king Seuthes, we eventually find them at the very end of the work hired by the Spartan commander Thibron to campaign against Tissaphernes and Pharnabazus in Asia Minor. That the Spartans are in full control of the Greek world during this period, as a result of their victory in the Peloponnesian War, is not disguised. They are powerful enough to send ships bearing Cheirisophus with 700 hoplites to aid Cyrus (1.2.21, 1.4.2–3). Among the mercenary leaders Spartans dominate: first Clearchus, though an exile, then Cheirisophus. Xenophon has himself say: ‘I would suggest that Cheirisophus takes the lead, especially since he is a Spartan’ (3.2.37). And finally numerous direct comments in the final two books, along with the descriptions of the way in which the Spartan commanders in the Hellespontine region deal with the mercenaries, make clear the supremacy of the Spartans (e.g., An. 6.1.26–9, 6.6.9, 6.6.12–14, 7.1.25–31). Further, the Anabasis is explicitly and tightly interwoven into the narrative of events in the Hellenica (HG 3.1.1–2): Such then was the end of the civil conflict in Athens. Upon this, Cyrus sent messengers to Sparta stating his expectation that the Lacedaemonians would be friends to him of the same sort he himself had been to the Lacedaemonians during their war against the Athenians. The ephors, considering that what he said was just, ordered Samius, the current commander of their fleet, to provide Cyrus with anything he asked for. Indeed, 3

And who has not been absent from the action in the first two books, playing key roles on important missions. 4 Up to this point, therefore, there has only been the briefest of periods in which there has been no Spartan among the senior command group. The Laconian perioikos, Dexippus, when given command of a warship upon Cheirisophus’ departure to Anaxibius, deserts immediately (An. 5.1.15).

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The Place of Lac. in Xenophon’s Literary Project Samius zealously did exactly what Cyrus asked of him. For with his own fleet he sailed around to Cilicia alongside that of Cyrus and stopped Syennesis, the governor of Cilicia, from being able to stand against Cyrus on land while he was making his way to challenge the King. How Cyrus gathered his army and with it went inland against his brother, how the battle took place, how Cyrus died, and how after this the Greeks made their way safely back to the sea, has all been written down by Themistogenes of Syracuse.

The progress and arrival of this fleet is reported in the Anabasis (as noted above), 5 and the summary of the account of the campaign by ‘Themistogenes’ matches at least the first four books of the Anabasis, if not the whole thing.6 The passage is used to preface an explanation of how Tissaphernes, for his role in supporting Artaxerxes during Cyrus’ revolt, was given, as a reward, control of the satrapy once held by Cyrus, and of the consequences of this in the wider Greek world. The picture of Spartan hegemony is identical here to that found in the Anabasis: the Greek poleis in this satrapy, ‘wishing to be free’ (ἐλεύθεραι βουλόμεναι εἶναι) but also fearing repercussions at the hand of Tissaphernes for their previous support of Cyrus, asked the Spartans for help, ‘since they were the leaders of all Greece’ (ἐπεὶ πάσης τῆς ῾Ελλάδος προστάται εἰσίν, HG 3.1.3). Sparta, in response, sends out Thibron, as harmost, with 1000 neodamodeis and 4000 Peloponnesian troops. Here, too, is where Xenophon reports that upon a request for cavalry support, the Athenians sent ‘some of the men who had served in the cavalry in the time of the Thirty, thinking that for them to go overseas and die there would be profitable for the democracy’ (HG 3.1.4). This remark, coming so soon upon Xenophon’s reporting of the amnesty at the end of the Athenian civil war (HG 2.4.43), is pointed. Troops are also raised from the Greek poleis in 5

Among the troublesome aspects with this passage is that here the nauarch is said to be Samius, while in the Anabasis Pythagoras is given as the commander of the Spartan ships (An. 1.4.2). 6 See Flower 2012: 53, who thinks the reference is to the whole Anabasis as we have it. Had Xenophon written ‘I have recorded’ or ‘Xenophon has recorded’ rather than ‘Themistogenes has recorded’ interpretation of this passage would be considerably simpler. There may of course have been an account of these events by such a person, but on the following grounds I accept the argument that Xenophon is employing Themistogenes (literally ‘born of justice’) as a pseudonym here to maintain authorial distance: (1) as shown above, the Anabasis and Hellenica are intricately interwoven at this point; (2) Xenophon elsewhere in the Hellenica declines to name himself even in the third person; (3) ancient evidence (Plu. De gloria Atheniensium 345e) accepts the pseudonym on the grounds of distance and credibility. See further on different aspects of this authorial choice, Azoulay 2004a: 271–2; Humble 2011: 21; Flower 2012: 53–7; and Pelling 2016: 260. Accepting that Themistogenes and Xenophon are one allows use of this passage as evidence for the relative dates of composition of the two works, though it hardly resolves the issues. Since, however, speculative dating of Xenophon’s works or parts of his works has been used to account for some perceived changes in his view towards Sparta, this is not a negligible point.

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Asia, ‘for at that time the poleis obeyed any order that a Spartan gave’ (πᾶσαι γὰρ τότε αἱ πόλεις ἐπείθοντο ὅ τι Λακεδαιμόνιος ἀνὴρ ἐπιτάττοι, HG 3.1.5), and subsequently ‘those who went inland with Cyrus, after returning safely, joined with him [Thibron]’ (σωθέντες οἱ ἀναβάντες μετὰ Κύρου συνέμειξαν αὐτῷ, HG 3.1.6), which is the very point at which the Anabasis ended (An. 7.8.24). It bears remarking, of course, that as well as the fact that it is very difficult to date the Anabasis, a further unknowable is whether the narrative of events in the Anabasis represents Xenophon’s view of Spartan behaviour at the time, i.e. in 401–399 BCE, or whether, or perhaps how much, time and years of thought and speculation – and, if we were to follow the traditional view, disillusion – have played with his memory.7 Certainly by dating all his works to late in his life, the theory that early on he viewed Sparta with rose-coloured glasses and only after the worst of their hegemonic excesses became disillusioned can be maintained, because any negative comments about Sparta can be explained as resulting from his disillusion. But it is equally possible that Xenophon’s description of Spartans abroad in the Anabasis reflects, roughly speaking, his observations at the time, and that it is precisely these experiences that formed the background to his eventual analysis of the internal workings of Sparta and her renown.8 Such a starting point does not require that Xenophon radically changed his view on Sparta at any point, only that he continued to be fascinated by and to analyse repeatedly in a critical-philosophical fashion the way the Spartans conducted themselves on the world stage.9 When we start from this angle, it is interesting to note how Xenophon’s presentation of Spartan leaders in the Anabasis and also in the early portions of the Hellenica illustrates the issues he raises in Lac. 14. 7

The Anabasis itself contains only a few passages which provide clues for dating: it had to be written after the battle of Coronea in 394 BCE and after Xenophon had had time to be settled at Scillus with the altar to Artemis built, the annual festival in place, and his sons of an age to hunt (An. 5.3.7–13), or at least Book 5 of the Anabasis was not written until then. Indeed some have argued for multiple dates of composition, e.g., Delebecque 1957: 199ff. (for An. 1–5.3.6 being published c. 385 under the name of Themistogenes) and pp. 128ff. (for the rest, i.e. An. 5.3.7 to the end, published c. 377). Most would currently argue that the Anabasis is a late work, i.e. of the 360s, but all the arguments are based on interpretations of what Xenophon is saying rather than anything concrete and so there are as many suggestions as there are explanations. 8 Thus, I agree with Ducat 2014: 106–8 that Xenophon’s experiences during the period of the Anabasis and in the service of the Spartans down to 394 BCE are pivotal for his view of Sparta. However, whereas Ducat thinks these experiences led Xenophon to have great admiration for Sparta, I think they led him to greater critical assessment. 9 Though ultimately neither the traditional nor my starting point can be proved definitively, I think that the one I am proposing gains greater support from Xenophon’s writings, particularly because it accounts for the differences in the dual portraits of Agesilaus (see further, Chapter 6.2).

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For example, certain Spartans appear over and over again, in various capacities, including that of harmost, outside Sparta, in particular in Asia Minor, and who, therefore, exemplify Xenophon’s comment about leading men, even the best of them, being desirous of spending their days abroad as harmosts (Lac. 14.4) and preferring to subject themselves to the corrupting influences of flattery than live in moderate circumstances at home (14.2).10 Dercylidas epitomises this trend. In 411 BCE he is sent with a small force to cause a revolt at Abydus (Th. 8.61.1); in 407 he is harmost at Abydus (HG 3.1.9);11 in 399–397 he commands an army in Asia Minor (HG 3.1.8–2.20), presumably as a harmost, since he replaces Thibron, who is explicitly said to have been sent out as a harmost; in 396 he is found exchanging oaths with Tissaphernes on behalf of Agesilaus (HG 3.4.6); in 394 Agesilaus sends him as a messenger to Asia to report the victory in the battle at Nemea (HG 4.3.1–2); while there, he keeps Abydus and Sestus out of the control of the Athenians (HG 4.8.3–5). Whether he remains in Abydus until 389 or not is uncertain, but the appointment that same year of Anaxibius as harmost to replace Dercylidas (HG 4.8.32) implies that he did. It is while relating his conversation with Agesilaus in 394 that Xenophon calls Dercylidas ‘always fond of travel’ (ἀεὶ φιλαπόδημος, HG 4.3.2), a term which seems to link him incontrovertibly to the comments at Lac. 14.4 with its contrast with the past, when it was forbidden to go abroad.12 Clearchus is another example, though he is clearly less able or willing to work the system than Dercylidas. He is said already to be in command in the Hellespontine region in 412 (Th. 8.8.2). In 411 he is sent in command of forty ships to Pharnabazus. The fleet does not arrive but Clearchus does, by land (Th. 8.80.1–3). In 410 Agis sends him as proxenus to Byzantium and Calchedon to stop grain from reaching Athens (HG 1.1.35). In 408 he is said to be harmost at Byzantium. In 404/3 he is sent from Sparta to Thrace; when ordered back he disobeys and so is sentenced to death in Sparta (An. 2.6.2–4). He then gains the friendship of 10

Since the greatest number of harmosts were sent out from Sparta between 405 and 386 BCE, Xenophon is, by virtue of the survival of his works, a key source for our understanding of how they operated. Most of them do not come off well in his narratives, though there are a number of neutral references to individual harmosts: Sthenelaus at Byzantium and Calchedon in 405 (HG 2.2.2); Lysippus at Epitalium in 398 (HG 3.2.29–30); Euxenos in Asia in 394 (HG 4.2.5); Polybiades at Olynthus in 380 (HG 5.3.20). There is, however, only one extended portrayal which could be viewed in any way as positive, that of Cleander in the Anabasis. 11 Parke 1930: 46 argues that he may have remained in command at Abydus as harmost from 411 until 407. 12 E.g., Parke 1930: 77; Tuplin 1993: 68; Hodkinson 1993: 165–6; Lipka 2002: 232. Hodkinson 1993: 156–7 estimates that he was abroad between 411 and 389 for as many as fourteen years.

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Cyrus (c. 403?), who supplies him with money to wage war in Thrace (An. 1.1.9; cf. 2.6.5) and in 401 joins Cyrus’ campaign (An. 1.2.9).13 There are others, too, whose careers show that they spent much time in the same region with various degrees of success,14 among them Lysander,15 Anaxibius16 and Eteonicus.17 However large a role domestic patronage and politics played in overseas appointments – for example, it seems clear that Dercylidas has the support of Agesilaus,18 and Eteonicus that of Lysander (HG 2.2.5)19 – and however much private relationships also motivated overseas appointments – for example, Clearchus is said to have been proxenus for the people of Byzantium at Sparta (HG 1.1.35)20 – these examples still seem to illustrate adequately Xenophon’s comment that there were a number of leading men of Sparta who actively sought to serve abroad.21 It might be argued, for example, that Dercylidas, as a 13

Thus, on the count of Hodkinson 1993: 156–7, he was probably abroad for six out of ten years before he was exiled. 14 For a list of Spartans who held two or more military commands abroad, see Hodkinson 1993: 156 (with discussion 155–7), and more briefly on those holding three or more commands, Ducat 2014: 98–9. See also Chapters 5.4 and 5.5. 15 He is nauarch in 407 and cultivates a friendship with Cyrus (HG 1.5.1–8). In 405 he is sent out again as second-in-command under the nauarch of that year, Aracus, and defeats Athens at the battle of Aegospotami (2.1.7–32). He remains in charge of the fleet until Athens surrenders to him in 404 (2.2.1–23). He is explicitly called a harmost when bringing aid to the Thirty in Athens in 403 (2.4.28–9). He set up decarchies in poleis in Asia Minor in 405–404 (D.S. 14.13.1), but these were subsequently expelled. He is explicitly said to have put several harmosts in place (Sthenelaus at Byzantium and Calchedon in 405, HG 2.2.2; Callibius in Athens in 404, 2.3.14). In 396 he accompanies Agesilaus to Asia Minor, hoping to restore his decarchies, wins over Sphithridates for Agesilaus (HG 3.4.2–10) and then returns home in 395 (3.4.20). 16 In 400–399 he is nauarch (An. 5.1.4) and is in the region of Byzantium (An. 7.1.2–39 especially). In 389 (HG 4.8.32–8) he persuades some of the ephors that he should replace Dercylidas as harmost at Abydus. 17 In 412 (Th. 8.23.4) Eteonicus is placed in command of some ships under the nauarch Astyochus; in 409 he is harmost at Thasos (HG 1.1.32); in 406 Callicratidas leaves him at Mytilene (HG 1.6.36– 8); in 405 Lysander sends him to the Thracian coast; in 400–399 he aids Anaxibius in keeping the Cyreans out of Byzantium (An. 7.1.12, 15); in 389 he appears in Aegina (HG 5.1.1); and in 388 sailors refuse to perform for him. His precise position of command in these later circumstances, which also see him closer to home, is hazy. Parke 1930: 64 argues that he must have been harmost at Aegina too, though only Gorgopas is named as being so (HG 5.1.5). He is therefore, as Hodkinson 1993: 156–7 notes, ‘away for at least 8 years out of 24’. 18 See Cartledge 1987: 210–11, though I would not agree that Xenophon has drawn a favourable portrait of him because he is one of Agesilaus’ men. More to the point, I think, is the assessment of Tuplin 1993: 51: ‘However much more worthy of admiration Dercylidas may have been than his predecessor, Xenophon does not seem to be inviting a totally positive judgement of his achievements.’ 19 See also n. 15 for harmosts left in place by Lysander. On this, see Hodkinson 1983: 157–9 and 1993: 160–1. 20 L. Mitchell 1997: 82–5 argues for this in the cases not just of Clearchus with Byzantium (for which there is the best evidence) but also for Dercylidas with Abydus and Eteonicus with Thasos. 21 See further Hodkinson 1993: 158–62 on methods of appointment to these command positions.

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result of his first appointment in 411,22 which resulted in the successful revolt of Abydus (Th. 8.61.1, 62.1), was rather taken with what he saw of life in that region and deliberately sought to secure a knowledge of the area and strategic friendships in order to enhance his chances of being sent abroad again. He might even then have carefully cultivated internal connections in the interests of securing more posts abroad. Clearchus and Anaxibius also are both portrayed as actively seeking overseas commands. For example, Clearchus is said to have persuaded the polis to let him campaign against the Thracians (An. 2.6.2) and Anaxibius is said to accomplish matters so that he is sent as harmost to Abydus because he was friends with the ephors (HG 4.8.32).23 Furthermore, that these Spartans abroad were easily flattered and corrupted is shown repeatedly by Xenophon, starting with Callibius, who is made harmost at Athens by Lysander in 404 BCE. Straightaway, we are told, ‘they [the Thirty] paid court to Callibius with every kind of obsequiousness’ (τὸν μὲν Καλλίβιον ἐθεράπευον πάσῃ θεραπείᾳ, HG 2.3.14).24 Clearchus is flattered and manipulated by Tissaphernes so that he walks right into a trap that he will not walk out of again (An. 2.5.1–30). Pharnabazus is able to persuade the nauarch Anaxibius to behave exactly as he, Pharnabazus, wishes (An. 7.1.2; see further, p. 219) and then has similar success with Aristarchus, immediately using him for his own purposes (An. 7.2.7; cf. 7.2.12: ‘having been persuaded by Pharnabazus’ πεπεισμένος ὑπὸ Φαρναβάζου).25 Likewise, the perioikos Dexippus has no difficulty in easily manipulating both Anaxibius (An. 6.1.32; see further, n. 47) and Cleander (who, goaded by Dexippus, threatens to forbid any polis to receive the mercenary army, 6.6.9). All these are much earlier 22

Thucydides gives us no clue as to who secured this appointment for Dercylidas. The vocabulary in both instances is similar: Clearchus ‘gaining his point as best he could from the ephors, he set sail’ (διαπραξάμενος ὡς ἐδύνατο παρὰ τῶν ἐφόρων, ἐξέπλει); while Anaxibius ‘because the ephors were friends of his, gained his point with the result that he set sail’ (φίλων αὐτῷ γενομένων τῶν ἐφόρων διεπράξατο ὥστε αὐτὸς ἐκπλεῦσαι). Xenophon is well aware of the overwhelming power of the ephors (see Chapter 4.4 and Chapter 7.1.2). 24 Ducat 2014: 98 wants to confine the discussion to the period after the Peloponnesian War on the grounds that Xenophon would not have considered it blameable if Spartans during the war desired commands abroad, but I am not sure that this would be the case. Whatever the reason for securing a command position abroad, such Spartans would be out of the direct control of the polis. 25 Certainly in 400 BCE Sparta declared war against Persia on behalf of the poleis of Asia Minor which were being harassed by Tissaphernes. Lewis 1977: 138 n. 16 suggests that ‘the new situation will take some time to sink in, which is why Anaxibius and then Aristarchos are still anxious in 400 to conciliate Pharnabazos by getting the Ten Thousand into Europe and keeping them there’. Certainly this might explain Anaxibius’ behaviour, though Xenophon still portrays him as being more concerned with personal than political ties to Pharnabazus. Aristarchus, on the other hand, surely must have known of the new policy. 23

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examples of the type than the two who are usually held out as tipping Xenophon into the pit of despair about Spartan behaviour, and in whose cases flattery and bribery are again prominent themes. First, in 383 BCE, the Theban Leontiades ‘paid court in various ways to’ (ἄλλως τε ἐθεράπευεν) Phoebidas, while he is on his way to bring troops north to his brother Eudamidas (HG 5.2.25). Secondly, Sphodrias, as harmost in Thespiae in 378, is persuaded to invade Attica by the Thebans, ‘by paying him a bribe, as it was suspected’ (χρήματα δόντες, ὡς ὑπωπτεύετο, HG 5.4.20).26 The more successful Spartan leaders abroad are notably less prone to succumb to flattery. For example, neither Agesilaus nor Lysander nor Dercylidas falls prey to Persian satraps in quite the same way as do Anaxibius, Aristarchus or Clearchus. They are all able to deceive and manipulate on the same level, and indeed to engage in flattery themselves to gain their own ends. Agesilaus, for example, is shown to be much more alert to Tissaphernes’ machinations (HG 3.4.5–7) than was Clearchus. Lysander carefully bides his time with Cyrus and uses a gift of hospitality to gain pay for his soldiers rather than to enrich himself in order to enhance the loyalty of his troops (HG 1.5.1–7).27 His cleverness is highlighted by the corresponding inability of Callicratidas to play the same diplomatic games with Cyrus. Callicratidas in fact expresses contempt for the fact that the Greeks were reduced to ‘flattering the barbarians for money’ (βαρβάρους κολακεύουσιν ἕνεκα ἀργυρίου, HG 1.6.7). He is incapable of comprehending other behavioural systems, neither succumbing to flattery nor engaging in it, but repeatedly espousing central tenets of Lycurgan practice. For example, he is adamant about the importance of obeying the authorities,28 and engages in a battle he cannot possibly win with the words that Sparta would not be worse off if he died, but that flight was disgraceful (HG 1.6.32). His ignominious end (falling overboard) may indeed not in itself have been a great loss, but 26

Hodkinson 1983: 276–8 discusses more generally the influence of foreigners on Spartan policy noting, e.g., how foreign ambassadors, carrying an aura of authority about matters in other parts of the Greek world, could persuade the Spartan assembly towards a certain course of action; see also Thompson 1973: 55–7 and Hodkinson 2007. 27 Gray 1989: 14–19 notes that the pattern of Lysander’s negotiations with Cyrus resembles similar stories told by Herodotus and in the Bible. Even if, therefore, the story is not literally true, Xenophon has presumably used the topos because it admirably captured both Lysander’s character and wit. On Lysander’s shrewdness here, see Higgins 1977: 11; Krentz 1989: 134 on 5.1; Moles 1994: 71. 28 HG 1.6.5: ‘having been sent by the polis … I am not able to do anything other than carry out my commands to the best of my power’; HG 1.6.6: ‘no one dared to say anything other than that he obey those at home’; HG 1.6.8: ‘it is necessary for me to obey the rulers at home’.

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losing the battle would have turned out far worse for Sparta had a storm not prevented the Athenians from attacking the remainder of the fleet under Eteonicus (HG 1.6.35). Further, it is not quite accurate to suggest that Callicratidas expresses a ‘noble denial of the necessity of money and a noble ignorance of its uses’:29 he does approach Cyrus for money, but is unwilling to play the game required to procure it (HG 1.6.6–7). Regardless of the degree of flexibility each Spartan was prepared or able to show once abroad and faced with new situations and cultures, all exported the fierce and destructive competitiveness fostered by the Lycurgan system: for example, Anaxibius versus Aristarchus, Callicratidas versus Lysander, and Lysander versus Agesilaus.30 This type of behaviour can be seen repeatedly in the Hellenica and Anabasis, where envy, resentment and jealousy frequently inform and dominate the relationship of Spartans either with their fellow citizens or with others. Further, the strife and rivalry which results in most instances is personally based and rarely results in the individuals concerned aiding, or being of the greatest good influence for, Sparta – as it was, ideally, supposed to do (Lac. 4). One of the key Spartan figures in the early section of the Hellenica provides a particularly good example. Lysander, whose keen sense of military strategy is one of the few positive points in Xenophon’s portrayal of the Spartans’ victory over the Athenians, is at the same time often shown acting to secure glory and honour for himself at the expense of both other individuals and the Spartan polis, and allowing personal jealousies to interfere with his otherwise shrewd military judgement. Xenophon’s account of Lysander’s year as nauarch in 407–406 BCE is dominated by two events: his able dealings with Cyrus on the matter of securing funds for his sailors (HG 1.5.1–7); and his success at the battle of Notium, where he is shown taking advantage of the inferior generalship of Antiochus, and then carefully avoiding engagement with Alcibiades, who commands superior numbers (1.5.10–15). Lysander thus appears to be a good thing. Xenophon’s description, however, of the handing over of the fleet to the new nauarch Callicratidas in 406 reveals a less savoury side to his character. The two men engage in verbal sparring: Lysander boasts that he is master of the sea; Callicratidas dares him to sail past the Athenian fleet at Samos to prove it; Lysander retorts by saying he would never interfere in another’s command (1.6.2–3). We are then told that Lysander’s friends are intriguing against Callicratidas and spreading 29

As Proietti 1987: 13–14 does. Hodkinson 1993: 162–4 for a survey.

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rumours among the allies that he is incompetent (1.6.3–4). And we subsequently learn that Lysander also returned spare money to Cyrus when he could have passed it on to Callicratidas (1.6.10). Lysander is, thus, quite clearly attempting to sabotage Callicratidas’ command, and, with it, Spartan victory in the war, for personal ends.31 While it may be a moot point whether we are to understand a longstanding, deep-seated enmity between the two men or not, Callicratidas’ response is also conducted on a personal level. Though Callicratidas steps back from the verbal exchange, he is clearly niggled by the encounter and his immediately subsequent words – highlighted twice by Xenophon by his use of direct speech – and actions reflect this. He twice falls back on the argument that he is only obeying the authorities at home (1.6.5, 8). He is quick to anger (ὀργισθεὶς) at not being seen by Cyrus immediately (1.6.7) – a frustrated and jealous response to Lysander’s good relationship with Cyrus – and subsequently, with exaggeration, suggests that he attempted more than once to get money from Cyrus (1.6.10). He also spouts exaggerated anti-Persian and ‘panhellenic’ rhetoric (1.6.7, 10–11) which is clearly at odds with his actions, considering that his first move is actually to try to get funds from Cyrus (1.6.6), that he later seems to accept money from Cyrus without objection (1.6.18) and that he sells Athenians into slavery (1.6.15). This rhetoric, as Bruce Laforse has well noted, need not be read as a reflection of adherence to an anti-Persian or pro-Athens party at home in Sparta, as some have argued,32 but is purely in response to the bad feelings the encounter with Lysander aroused.33 Callicratidas is thus, in this regard, hardly a model of self-restraint (enkrateia), reminding us again of the fact that young men, despite the public education system they had been through being at pains to instil in them obedience and enkrateia, could not always be separated when brawling with each other (Lac. 4.6). In short, neither man comes off well from the encounter, Lysander because he makes every effort to sabotage Callicratidas’ command, Callicratidas because he cannot rise above responding on a personal level.34 Both are acting as we might expect 31

As Laforse 1998: 67 ably points out. Laforse 1998: 59–60 with references to other views. See also Gray 1989: 81–3, though overall her analysis of the situation is rather black and white (see next note). 34 Modern scholarly response to the interchange between the two men is divided. Though I think he is a little too generous concerning the character of Callicratidas, Laforse 1998 provides the most measured response, arguing that Lysander is a self-serving opportunist whereas Callicratidas at least acts on behalf of the polis even if he does not appear a wholly positive character. Prior analyses have tended to lean either toward favouring Callicratidas (e.g., Ronnet 1981: 111, who thinks Callicratidas acts with dignity and wit; Moles 1994: 72, who sees Lysander as arrogant and 32 33

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products of the system described by Xenophon to act, and for both personal feelings get in the way of acting in the best interests of Sparta.35 It is not just with Callicratidas that we can see this aspect of Lysander’s character. Xenophon also depicts him as engaged in a longstanding enmity with King Pausanias, and this enmity again informs the behaviour of both men.36 Xenophon relates two clashes between the men, the first of which directs the reading of the second. Lysander is the first Spartan commander on the scene in Athens at the end of the Peloponnesian War (HG 2.2.23), and is subsequently found planning support for the Thirty in their battle with the democratic faction in Athens (2.4.28–9). Pausanias, out of envy that Lysander would be highly esteemed and make Athens his own, wins over three of five ephors and leads an army out and eventually achieves a reconciliation between both factions in Athens (2.4.29–39). Xenophon is explicit about Pausanias’ motive, ‘envy of Lysander’ (φθονήσας Λυσάνδρῳ, 2.4.29). Though it is possible that Pausanias and Lysander clashed ideologically,37 the motivation expressed here is entirely personal and focused around matters of prestige and concurrent power; practical considerations are not at issue here, nor is the good of the polis. As Tuplin aptly notes, Pausanias may have got what he wanted, but as well as being driven by envy, further actions driven by anger (ἀχθεσθεὶς, 2.4.32) result in the deaths of around 180 of those he is ostensibly trying to help, as well as of several prominent Spartiates (2.4.31–4).38 Whether the result was beneficial for Sparta or not is debatable. On a personal front it was a victory for Pausanias over Lysander. Later, in 395 BCE, Lysander is sent out to Phocis and ordered to assemble an army of allies and to report to Haliartus on an appointed day when he would be joined by the forces of King Pausanias (HG 3.5.6). deliberately provocative and Callicratidas’ response as justifiable), or to favouring Lysander (e.g., Krentz 1989: 145–6 on 1.6.2–3, who suggests that Xenophon approves of Lysander’s boasting and sees him as acting moderately and ‘placing his city above his own love of honor’; Gray 1989: 24, who argues that Callicratidas is intolerant and Lysander is restrained and self-controlled). 35 Callicratidas may go on to raise money successfully from the allies and defeat Methymna, but his taunting of Conon (1.6.15) and the chinks in the armour of his generalship against Conon (careless guarding of the blockaded Athenian ships at Mytilene, 1.6.20; and unwillingness to take sound advice, 1.6.32) result in an unexpected Athenian victory at Arginusae. 36 Xenophon relates two incidents, eight years apart, so it is hard not to imagine that the rivalry and jealousy went back much further and informed other aspects of Spartan activity besides those mentioned. 37 This brings us into the shadowy world of the possible pamphlet-writing activities of the two men: Lysander wanted to abolish hereditary kingship, while Pausanias seems to have urged dissolution of the ephorate. See further at the end of this chapter. 38 See also Tuplin 1993: 45–6 on this episode.

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Lysander, accordingly, assembles an army of allies and reports to Haliartus but attacks the town before Pausanias arrives (3.5.17–18). The Thebans come to the rescue of Haliartus and Lysander is defeated and killed, prompting Xenophon to remark (3.5.19): ὁπότερα μὲν οὖν, εἴτε λαθόντες τὸν Λύσανδρον ἐπέπεσον αὐτῷ εἴτε καὶ αἰσθόμενος προσιόντας ὡς κρατήσων ὑπέμενεν, ἄδηλον· τοῦτο δ᾽ οὖν σαφές, ὅτι παρὰ τὸ τεῖχος ἡ μάχη ἐγένετο· Whether, therefore, they blindsided Lysander when they attacked him, or whether, although he actually perceived their approach, he stood his ground believing that he would defeat them, is unclear. What is clear, however, is this, that the battle was fought beside the walls.

Neither of the motives Xenophon expresses here reflect well on Lysander, or in fact are in keeping with his previous behaviour. In all other descriptions of Lysander’s military leadership, Xenophon shows him keenly aware of the movements of the enemy (for example, at Aegospotami in 405, HG 2.1.18–28),39 and well aware that there are times when it is better to retreat than to fight (for example, at Ephesus, HG 1.5.15).40 Yet here Xenophon is quite clear that Lysander behaved rashly, since to be caught in battle right at the walls of a city was sheer folly.41 It cannot be that the reader is not expected to notice the dissonance between his former successful and current disastrous actions (for Lysander dies fighting here, 3.5.19). A closer look at the narrative, in conjunction with the knowledge that the previously related clash between Lysander and Pausanias was driven by envy and won by Pausanias, provides the answer. Lysander does mostly follow the orders he is given for the command, but in addition he convinces Orchomenus to revolt from Thebes (HG 3.5.6) and is clearly trying to do the same at Haliartus when disaster strikes (3.5.18). It can only be that Lysander does not wait for Pausanias to augment his forces because he wishes to bring these poleis over to the Spartan side before Pausanias arrives, to receive the glory for winning over the towns instead of sharing or losing it to Pausanias, as had previously happened in 403. Pride and jealousy overcome common sense,42 and once more the good of Sparta is certainly not served. 39

Krentz 1989: 176–8 on 2.1.28 and the battle at Aegospotami remarks that in comparison with the abbreviated version of the battle in Diodorus Siculus (13.106.1–5), which probably comes via Ephorus, Xenophon’s version pays close and favourable attention to Lysander’s tactics. 40 Proietti 1987: 28–9 notes Lysander’s ‘appreciation of the power of order’ here. 41 As Xenophon explicitly notes at HG 5.3.5 in describing Teleutias’ last battle. Notably Teleutias was making his decisions at this point in the battle under the influence of anger (ὀργισθεὶς). 42 Cf. Westlake 1969: 223; Proietti 1987: 103–4; Krentz 1995: 200 on 3.5.18.

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In both these instances a certain element of the strife between the characters involves jealousy regarding prestige levels in the eyes of non-­ Spartans (Cyrus in the first instance, the Athenians in the second). In fact, competitive clashes where outsiders’ opinions are central are also well represented in the pages of the Hellenica and Anabasis. A classic example again involves Lysander. In Asia Minor in 396 BCE, because of his previous commands in the region, Lysander is well known and hence is sought out by many who wish to have their requests brought more speedily to Agesilaus (HG 3.4.7). This state of affairs both enrages Agesilaus and drives the accompanying Spartiates to such levels of envy that they complain to Agesilaus about Lysander’s behaviour (3.4.8): ὅτι μὲν οὖν ἔμηνε καὶ τὸν ᾽Αγησίλαον ταῦτα ἐδήλωσεν ὕστερον· οἵ γε μὴν ἄλλοι τριάκοντα ὑπὸ τοῦ φθόνου οὐκ ἐσίγων, ἀλλ᾽ ἔλεγον πρὸς τὸν ᾽Αγησίλαον ὡς παράνομα ποιοίη Λύσανδρος τῆς βασιλείας ὀγκηρότερον διάγων. Now, that Agesilaus was also enraged by these things he made clear later. The rest of the thirty, however, because of their envy would not keep quiet, instead saying to Agesilaus that Lysander was flouting the law in conducting himself in a more stately fashion than a king.

Agesilaus reacts by dismissing all petitions from Lysander’s friends. He responds, in turn, also at a personal level, without regard for more important practical or diplomatic considerations.43 The situation, however, is different from that between Lysander and Pausanias since quite clearly Lysander and Agesilaus were not usually at each other’s throats (see further, p. 223).44 In fact when confronted by Lysander about his behaviour, Agesilaus, ironically, takes Lysander’s advice about how to resolve the situation, i.e. about how to re-establish Agesilaus’ authority and re-establish Lysander as a person who has influence with Agesilaus (3.4.9). Lysander is duly sent off to the Hellespont and persuades Spithridates to revolt from Pharnabazus and support the Spartan side. ‘Agesilaus was pleased by the deed’ (ὁ ᾽Αγησίλαος ἥσθη τε τῇ πράξει, 3.4.10). In this situation Lysander chose to cooperate. Had he not done so he would have instantly lost Agesilaus’ patronage and any chance of recovering his 43

See also Tuplin 1993: 57, who notes that Agesilaus arrogantly twists the usual maxim of rulers benefitting their friends. By contrast Gray 1989: 47 argues that Agesilaus behaves with grace and self-control. 44 There can be no doubt that in this instance, too, Lysander was acting in his own interests, for his own eventual power and glory (see HG 3.4.2, where Xenophon points out that Lysander wanted Agesilaus’ help to re-establish the decarchies in Asia Minor which had been overthrown by some of the ephors); see on this Proietti 1987: 97 and Tuplin 1993: 53.

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position and advancing his own agenda. Any chance of prestige and power within the system would have been closed to him, intimately bound up as they were with patronage circles, as Cartledge has well shown.45 Similar behaviour can be seen from Spartans in the Anabasis. Consider, for example, the actions and motivations of Anaxibius, who as nauarch in 400 BCE is stationed in the environs of Byzantium. Once the mercenary army reaches the Black Sea, Anaxibius’ fellow-Spartiate and chosen leader of the remnants of Cyrus’ troops, Cheirisophus, reveals that Anaxibius is his friend and sets off for Byzantium in the hope of gaining some aid from him in the form of ships (An. 5.1.4). Cheirisophus returns with only praise and a promise of pay if they leave the area of the Pontus (6.1.16). It is not immediately clear why Anaxibius refuses his ‘friend’ the aid of ships,46 but little by little Xenophon reveals how difficult Anaxibius is to deal with. 47 In particular, he is in thrall to the Persian satrap, Pharnabazus. First he promises Pharnabazus that he will remove the mercenary army from Asia. Pharnabazus’ offer in return is vague: ‘to do everything for him that he might find necessary’ (7.1.2). To carry out his side of the bargain Anaxibius promises the mercenaries pay (a second time) to lure them out of Pharnabazus’ territory (7.1.3) but immediately reneges when the soldiers arrive in Byzantium (7.1.7). He continues to treat them contemptuously until the end of his nauarchy, keeping them, as best he can, both out of Byzantium and out of Pharnabazus’ territory (7.1.12–2.6). As he sets off home he tries to collect what Pharnabazus had owed him. Pharnabazus, however, ignores him since he is returning home 45

On patronage circles in Sparta, see Cartledge 1987: 242–8 and Hodkinson 2000: 335–52. See also Cartledge 1987: 152–3 on this specific incident, though whether Lysander now becomes a political enemy of Agesilaus is not entirely clear from Xenophon’s text. When next he appears in the Hellenica he is shown still in rivalry with Pausanias. Plutarch has Lysander return home and plot immediately to find some way to open up the kingship and attain that archê himself (Lys. 24.2– 26). The story, or some parts of it at least, seems to go back to Ephorus (Lys. 25.3). See Powell 2010: 121–5 for a discussion of the problems with Plutarch’s version. See also pp. 245–6. 46 It is possible that Anaxibius is acting under orders from home, but since the Spartan harmost at Byzantium, Cleander, does try to aid the mercenaries, one of them would seem to be acting contrary to Spartan policy (if Sparta had an official policy). Cf. Hodkinson 1993: 163–4 for a succinct account of the conflicting interests of Anaxibius, Cleander and Aristarchus towards Xenophon and the mercenaries; see also Humble 1997: 93–105. Contra Dillery 1995: 101, who suggests that the Spartans had a coherent anti-Ten Thousand stance at this time. 47 The first piece in the puzzle comes soon after Cheirisophus’ return when he reports that Dexippus, a perioikos, was in Anaxibius’ confidence and slandering Xenophon because he had supported Timasion, not himself, as ruler over Clearchus’ portion of the army when the latter was killed. Cheirisophus points out that he tried to silence Dexippus but was unsuccessful (An. 6.1.32). That Anaxibius is prepared to listen to a perioikos over a Spartiate and supposed friend is meant to be worrying.

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and deals instead with Aristarchus, the incoming harmost (7.2.7). Anaxibius’ immediate response is driven by personal disappointment and outrage at this loss of his special position with Pharnabazus: having just ordered Aristarchus to sell into slavery any mercenaries he finds in Byzantium (7.2.6), he immediately reverses his position, though he has no obvious authority to do so; he also orders Xenophon to return, reorganise the army and lead it against Pharnabazus to spite the man who scorned him (7.2.8).48 It is difficult to see how these personally and emotionally motivated actions bring the greatest good to the Spartan polis.49 We can see the same type of behaviour driving the actions even of the Spartan exile, Clearchus. When Clearchus becomes de facto leader of the mercenaries after the death of Cyrus (An. 2.2.5–6),50 he cultivates the friendship of the barbarians, first Ariaeus, and then Tissaphernes, in an effort to secure employment for the army. At the same time he becomes increasingly afraid that he may lose this perceived position of favour to Menon and thus lose his command and the friendship of Tissaphernes (see particularly 2.5.28–9). His desire to see his rival brought to ruin, and his misplaced belief in Tissaphernes’ friendship, cause him to ignore prudent advice not to bring all the generals and captains to a meeting with Tissaphernes and not to trust Tissaphernes (2.5.29). Thus, he walks straight into the trap set by Tissaphernes, forfeiting his own life and the lives of the other leaders of the army (An. 2.5.31–4). These actions are not driven by any rational assessment about what is best for the army but are solely personally based (against Menon) and brought about by a competitive desire to be the one regarded most highly by the Persians. Whatever meagre positive results accrue from any of these personal rivalries, it is clear on each occasion that the participants are making decisions based on easily fired-up negative and destructive emotions. The selfrestraint that they are supposed to have acquired as boys and youths is not much in evidence in any of these situations: Callicratidas, Agesilaus and Pausanias all react viscerally to Lysander in one way or another, as 48

See also Hodkinson 1993: 163–4 for an overview of the destructive personal conflicts involving Anaxibius. 49 Roisman 1988: 86–7 suggests that Xenophon invented this episode with Pharnabazus on the grounds that if, e.g., Anaxibius had been as bad as Xenophon makes out, he would have been punished and not given a command later on, but to argue this ignores the overall picture of Spartan politics and overseas commands which emerges from the sources (on which, see Lewis 1977: 35 and Hodkinson 1993: 159–61). 50 And the reason is interesting: ‘not because they had chosen him but because they saw that he alone understood the sorts of things a commander ought to know, whereas the others were inexperienced’ (οὐχ ἑλόμενοι, ἀλλὰ ὁρῶντες ὅτι μόνος ἐφρόνει οἷα δεῖ τὸν ἄρχοντα, οἱ δ᾽ ἄλλοι ἄπειροι ἦσαν, An. 2.2.6).

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Lysander does to Pausanias; Anaxibius and Clearchus are motivated by a perceived loss of, or fear of losing, prestige in the eyes of a barbarian; and Lysander clearly disobeys orders to try to gain an advantage in his rivalry with Pausanias. But we should not be surprised by such common lack of self-restraint since Xenophon has made it perfectly clear, by means of the careful presentation in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia of the contest engaged in by young men, that even when under strict public supervision and threats of punishment there were times when their emotions ran so high in the sparring contests that they could not contain their anger and obey orders to stop brawling (Lac. 4.6).51

6.2 Agesilaus: Hellenica v. Agesilaus I have tried to keep Agesilaus as far as possible out of the discussion above because modern scholars as a rule seem to think that Xenophon views Agesilaus as above criticism, with the encomium generally held up as incontrovertible proof of this fact. Although to my mind Tuplin has already convincingly shown that HG 2.3.11 onwards is a critical assessment of the Spartan hegemony in which Agesilaus comes in for censure on a number of occasions, the view that Xenophon exempts him from criticism persists.52 Support for this view, however, tends to rely on the encomiastic picture and to downplay the picture drawn of his actions in the Hellenica. The following example is emblematic of the approach used to argue that Xenophon keeps Agesilaus untainted by events in which it is hard to deny, on any view, that Xenophon is being somewhat critical of the Spartans. At HG 5.4.1 Xenophon says that the gods are known to punish impiety and wrongdoing, and he gives the following as an example: the Spartans, who had sworn to leave poleis independent but then had seized the acropolis of Thebes, were now punished by the very Thebans whom they had wronged. Cawkwell makes the following comment on this passage: ‘There seems to be a curious dichotomy in Xenophon’s mind: Sparta was punished for her wrongful acts, but Agesilaus, who was largely responsible for them, is shielded from censure and remained for Xenophon “a completely good man” (Ages. 1.1)’.53 Thus despite the fact Xenophon’s narrative in the Hellenica reveals that Agesilaus was implicated 51

I am, of course, trying to reconstruct Xenophon’s observations and analysis here. See Hodkinson 1993: 164–9 for an acute broader analysis of the negative effects of these foreign commands internally in Sparta. 52 See also Chapter 1.6 n. 124. 53 Cawkwell and Warner 1979: 279.

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in the events surrounding the seizure of the Theban acropolis (HG 5.2.32)54 that evidence is set aside in favour of a generic comment from the encomium. There is, however, another way to read this evidence, which is that Xenophon is not absolving Agesilaus of blame in the Hellenica but is avoiding the issue in the encomium because it is incumbent upon him in that work to speak only positively of his subject, that being the first principle of the rhetorical genre. It seems to me in general, therefore, that to maintain that the portrait of Agesilaus in the encomium is Xenophon’s true opinion of Agesilaus requires more special pleading for, and downplaying of, the less laudatory material in the Hellenica than should be necessary, if indeed Agesilaus was Xenophon’s ‘hero’.55 The description of Agesilaus’ accession is a prime example. This is the first event about Agesilaus which is recorded in the Hellenica and in the Agesilaus. In the encomium it is presented as an example of Agesilaus’ worthiness to be king (Ages. 1.5). Xenophon tells us that the struggle is between ‘Leotychidas as the son of Agis and Agesilaus as the son of Archidamus’ and that the polis chose Agesilaus because he was more blameless in birth and virtue than Leotychidas. The account finishes with another statement to the effect that the fact that he was chosen to be king by the best men in the greatest state is proof of his virtue. In the Hellenica, however, the story is told in a rather different manner (HG 3.3.1–4). It is a matter of contention between ‘Leotychidas, who said he was a son of Agis, and Agesilaus, his [Agis’] [half-]brother’ (Λεωτυχίδης, υἱὸς φάσκων ῎Αγιδος εἶναι, Ἀγησίλαος δὲ ἀδελφός, 3.3.1). A conversation in direct speech follows in which Leotychidas claims his right to the throne through primogeniture and Agesilaus argues that he is not Agis’ son and that Agis had never confirmed his paternity. Leotychidas’ response is to assert that his mother always said that Agis was his father. Agesilaus comes back with the response that an earthquake 10 months before Leotychidas’ birth, which drove Agis from the bedchamber, proves the point definitively (3.3.2). This is the end of the direct speech, and two others enter the fray, one on the side of each contestant. In support of Leotychidas is Diopeithes, an oracle-monger, who cites an oracle of Apollo which warned the Spartans to beware of a lame kingship.56 54

Though some contest this interpretation, I find the analysis of Tuplin (1993: 98–9, with other views noted in his n. 34) the most compelling. 55 The following comparison between the encomiastic portrait of Agesilaus and the portrait in the Hellenica, as well as the assessment of the generic status of the Agesilaus, is based on the much more detailed analysis to be found in Humble 2020a. See also Humble 2020b: 118–19. 56 This was an oracle which, according to Diodorus Siculus (11.50.4), had been around for a long time and which in 475 BCE was taken to mean that Sparta would be ‘lame’ if, having controlled

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Diopeithes interprets the oracle as a reference to Agesilaus’ physical lameness,57 but then Lysander58 steps in on behalf of Agesilaus, arguing that the lameness is meant to be interpreted symbolically: it is a warning to the Spartans not to choose a king with a lame birthright (3.3.3). Lysander’s interpretation sways public opinion and Agesilaus becomes king.59 There is, generally speaking, as the saying goes, no smoke without fire. Clearly there was some doubt about Leotychidas’ paternity,60 and as Anton Powell notes, Xenophon has Leotychidas implicitly acknowledge this by not directly addressing the accusation that his father never acknowledged paternity but instead by asserting that his mother knew best.61 That Agesilaus was able to exploit the situation, however, attests to some forward planning on his part. The intervention of Lysander, who had ulterior motives of his own (cf. 3.4.2), 62 can either be read as Agesilaus not being clever or powerful enough at this stage to sway opinion himself,63 or as being savvy enough not to run the risk of giving the alternative interpretation in case it backfired. Whichever is the case, it seems peculiar for Xenophon to have drawn attention to the contestation of the throne, not just by reporting the episode in this way but also through the use of direct speech, if he did not want to cast any doubt on the purity of the motives of ‘his revered Agesilaus’,64 since he has shown in the encomium that it was easy to portray the event in a much more positive and praiseworthy way. There Xenophon implies that both men are being judged on their respective virtues, that the contest is between both land and sea, they lost command of one of these, so it already had a history as a rather versatile and open-to-interpretation oracle; on which, see further Cartledge 1987: 112. Green 2006: 110 n. 189 notes that Plutarch, citing Ion, has Cimon using the same metaphor in arguing to send troops to help the Spartans during the helot revolt in c. 465 BCE (Plu. Cim. 16.8). 57 See Cartledge 1987: 20 on the evidence for this. 58 Who had reputedly been Agesilaus’ lover during the latter’s youth (see Plu. Ages. 2; Lys. 22). 59 This was far from the first incident of this sort in the history of the Spartan dyarchy. See Cartledge 1987: 110–12 for other examples. 60 The rumour, reported by Plutarch (Alc. 23 and Lys. 22.3–4), was that Alcibiades, during his sojourn in Sparta, had seduced Agis’ wife. Cartledge 1987: 113 suggests that Thucydides hints at the story at 8.12.2 when he comments that Alcibiades and Agis were not on good terms. Littman 1969 argues against the tradition of Alcibiades being Leotychidas’ father. 61 Powell 2010: 133 n. 61. 62 Cartledge 1987: 114 poses a whole series of interesting questions about the role of Lysander here, at the end of which he says that Xenophon ‘studiously ignored’ what must have been in the background here for Lysander at this point, i.e. the latter’s ‘alleged revolutionary constitutional plans’. I will come back to this point below. 63 Tuplin 1993: 53. By contrast, Trego 2014: 43–5, unaware of Tuplin’s arguments and starting from the point of view that Xenophon is partial to Agesilaus, downplays the role of Lysander in the Hellenica version. 64 The phrase is Powell’s (2010: 115).

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two equally worthy candidates (both sons of kings, rather than uncle and nephew),65 and that the better man won, not because he manipulated the situation or had someone else help him to do so but because others judged him worthy. The whole question of Leotychidas’ parentage is only briefly alluded to rather than being made the centre of the dispute and Lysander is left out of the picture altogether in order to focus wholly on Agesilaus.66 It is hard, therefore, not to agree with Tuplin’s assessment:67 the clear assertion that his [Agesilaus’] accession was achieved by partisan interpretation of a warning against ‘lame kingship’ inevitably draws attention to doubts about a king whose reign certainly embraced the heights and depths of Spartan fortunes. It was thoughtless to mention the matter if one’s intention was to present an admiring picture of Agesilaus or of Sparta.

Further, in the Hellenica the version of the accession is followed first by an account of the conspiracy of Cinadon (HG 3.3.4–11) – a significant narrative about internal unrest across the complex class system in Sparta, in which Xenophon does not show Agesilaus playing any active role – and then by an account of the preparations for a campaign in Asia, driven again, as success in the accession dispute was, by Lysander not by Agesilaus (3.4.1–2),68 whose first act (after conducting the customary border sacrifices required of the king on campaign, as described at Lac. 13.2) is the vainglorious attempt to sacrifice at Aulis as though he were a second Agamemnon (see further, p. 227). None of this betokens an auspicious reign, nor does an auspicious reign follow in the pages of the Hellenica: though Agesilaus was one of the longest-serving of Spartan kings (c. 399–360 BCE), Sparta was at the height of her hegemony when he came to power and at his death, not only had she lost that position to the very polis of Thebes, against which Agesilaus bore a steady, reign-long hatred, but she had also lost control of half her territory. 65

Luppino Manes 1991: 94–6 looks briefly at the accounts of the accession in the Agesilaus and Plutarch’s Agesilaus, mentioning that Plutarch calls Agesilaus a ‘private man’ v. Leotychidas as the ‘son of a king’ but does not analyse the Hellenica passage. 66 Lysander is, in fact, completely absent from the encomium. See Laforse 2013: 33–4 for a good account of why this is so. 67 Tuplin 1993: 53. By contrast, Cartledge 1987: 110–15; Schepens 2005: 45; and Powell 2010: 114–15 all regard Agesilaus as Xenophon’s hero and so read the passage accordingly. Gray 1989: 36–9 views the account in the Hellenica as a positive portrait of Lysander and the narrative as full of charis and thinks that the encomiastic account is different because the focus there needs to be on the subject of the praise not on the achievements of others. The differences between the two versions are also highlighted by Stuart 1928: 62–3. 68 Stanke 2006: 96 points out how passively Agesilaus is portrayed at this juncture.

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Another example of a significant disparity between how Agesilaus is portrayed in the encomium and how he is portrayed in the Hellenica concerns his behaviour upon being recalled from Asia in 394 BCE. First, much is made in the encomium of his ready obedience to the Spartan authorities (Ages. 1.36): ὅστις ἄρχων μὲν παμπόλλων ἐν τῇ ἠπείρῳ πόλεων, ἄρχων δὲ καὶ νήσων, ἐπεὶ καὶ τὸ ναυτικὸν προσῆψεν αὐτῷ ἡ πόλις, αὐξανόμενος δὲ καὶ εὐκλείᾳ καὶ δυνάμει, παρὸν δ᾽ αὐτῷ πολλοῖς καὶ ἀγαθοῖς χρῆσθαι ὅ τι ἐβούλετο, πρὸς δὲ τούτοις τὸ μέγιστον, ἐπινοῶν καὶ ἐλπίζων καταλύσειν τὴν ἐπὶ τὴν ῾Ελλάδα στρατεύσασαν πρότερον ἀρχὴν ὅμως ὑπ᾽ οὐδενὸς τούτων ἐκρατήθη, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπειδὴ ἦλθεν αὐτῷ ἀπὸ τῶν οἴκοι τελῶν βοηθεῖν τῇ πατρίδι, ἐπείθετο τῇ πόλει οὐδὲν διαφερόντως ἢ εἰ ἐν τῷ ἐφορείῳ ἔτυχεν ἑστηκὼς μόνος παρὰ τοὺς πέντε, μάλα ἔνδηλον ποιῶν, ὡς οὔτε ἂν πᾶσαν τὴν γῆν δέξαιτο ἀντὶ τῆς πατρίδος οὔτε τοὺς ἐπικτήτους ἀντὶ τῶν ἀρχαίων φίλων οὔτε αἰσχρὰ καὶ ἀκίνδυνα κέρδη μᾶλλον ἢ μετὰ κινδύνων τὰ καλὰ καὶ δίκαια. He was in charge of a very large number of poleis on the mainland, and in charge also of islands, for the polis had also given him responsibility for the fleet. He was continually increasing also in fame and power. It was also within his remit to use in whatever way he wished the many advantages available to him, and in addition to these things, the greatest goal of all, he had in mind and indeed expected to bring down the empire that had deployed its forces against Greece in the past. Nevertheless, he was not swayed by any of these considerations, but when the order came from the authorities at home to come to the assistance of his native land, he obeyed the polis no differently from the way he would have done had he been standing alone in the ephors’ palace in front of the Five. He made it abundantly clear that he would not accept in exchange for his native land the whole of the earth, nor friends recently acquired in exchange for those of long standing, nor gains shameful and made without danger rather than what was good and just, whatever dangers the latter might involve.

Further on in the encomium much again is made of his supposed philhellenism when, while still en route, he hears about the first battle at Corinth against this coalition, in which the Spartans and their allies defeated the Corinthians, Athenians, Boeotians and their allies (Ages. 7.4–5): εἴ γε μὴν αὖ καλὸν Ἕλληνα ὄντα φιλέλληνα εἶναι, τίνα τις οἶδεν ἄλλον στρατηγὸν ἢ πόλιν οὐκ ἐθέλοντα αἰρεῖν, ὅταν οἴηται πορθήσειν, ἢ συμφορὰν νομίζοντα τὸ νικᾶν ἐν τῷ πρὸς Ἕλληνας πολέμῳ; ἐκεῖνος τοίνυν, ἀγγελίας μὲν ἐλθούσης αὐτῷ, ὡς ἐν τῇ ἐν Κορίνθῳ μάχῃ ὀκτὼ μὲν Λακεδαιμονίων, ἐγγὺς δὲ μῦριοι τῶν ἀντιπάλων τεθναῖεν, οὐκ ἐφησθεὶς φανερὸς ἐγένετο, ἀλλ᾽ εἶπεν ἄρα· φεῦ σου, ὦ ῾Ελλάς, ὁπότε οἱ νῦν τεθνηκότες ἱκανοὶ ἦσαν ζῶντες νικᾶν μαχόμενοι πάντας τοὺς βαρβάρους.

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The Place of Lac. in Xenophon’s Literary Project Again, if it is noble for one who is a Greek to be a philhellene, does anyone know any other general who has either been unwilling to seize a polis when he thought it would be destroyed, or thought it a misfortune to have a victory in war against Greeks? He, then, when a report arrived that at the battle in Corinth eight Lacedaemonians had died, but also almost ten thousand of their adversaries, manifestly did not exult, but instead said: ‘Alas for you, Greece, since those who are now dead would have been sufficient, had they lived, to defeat in battle all of the barbarians.’

Xenophon’s descriptions of the two reactions – the first to the summons home, the second to the news of the battle – are significantly different in the Hellenica. There, when Agesilaus hears that he must return as quickly as possible to help his fatherland, we are told that (HG 4.2.3): χαλεπῶς μὲν ἤνεγκεν, ἐνθυμούμενος καὶ οἵων τιμῶν καὶ οἵων ἐλπίδων ἀπεστερεῖτο, ὅμως δὲ συγκαλέσας τοὺς συμμάχους ἐδήλωσε τὰ ὑπὸ τῆς πόλεως παραγγελλόμενα, καὶ εἶπεν ὅτι ἀναγκαῖον εἴη βοηθεῖν τῇ πατρίδι· He bore it badly, taking very much to heart the honours and hopes he was being deprived of, nevertheless, having summoned the allies he made clear what the polis had commanded, and said that it was necessary for him to aid his native land.

The end result is the same, of course: Agesilaus obeys the command to return home. This is certainly significant and compares well, for example, with an Athenian commander like Alcibiades. The most successful Spartans negotiate well the fine line between obedience and pushing their own agenda. Had Agesilaus not obeyed, he might have been put on trial and his tenure as king would have been much shorter (as indeed happened to his co-king Pausanias while he was away, HG 3.5.25). But he is in a pique about the honours and hopes he is being deprived of. What precisely are these honours and hopes? Over the two years he had certainly gained support from prominent individuals in Asia Minor,69 and he had been given overall command also over the fleet with the power to appoint as nauarch whomever he wished (3.4.27), undoubtedly an honour (though it must be noted at the same time that Lysander had just perished at Haliartus, Pausanias had been forced into exile, and his successor, Agesipolis, was under age). Xenophon, however, appears to view it more as a bad policy decision by the authorities at home, since he follows reportage of this fact by noting that Agesilaus chose as nauarch his ‘rather 69

For example, when he was increasing the size of the navy we are told that not only did poleis offer to build ships for him but also so ‘did private individuals who wished to please him’ (οἱ ἰδιῶται ἐποιοῦντο χαρίζεσθαι βουλόμενοι, HG 3.4.28).

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inexperienced’ (ἀπειρότερον) brother-in-law, Peisander (3.4.29), who shortly thereafter goes on to lose a significant battle and his life (through poor judgement) at Cnidus (4.3.10–12). How Agesilaus uses this extra power and honour hardly enhances our opinion of his leadership capability; rather it again speaks to the destructive power of internal Spartan rivalries.70 As to Agesilaus’ hopes, these are made evident indirectly throughout the narrative. The impetus for sending Agesilaus and an army out to Asia Minor had been a report of 300 Phoenician warships being made ready for an unspecified expedition (3.4.1). Debate among Sparta and her allies ensued, the result of which we are never told. Lysander, thinking the Greek forces are strong, urges an expedition, but again no official purpose is stated, only Lysander’s own hidden aim of wishing to re-establish the decarchies which he had previously set up in various Greek poleis in Asia Minor but which had been dissolved by the ephors (3.4.2). So, the clearest message from the passage concerns the presence of powerful internal rivalries in Sparta and competing political agendas. Our only glimpse into Agesilaus’ hopes for the campaign at this juncture comes via his attempt to sacrifice at Aulis, ‘the very place where Agamemnon had sacrificed when he sailed to Troy’ (3.4.3). The Thebans take umbrage, and spoil the sacrifice halfway through, evoking an anger in Agesilaus (ὀργιζόμενος, 3.4.4) that will guide his dealings with Thebes for years to come.71 That he envisages himself a second Agamemnon is reinforced later, obliquely, when Xenophon reports Tithraustes’ reading of Agesilaus’ aims: that he had no intention of leaving Asia but rather ‘had great hopes of seizing the King’ (ἐλπίδας ἔχοντα μεγάλας αἱρήσειν βασιλέα, 3.5.1; and compare essentially the same thought later attributed to Agesilaus himself, 4.1.41). Note, too, that Agesilaus’ anger and reputation for anger are highlighted in two further episodes which are described in quick succession after this one: his anger at Lysander’s popularity (3.4.8; discussed on 70

See Cartledge 1987: 143–59 for a convincing reconstruction of Agesilaus’ family network and how he probably built his support base (or at least how he neutralised his opposition) for what cannot have been popular policies, such as his rabid anti-Theban stance. One of the passages Cartledge bases his discussion around is Ages. 11.13 (the other is HG 5.4.20–33). In neither case does he think that Xenophon really realises the implications of what he is saying. 71 Agesilaus’ behaviour at this juncture is the opposite of praiseworthy and his own unprovoked aggression in attempting to sacrifice without permission perhaps mirrors the fact that Agamemnon’s sacrifice had by this time become a paradigmatic act of hybris, particularly in Greek tragedy. Cf. Fisher 1992: 283–7 on A. A. 184–249 and Whitehead 1983: 58 on E. IA 337–42. Compare, too, the end of this Asian campaign when Agesilaus is said to have returned to Greece by the very route Xerxes took when he invaded Greece (HG 4.2.8); and on this Higgins 1977: 106; Tuplin 1993: 60; Krentz 1995: 210 on 4.2.8; Humble 1997: 144–5; and Stanke 2006: 99–101.

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p. 218) and Tissaphernes’ speculation that Agesilaus is acting against him out of anger (ἡγεῖτο αὐτὸν ὀργίζεσθαι αὐτῷ, 3.4.12).72 That most of the initial decisions Agesilaus makes on his first major campaign abroad as king are characterised as done in anger is hardly flattering, but equally hardly surprising, again given Xenophon’s description of the constant sparring engaged in by young men in Sparta, the description of which ended by noting that heavy penalties were imposed upon those who could not control their anger enough to obey the laws (Lac. 4.6).73 A survey of his deeds in Asia Minor during the two-year period he campaigned there, as portrayed in the Hellenica, confirms how disproportionate were his hopes to his abilities and actions.74 In the first year he had some initial successes capturing cities and booty in Phrygia, after having deceived Tissaphernes into thinking he planned to attack Caria (3.4.11–12), but Xenophon does not dwell on these successes, and Agesilaus has a significant defeat also at the hands of Pharnabazus (3.4.13–14). He did learn a lesson from this defeat – the need to build up his cavalry – and enacts the required changes (3.4.15).75 His most impressive victory comes in the second year of his campaigning in Asia, a battle against Tissaphernes (3.4.20–4), though the death of the camp followers who had been plundering in scattered bands slightly tarnishes the outcome. Tissaphernes falls foul of the Persian authorities and is killed by Tithraustes, who had been sent by the Persian king himself, who was clearly now sufficiently worried about the situation in Asia Minor to demand, through Tithraustes, that Agesilaus return home and leave the Greek poleis independent, albeit paying tribute to the Persian king (3.4.25). The Persians allow delay because of internal rivalries and so Tithraustes pays Agesilaus to move to Pharnabazus’ satrapy (3.4.26), but already the Persians are working behind the scenes to get Agesilaus and his army out of Asia in the event that diplomatic overtures do not work 72

Tamiolaki 2012: 571–2 draws attention to these passages on Agesilaus’ anger, as well as to two further instances (HG 5.3.24 and 6.5.5), in likewise casting doubt on the idea that Xenophon is portraying Agesilaus as an ideal leader. Dercylidas, too, is depicted as acting in anger (3.1.17–18), though not in response to a fellow Spartan. Indeed, Gish 2012: 175 n. 24 notes that Xenophon uses the verb ὀργίζω almost exclusively of Spartans. 73 It is worth remembering in this regard that while it seems that the heirs to the kingship did not go through the education system at Sparta, Agesilaus, the son of Archidamus’ second wife, was not the heir and according to Plutarch, therefore, he participated in the normal upbringing. For an examination of the Plutarchan evidence (Ages. 1.1–3), see Cartledge 1987: 23–4. 74 My brief survey here should be read in conjunction with the penetrating analysis of these two years by Tuplin 1993: 56–60. 75 Xenophon omits completely a significant military success which the Oxyrhynchus historian details (HO 21[16]–22[17]). As Tuplin 1993: 57 notes, this can hardly be ‘due to ignorance of its existence’, and does not square with an agenda to make Agesilaus look good.

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(3.5.1). Later the same year Xenophon briefly mentions that Agesilaus lays waste to areas in Phrygia, capturing some cities by force, though some also surrender voluntarily (4.1.1). Instead of elaborating on these events, however, Xenophon goes on to highlight an episode where careless and disdainful plundering by Agesilaus’ soldiers ends in a defeat by Pharnabazus’ cavalry (4.1.17–19). Though the survivors flee to Agesilaus, who happens to be nearby with his hoplites, Agesilaus does not react effectively to this setback. It is not until three or four days later that some action is taken, though the instigator is not Agesilaus but Herippidas, acting on information from Spithridates (4.1.20–1), who was working with Agesilaus only because of the earlier efforts of Lysander (3.4.10). On the basis of his two years in Asia Minor, therefore, according to the narrative in the Hellenica, Agesilaus has certainly not accomplished very much. Not only is the summary and rather generic list of achievements in the encomium significantly exaggerated, but also the earlier narrative portion of the encomium covering this period of time is not particularly substantive because Xenophon is restricted, by generic protocol, to recounting praiseworthy deeds: Xenophon dwells really only on the successful deception of Tissaphernes and how Agesilaus enriched his friends, showed goodwill towards prisoners, and trained his troops (Ages. 1.6–35). Nor was Agesilaus, in reality, remotely close to bringing down ‘the empire that had deployed its forces against Greece in the past’ (Ages. 1.36), though the attempted sacrifice at Aulis betrayed this hope in a less than laudatory way. As for Agesilaus’ reaction to the Spartan victory at Corinth in 394 BCE, in the Hellenica we are told again that eight Lacedaemonians died along with ‘a huge number of the enemy’ (τῶν δὲ πολεμίων παμπληθεῖς) but also that there perished ‘not a few of [Sparta’s] allies’ (τῶν συμμάχων οὐκ ὀλίγοι) (HG 4.3.1). Not only is the last detail about the death of a significant number of Sparta’s allies absent from the encomium, and not only does Agesilaus here make no generous statements about his grief over the death of fellow Greeks – either the opposition or his own allies – but rather he instructs Dercylidas to hasten back to their allies in Asia with the good news of Sparta’s victory and reassure them that they have not forgotten their promise to return (4.3.2; cf. 4.2.3). He does not, for obvious reasons, remind Dercylidas to report how many of Sparta’s allies had fallen in the battle. Philhellenism is simply not an issue in the recounting of this event in the Hellenica.76 76

See Dillery 1995: 117, who notes that the absence of the lament in the Hellenica ‘reflects a profound difference of view’ between the two works. Laforse 1997: 254–6 surprisingly thinks that Agesilaus probably did express the panhellenist sentiment recorded in the Agesilaus but does not explain why he thinks, then, that it was not recorded in the Hellenica.

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There are numerous other examples in the Hellenica which show Agesilaus behaving in a distinctly unfriendly way towards his fellow Greeks.77 He is, for example, notably consistent in his hostility towards the Thebans. This hostility seems to stem both from their disturbance of his Agamemnon-inspired sacrifice at Aulis (HG 3.4.4) when on his way to Asia Minor in 397, and from their part in his recall from Asia Minor in 394. He treats Theban ambassadors with contempt when they approach him seeking peace in 390 (4.5.6). He steadfastly refuses to allow Thebes to swear to the King’s Peace on behalf of other Boeotian poleis in 387, setting out with a force before the Theban ambassadors have even had time to consult with the authorities at home, as Xenophon explicitly says, ‘because of his hatred of the Thebans’ (διὰ τὴν πρὸς Θηβαίους ἔχθραν, 5.1.33). He supports the Spartan Phoebidas’ unprovoked and unauthorised seizure of the Theban citadel in 383 (5.2.32). He campaigns vigorously against Thebes in 378–377 (5.4.35–41, 47–55), and again during the peace negotiations in 371 he refuses another request by the Thebans to swear on behalf of the Boeotians (6.3.9). Not only is this longstanding and constant hostility towards Thebes completely at odds with the claim in the encomium that he is a philhellene, the above events are presented in a minimal fashion and in a quite different light (some not at all) in the chronological section of the encomium, which covers the years 387–377 (Ages. 2.21–2). There is a brief reference to a problem with Thebes and the King’s Peace in 387, but here Agesilaus is said simply to have demanded that pro-Spartan exiles be restored first, and the Corinthians are included as well as the Thebans (Ages. 2.21). The campaigns against Thebes in 378–377 are said to be motivated by friendship (φιλεταιρία) towards the Lacedaemonians who were being murdered there (Ages. 2.21–2). In the Hellenica this motive is instead said to be behind the Spartan campaign against Thebes in 379 undertaken by Sparta’s other king, Cleombrotus, after Agesilaus had actually refused to lead the campaign on the specious grounds that he was too old (HG 5.4.13). There is no sign of his vaunted philhellenism here: neither does he show any concern for his fellow Lacedaemonians who, as it happens, were stationed in Thebes because of his own support for the unjustified attack by Phoebidas on the citadel, nor is he apparently too old to campaign against Thebes in the following year. These campaigns 77

Luppino Manes 1991: 101–3 notes a few of these in passing but is more concerned to contrast the portrait of Agesilaus in the encomium with that in Plutarch’s Agesilaus where the king is constantly seen attacking other Greeks.

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are represented in the Hellenica as openly aggressive and punitive,78 as flagrant violations of the autonomy of other poleis,79 and heavily influenced by internal power struggles in Sparta from which Agesilaus emerges on top.80 Ignoring or glossing over these differences between the descriptions of the same events in the Hellenica and Agesilaus or referring only to passages from the encomium to show that Agesilaus is Xenophon’s hero is, therefore, fundamentally problematic from the point of view of the attempt to reconcile the two versions from the pen of the same author. But there are further reasons to be wary of the material in the Agesilaus. There is a reason Agesilaus comes off looking so good in the encomium, and that is, simply, because not only was it incumbent upon someone writing an encomium to praise the subject, it was also standard procedure to attribute to the subject notable qualities whether or not they actually typified them. A common counterargument to this is to assert that the practice of writing prose encomia in this period was still in its infancy and that, therefore, the codification of this type of rhetorical speech, which we see in the slightly later Rhetoric of Aristotle (1366a23– 68a37) and the pseudo-Aristotelian Rhetorica ad Alexandrum (1425b36– 26b22),81 ought not to be rigidly applied to works such as Xenophon’s Agesilaus.82 Yet there are numerous indications that what later becomes codified was already standard practice well before the composition of the Agesilaus.83 Andrea Nightingale has, for example, demonstrated this clearly with reference to Isocrates’ paradoxical encomium of the Egyptian king, Busiris:84 78

Hirsch 1985: 47–8 Cartledge 1987: 243 does concede that there is a disjunction here between the depiction of these years in the encomium and in the Hellenica. 80 See particularly Cartledge 1987: 136–8 on the trial of Sphodrias, and more generally 139–59 on the lengths Agesilaus went to in order to build a dominant faction around himself in Sparta. See also Hodkinson 1993: 169–71. 81 Aristotle’s Rhetoric is thought to date to some time within the period 350–335 BCE (see Kennedy 1991: 299–305). The Rhetorica ad Alexandrum, whose author is unknown (though Anaximenes is suspected by some), is also placed in the second half of the fourth century BCE. For a discussion of its date and authorship, see Chiron 2007: 101–4. 82 E.g., Lipka 2002: 16–17 and Schepens 2005: 47–9. 83 Stuart 1928: 88–90 long ago argued convincingly for this. See also Nightingale 1995: 93–106, discussed further below. Noël 2014 interestingly suggests that Xenophon’s Agesilaus and Isocrates’ Evagoras are actually used by Aristotle to define encomiastic writing in his treatise. 84 Nightingale 1995: 103. The dating of the Busiris is debated, either c. 388–384 BCE or the early 370s and hinging upon perceived purpose; see Livingstone 2001: 40–7 for a discussion. The later date is preferred by those who argue that Isocrates is commenting upon ideas found in Plato’s Republic; see further Chapter 7.1.3 n. 34. 79

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The Place of Lac. in Xenophon’s Literary Project Isocrates’ eulogy of Busiris also illustrates the ‘good qualities’ that should be attributed to a subject of praise: famous and/or noble ancestors (10), outstanding achievements (11-23 and passim), and the possession of virtues such as courage, wisdom, piety, temperance, and justice (11-29). In addition, Isocrates explicates the most essential techniques of the genre. In sections 30-5, he stresses the importance of using ‘probable’ and ‘credible’ material; since the facts are a matter of dispute, he says, the successful eulogist proceeds by ‘reasoning from what is probable’...

In addition, she draws attention to Isocrates’ advice on the use of synkrisis to elevate the subject (Busiris 11.7–8), which is a practice recommended in the handbooks, and most particularly to the following overriding principle (Busiris 11.4): ἁπάντων γὰρ εἰδότων ὅτι δεὶ τοὺς μὲν εὐλογεῖν τινὰς βουλομένους πλείω τῶν ὑπαρχόντων ἀγαθῶν αὐτοῖς προσόντ᾽ ἀποφαίνειν For everyone knows that it is necessary for those wishing to eulogise someone to make known that they have more good attributes than actually exist.

The advice in the later handbooks reflects rather precisely the earlier practice as exemplified by Isocrates’ Busiris. First, on attributing more attributes than actually exist, the author of the Rhetorica ad Alexandrum writes (Rh.Al. 1425b36–40):85 συλλήβδην μὲν οὖν ἐστὶν ἐγκωμιαστικὸν εἶδος προαιρέσεων καὶ πράξεων καὶ λόγων ἐνδόξων αὔξησις καὶ μὴ προσόντων συνοικείωσις In short, the encomiastic form consists of amplification of notable resolutions and deeds and speeches, and the association of qualities that do not exist.

Secondly, on praising the subject in question for their possession of key virtues, the author of the Rhetorica ad Alexandrum suggests that ‘virtue is divided into wisdom, justice, courage, and an approved way of living’ (τὴν δ᾽ ἀρετὴν εἰς σοφίαν καὶ δικαιοσύνην καὶ ἀνδρείαν καὶ ἐπιτηδεύματα ἔνδοξα, Rh.Al. 1440b19–20). The Aristotelian treatise concurs, though the list of virtues to choose from is longer: ‘the parts of virtue are justice, courage, moderation, magnificence, magnanimity, liberality, gentleness, prudence and wisdom’ (μέρη δὲ ἀρετῆς δικαιοσύνη, ἀνδρεία, σωφροσύνη, μεγαλοπρέπεια, μεγαλοψυχία, ἐλευθεριότης, πραότης, φρόνησις, σοφία, Aristotle recommends amplification (χρηστέον δὲ καὶ τῶν αὐξητικῶν πολλοῖς, Rh. 1368a11) and allows a fair degree of latitude in the attribution of qualities (e.g., Rh. 1367a35–b8) but does not so baldly state that one ought to attribute qualities which do not exist.

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Rh. 1366b1–4). Both treatises recommend talking about noble ancestors (Rh.Al. 1440b29–41a11; Arist. Rh. 1367b34–7) and outstanding deeds (Arist. Rh. 1367b33–8), and using the technique of synkrisis (Rh.Al. 1441a27–32; Arist. Rh. 1368a21–30). Many of these features can also be found in another composition which almost certainly predates Xenophon’s Agesilaus, and that is Plato’s Symposium, in which Eros is praised in different ways by the symposiasts. It is Agathon’s Gorgianic version in particular which is of most interest in relation to the Agesilaus (194e4–7e8):86 Agathon attributes four standard virtues to Eros (justice, moderation, courage and wisdom, 196b6–7b9),87 divides Eros’ deeds from his virtues and provides a dazzling summation (197d1–e5; cf. the later advice in the Rh.Al. 1441a39–b13). Finally, echoing Isocrates (Busiris 11.4) is the comment Socrates makes immediately after Agathon’s speech (Pl. Smp. 198d3–e2): ἐγὼ μὲν γὰρ ὑπ᾽ ἀβελτερίας ᾤμην δεῖν τἀληθῆ λέγειν περὶ ἑκάστου τοῦ ἐγκωμιαζομένου, ... τὸ δὲ ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὐ τοῦτο ἦν τὸ καλῶς ἐπαινεῖν ὁτιοῦν, ἀλλὰ τὸ ὡς μέγιστα ἀνατιθέναι τῷ πράγματι καὶ ὡς κάλλιστα, ἐάν τε ᾖ οὕτως ἔχοντα ἐάν τε μή· εἰ δὲ ψευδῆ, οὐδὲν ἄρ᾽ ἦν πρᾶγμα. For I out of silliness thought that it was necessary to speak the truth about each person who was subject to encomiastic treatment, ... but now, as it seems, this is not at all what praising well means, but rather it is to attribute to the subject the greatest and most noble things possible, whether they are so or not; if they are false, it does not really matter.

That both Isocrates and Plato in these works are critiquing contemporary practice in different ways confirms further that already in the first half of the fourth century prose encomia, whatever their subject, were adopting similar structural principles and that exaggeration, misrepresentation and even fiction were all acceptable and expected in composing an encomium.88 Fiction, of course, may be easier to get away with in a paradoxical encomium than in an encomium of a contemporary figure – as 86

Plato’s Symposium is thought to have been written c. 384–379 BCE; see Dover 1984: 8–10. The similarities of Agathon’s speech to Xenophon’s Agesilaus and the advice in later handbooks have long been noted; see, e.g., Stuart 1928: 88–90 and Dover 1984: 11–12, 122–30. 87 Though these four virtues come to have a specific significance in the Platonic corpus, they are not the exclusive domain of philosophical discourse when it comes to praise; cf. Stuart 1928: 65–6, and also Whitehead 1993: 65, who shows that justice and moderation in particular are frequently found in honorary decrees and funerary monuments. 88 On these works as critiques of contemporary encomiastic writing, see Blank 2013 on Isocrates’ Busiris, and Nightingale 1995: 110–13 on Plato’s Symposium. Nightingale reads the Platonic passage as a critical response to the Isocratean passage, which depends on accepting the earlier date for the Busiris (see n. 84).

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Nightingale notes, ‘a lie, of course, must have some substance’89 – but rhetorical misrepresentation could easily gloss over unpalatable facts. So, for example, in what appears to be the earliest extant prose encomium of a historical figure, Isocrates’ Evagoras,90 though other sources report that the Cypriot king was assassinated by a eunuch because the king’s son had taken away the eunuch’s wife,91 Isocrates, in his encomium of Evagoras, records his death as follows (Evag. 9.71): ‘He lived long enough neither to miss out on his portion of old age, nor to share in the illnesses which occur at that time of life.’ While this is manifestly not a lie, it is certainly a clever evasion. While the Evagoras and Agesilaus have some significant structural differences, particularly the fact that Xenophon divides out a narrative account of Agesilaus’ deeds (Ages. 1–2) from a discussion centred on his virtues (Ages. 3–9),92 most of the basic features noted above are present in both: noble ancestors are reported (Evag. 9.12–18; Ages. 1–2); the key virtues of justice, moderation, bravery and wisdom are attributed to both (Evag. 9.22, 23, 26, 38, 43, 65; Ages. 4, 5.4–7, 6.1–3, 6.4–8);93 and there is a summary section full of antithetical statements in both (Evag. 9.43–6; Ages. 11). Further, there is no doubt that Xenophon uses credible and probable material in the encomium: the very fact that we have the two different portraits allows us to see precisely how unflattering source material can be transformed into something praiseworthy, with the incident of Agesilaus’ accession illustrating this most admirably.94 89

Nightingale 1995: 113. The compositional date of the Evagoras is generally considered to be c. 370 BCE (Mirhady and Too 2000: 139), but certainty, as Hägg 2012: 30 n. 60 notes (pointing to the detailed discussion of the problems in Mason 1975: 1–17), is difficult. Though Isocrates’ claim to be the first to write a prose encomium may be another exaggeration (cf. Evag. 9.8 with Arist. Rh. 1368a17, where it is claimed that one Hippolochus was the first recipient of an encomium; on this, see Stuart 1928: 94–6 and Momigliano 1993: 49), the likelihood is still that the Evagoras predated the Agesilaus. Pontier 2018b presents a case for Xenophon’s intertextual play with the Evagoras. 91 E.g., Arist. Pol. 5.8.1311b5–7. 92 Hägg 2012: 44 views this as Xenophon’s innovation, but of course we cannot be sure of this since we know of other lost encomia which predate this one. Further, it is not unreasonable to suggest that Xenophon might have chosen this path for ease and economy, i.e. copying with slight adaptations appropriate passages from the Hellenica to provide the narrative portion of the encomium. See Schirg and Gwynne 2015 on this type of practice in the early modern period. 93 Both are said also to be pious (Evag. 25–6, 38; Ages. 3). 94 It is to be regretted that we do not have Polybius’ encomium of the Achaean general, Philopoemen, for the sake of comparison, since Polybius’ comments on his own two portraits exemplify the difference between Xenophon’s two portraits of Agesilaus (Plb. 10.21.8): ‘For just as that work, being encomiastic, demanded a summary and an amplified narration of his deeds, so this work of history, which is impartial in allocating praise and blame, seeks a true account, complete with proof and the reasoning which accompanied each action.’ See further Humble 2020a: 305. 90

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Yet, while we can agree that Isocrates is doing his best to disguise an incident, such as Evagoras’ assassination, which reflects badly on both Evagoras and on his son Nicocles, to whom the encomium is addressed, it seems extraordinary to me that rarely is any such allowance for rhetorical manipulation made in the case of what Xenophon says about Agesilaus, despite the alternative picture, not from another source, but from Xenophon himself.95 For example, I do not think that when Xenophon writes that ‘it is precisely the things he heard while he was alive that are actually being said about him now’ (Ages. 10.3), this is simply confirmation that the encomium ‘here does not mean a one-sided eulogy but rather praise that is deserved’.96 I have no doubt that some said such things about Agesilaus while he was alive, particularly, given the deeply partisan nature of internal politics in Sparta, his close supporters, but this assertion coming directly on the heels of a summary statement which in no way represents the portrayal of Agesilaus in the Hellenica (i.e. that he took more pride in ruling himself than others and in guiding his citizens towards virtue than into war, 10.2) is surely meant to be taken with a pinch of salt, as indeed is the example above concerning Agesilaus’ supposed ‘philhellenism’. The attribution to the subject of qualities which he did not possess was standard procedure when praising someone and provides a more than adequate explanation for the contrast between the virtuous, philhellenic Agesilaus of the encomium and the ambitious practitioner of realpolitik in the Hellenica. This is not, of course, to say that Xenophon found nothing to admire about Agesilaus. Indeed, there are events narrated in the Hellenica which present Agesilaus in a favourable light but which are, nonetheless, either absent from the encomium or mentioned only in a perfunctory manner. For example, in 389 BCE Agesilaus campaigns with the Achaeans against the Acarnanians (HG 4.6.1–7.1). He pursues a policy of ravaging the Acarnanian land despite opposition from the Achaeans, and his strategy works in the end as he predicted it would, i.e. the Acarnanians sue for peace in 388 rather than have their crops destroyed for another year because their landlocked poleis cannot easily obtain supplies. The episode also shows Agesilaus dealing with light-armed troops successfully (something Spartans as a rule had difficulty with).97 The campaign does make 95

Nightingale 1995: 103 n. 34 is a rare exception in recognising this: ‘that exaggeration and distortion is the norm in encomiastic discourse can be readily glimpsed if one compares Xenophon’s rather critical handling of Agesilaus in the Hellenica to his eulogistic Agesilaus’. 96 As argued by Konstan and Walsh 2016: 30. 97 E.g., see Xenophon’s account of the massacre of the Spartan division near Lechaeum by peltasts under Iphicrates (HG 4.5.13–17).

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its way into the encomium, but it is reported in a very desultory way, with no mention at all of the land-ravaging policy and only a brief mention of Agesilaus’ use of light-armed troops (Ages. 2.20). Further, in the campaigns against Thebes in 378–377 Xenophon again reports in the Hellenica on the very capable generalship of Agesilaus in the field. He shows foresight in securing a passage north to Thebes in advance of campaigning (HG 5.4.36, 47), engages successfully in the deceit of pretending to go one way while really going another (5.4.48–9),98 and in the second campaign cleverly strikes fear into the enemy by marching not against their set battle line but against their polis, causing them to retreat back in panic (5.4.50–1). Agesilaus’ ‘good reasoning’ (καλὸν ... τὸ ἐνθύμημα, 5.4.51) on this occasion failed to have any lasting effect, however, because Alcetas, the Spartan commander who had been left as a guard behind, failed to stop the Thebans bringing in grain by sea; or rather he had initially caught and jailed the Thebans, but then lost the run of himself with a ‘very fine and noble boy’ from Oreus, and the Theban prisoners exploited ‘his negligence’ (τὴν ἀμέλειαν, HG 5.4.56–7).99 These campaigns are only briefly referred to in the encomium and no space at all is given there to the clever tactics employed by Agesilaus (Ages. 2.22). It is not difficult to ascertain a reason why Xenophon would not have taken the opportunity to report these more praiseworthy actions fully in the encomium, particularly since his encomiastic narrative of Agesilaus’ deeds after the battle of Coronea in 394 is extraordinarily thin by comparison with the potential material in the Hellenica.100 In both the examples above it is Agesilaus’ actions in the field which are being positively presented in the Hellenica while, as noted earlier, his overall political motives for the same campaigns are, at the same time, criticised. Despite their exemplary nature in terms of generalship, therefore, Xenophon was probably glossing over them in the encomium because they were linked to  98

Compare his successful use of deceit against Tissaphernes (HG 3.4.11–12). By contrast, however, this earlier episode does make it into the encomium (Ages. 1.15–17). Cartledge 1987 does not discuss Alcetas and if there had been any evidence connecting him to Agesilaus, Cartledge would undoubtedly have found it, but it is not beyond the bounds of possibility that he was one of Agesilaus’ faction. If so, then once more we may have implicit criticism of Agesilaus’ capacity to delegate capably and therefore also another example of how the fierce factionalism of Spartan politics had a detrimental effect on their capacity to govern. Cf. the comments about Peisander (pp. 226–7). 100 On the uneven weighting of events in Agesilaus’ life in the encomium, see Hirsch 1985: 45–9; Burridge 1992: 136; and Laforse 1997: 221–2. Earlier theories on why this is so border on the extravagant: the work was getting too long so Xenophon decided to bring it to an end, or Xenophon only had an imprecise knowledge of events after Coronea when he wrote the Agesilaus. Sorum 1984: 270 n. 13 summarises these and adds to them by concluding that Xenophon probably was not the author of the encomium.  99

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unfortunate political motives which he could hardly square – as he could not for many of Agesilaus’ activities in these years – with the other claims made for Agesilaus in the encomium, such as that he was a just and pious philhellene. I do not think, therefore, that it is right to regard Agesilaus as Xenophon’s hero and a figure he exempts from criticism. The Hellenica is where Xenophon’s considered opinion of Agesilaus is to be found. In the encomium Agesilaus’ career is shaped to present as positive a picture as possible as the generic conventions of encomiastic writing dictate.101

6.3  Spartans as Types In this chapter I have emphasised the negative aspects of Xenophon’s portrayal of Spartans, partly because many scholars seem still to gloss over them. But I want to return here to examine in a broader way how Xenophon’s depictions of Spartan behaviour in the Anabasis and Hellenica complement his understanding of the way the Spartan system worked, as described in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. For example, within Xenophon’s corpus no action is more representative of the internalisation of the ethos of the Spartan politeia than the willingness to fight to the death. A sense of aidôs about cowardice seems to have been virtually universally instilled, regardless of what other Spartan virtues were ignored when Spartans were removed from constant public supervision. Twice in the Hellenica Xenophon vividly depicts the reaction of the whole Spartan community to disastrous military occurrences (after Lechaeum, HG 4.5.10, and after Leuctra, 6.4.16): the relatives of those who died walk in the streets proudly; the relatives of those who lived mourn.102 Because the repercussions of cowardice were widely felt, i.e. humiliation affected not just the perpetrator but also his relatives (cf. Lac. 9.4–5), there was sufficient public pressure to ensure continued adherence to the established code of honour.103 Cleombrotus, for example, is swayed to fight at 101

What Plato has Socrates say in the Menexenus before he recites Aspasia’s funeral speech is also apposite here (234c–5a): ‘And yet, Menexenus, in many ways to die in battle may be a beautiful thing. For a man obtains a beautiful and magnificent funeral, even if he is poor when he dies, and also obtains praise, even if he is lacking in worth, from wise men who do not praise at random, but who spend much time preparing speeches, and who praise so finely that by assigning to each man both attributes he has and attributes he has not, and by somehow embellishing them most beautifully with their languages, they bewitch our souls.’ Compare also the later, but still relevant, distinctions between historical and encomiastic writing made by Polybius (see n. 94) and Lucian (How to Write History 7). 102 Powell 2001: 234, 237 discusses these passages. 103 On the intrinsic relation of aidôs to others (i.e. not just to the self ), see Williams 1993: 80–3 and Cairns 1993: 14 n. 29 for a succinct account.

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Leuctra by being reminded of the penalties for cowardice (HG 6.4.5–6). This practice of standing their ground in battle, as noted in Chapter 2.4, was part of their longstanding renown, but as many of Xenophon’s own examples show, it was, in his day, not often very productive or beneficial for the polis.104 The success rate, however, of the internalisation of aidôs in terms of showing shame before and respect for and, hence, obedience towards rulers (Lac. 2.10) – again a much-vaunted aspect of Sparta’s renown – varied widely, unsurprisingly so in a system in which stealing was encouraged and punishment meted out only to those who got caught on the grounds that they were bad thieves. Disobedience was certainly a punishable act: for example, Clearchus is condemned to death for disobeying orders (An. 2.6.4),105 and it was expected that the same fate awaited Sphodrias for his unauthorised raid on Attica (HG 5.4.23). Sphodrias escaped that fate because of the unexpected patronage of Agesilaus, and it is possible also that Dercylidas was only publicly humiliated for his indiscipline (HG 3.1.9) because he too had the support of Agesilaus. Internal factional politics may, therefore, explain why such penalties do not seem to have been applied with any regularity or have had an inhibitory effect, particularly regarding the irregular behaviour of Spartans serving in leadership roles abroad. The general pattern seems to have been something like the following: a Spartan leader is sent overseas for a specific reason; he promptly turns to fulfilling his own private agenda until he is recalled or receives further orders diverting his movements; these he obeys until he can once more redirect his energies for his own purposes. The activities of Anaxibius, Dercylidas, Lysander and Agesilaus conform very much to this pattern. This inclination for Spartans to follow their own personal agenda for as long as they could get away with it reflects not just the problem with the purely public nature of the Spartan way of life – obey in public, get away with what you can out of the public eye – but highlights further the excessively competitive nature of life for Spartan men and the encouragement of philonikia, which clash with the demand for obedience and are reflected in acts of self-aggrandisement106 and personal 104

See Chapter 4.5 for a list of examples. Exceptions seem to be the unnamed harmost who abandons the Theban citadel in 379 (HG 5.4.13), and, possibly, the polemarch at Oneum in 369 (HG 7.1.17). 105 And Xenophon reiterates at the end of his biographical sketch of Clearchus that he disliked taking orders (ἄρχεσθαι δὲ ὑπὸ ἄλλων οὐ μάλα ἐθέλειν ἐλέγετο, An. 2.6.15), having already noted that he also disobeyed Cyrus’ orders at the Battle of Cunaxa (An. 1.8.12–13). 106 Note how Xenophon presents Phoebidas’ attitude when given the opportunity to seize the Cadmea (HG 5.2.28): ‘For indeed he lusted far more for performing some glorious deed than for

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feuds which are debilitating both for the polis and, usually, for one of the participants involved (as discussed in Chapter 6.1). On a larger scale such behaviour was manifested in political factions resulting, at their worst, in complete disregard even for maintaining a public veneer of morality, as the acquittal of Sphodrias shows – an event in which Agesilaus is deeply implicated. Internalisation of other behavioural patterns caused other difficulties. For example, reproducing the premier pedagogical practice of enforcing obedience through fear of or actual physical punishment could also be problematic. The use of physical force to command obedience from allies, mercenaries and other non-Spartan troops was rarely tolerated. For example, in 406 BCE the first thought of Eteonicus in the midst of a provisioning crisis on Chios is that killing the allied troops who were going to attack Chios to get provisions might be deemed unnecessarily harsh, so instead he kills one as a threat to all the others (HG 2.1.1–5), but the allies still, quite reasonably, send a complaint to Sparta (2.1.6). In 388 BCE, the last time we glimpse Eteonicus in Xenophon’s work, it is said that ‘although he tried to compel’ the sailors under his command, they refused him because he did not pay them (HG 5.1.13). What the compulsion was is not clear, but the Spartan tendency towards force to (re-)establish obedience is clear. In 373 BCE, Mnasippus, a dreadful commander on almost every front, responded to a very reasonable request from two of his captains (for provisions which he had neglected to provide) by striking them, resulting in his army only reluctantly following him, ‘lacking spirit and hating him’ (ἀθύμως ἔχοντες καὶ μισοῦντες αὐτὸν, HG 6.2.18–19). The only commander in Xenophon’s narratives for whom it is sometimes a successful policy is Clearchus. For example, after the truce with Artaxerxes (An. 2.3.1–9), when the Persians are ostensibly leading the Greek army to find provisions, the army keeps coming across trenches and canals filled with water, which have to be bridged in order to be crossed. Explicitly prefacing the description as an example of Clearchus’ leadership style, Xenophon describes Clearchus energetically joining in the physical labour himself, with the result that it was considered shameful by the others not to join in with similar eagerness. At the same time, Clearchus also struck any man he felt was not pulling his weight. In this instance his use of physical force was tolerated and had the desired effect of making everyone work harder (An. 2.3.11–13). Earlier, living, though he did not have the reputation of being a logical or a very thoughtful individual.’ (καὶ γὰρ ἦν τοῦ λαμπρόν τι ποιῆσαι πολὺ μᾶλλον ἢ τοῦ ζῆν ἐραστής, οὐ μέντοι λογιστικός γε οὐδὲ πάνυ φρόνιμος ἐδόκει εἶναι).

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however, his initial reaction to use force to quell the mutiny at Tarsus nearly resulted in his being stoned to death (1.3.1–2), and he almost met the same fate again when he flogged one of Menon’s soldiers, who he decided had been in the wrong during an argument with one of his own men (1.5.11–13). Indeed, most of Xenophon’s biographical sketch of Clearchus concerns his use of force to gain obedience (2.6.9–14): he sometimes punished out of anger, though was sorry afterwards; he generally punished on principle, believing a soldier needed to fear (φοβεῖσθαι) his commander more than the enemy; in danger his troops thus obeyed him but would desert when the danger was past; no one followed him out of friendship and goodwill, though when they were victorious fear of punishment (τὸ τὴν παρ᾽ ἐκείνου τιμωρίαν φοβεῖσθαι) kept them confident and disciplined. It is not hard to see how Clearchus is a product of, and exports the principles of, the system described by Xenophon in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. It is common for modern scholars to speak of Xenophon’s ‘ideal’ Spartans (quite apart from Agesilaus, who stands separately and above the rest as his ‘hero’) – Callicratidas, for example, seems to be often viewed this way107 – or to say that there are typical and atypical Spartans. This type of binary classification, however, is hamstrung from the start in two ways: first, by the presumption that Xenophon admires the rigid, uncompromising characters these ‘typical’ or ‘ideal’ Spartans exhibit,108 and secondly, by oversimplifying the range of behavioural patterns that the system Xenophon has analysed in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia could produce. At the risk of continuing to oversimplify, though in a different manner, it seems to me more likely that this system could create broadly three different types of Spartan and that each type is equally typical, or rather, perhaps, it is better to say that each type can be easily explained as a product of the system Xenophon has examined. The demarcation lines between the types are, of course, fluid; nonetheless, the three categories are useful to think with. 107

Westlake 1969: 217; Anderson 1974: 70 ‘patriotic gentleman’; Ronnet 1981: 113 ‘parfait héros’ (‘perfect hero’); Cartledge 1987: 190 ‘enormously sympathetic portrayal’; Proietti 1987: 11 ‘it would be hard to conceive of a more classic portrait of a Spartan than the one Xenophon provides of Callicratidas’ (though he goes on to show that Callicratidas is not up to dealing with Lysander). Not everyone views Callicratidas positively, though. Compare Krentz 1989: 145 on 1.6.1–15: ‘an egotistical impatient commander whose public proclamations do not match his behaviour’; Higgins 1977: 10–12; Due 1987: 56–7; Gray 1989: 22–4, 81–3. Moles 1994 treads the middle ground. See also n. 34. 108 Moore 1983: 71 goes so far as to suggest that ‘it is tempting to guess that Xenophon saw the ideal Spartan as a man not unlike himself ’.

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The type traditionally spoken of as Xenophon’s ‘ideal’, therefore, is the one who has most internalised the Lycurgan system and is most unlikely to deviate from it when released from constant public supervision. Characteristic of this type are Cheirisophus and Callicratidas. The former is the epitome of an obedient, respectful Spartiate, who is in fact less destructively competitive than most of his peers, though also perhaps less capable as a leader than some of his more personally motivated contemporaries. Being good at taking directions, he lacks the initiative and creativity required to be a leader of Xenophon’s calibre. Callicratidas is less flexible: prone to spout Spartan propagandistic statements, easily drawn into strife with and by Lysander, and stubbornly attached to Spartan practice to an unhelpful degree. At the other end of the spectrum is the Spartan who has practised the required civic virtues in public at home but has in no way internalised them and so when sent abroad behaves without restraint. At its worst, therefore, the system turns out the type of Spartan Xenophon describes in 14.2–4, who, when out of the public eye, is rhadiourgia personified: lazy, greedy, disobedient and quick to grow jealous and angry (e.g., Aristarchus, Anaxibius, Mnasippus). The most successful of Xenophon’s Spartan leaders are the third type, those whose natures most closely mirror the duality of the Spartan system, i.e. those who both conform as far as possible to public expectations of virtue by showing restraint, aidôs and obedience when necessary in public, but who are also masters of deception in private and thus capable of conforming to public expectations and at the same time pursuing personal ambitions by manipulating the system and strengthening their position within it, carefully cultivating patrons and/or clients internally and abroad in order to fulfil their ambitions. Agesilaus,109 Lysander and Dercylidas are the embodiment of this type, the latter two, indeed, both enduring public humiliation in order to maintain the delicate balance between obedience to the authorities and furthering their personal ambition (in contrast to Clearchus, who does not endure being called to account but refuses to return to Sparta to face punishment).110 These are the Spartans who are most successful abroad as well as at home. 109

Though he is coming from an entirely different angle, apropos are the comments of Dillery 1995: 250: ‘the complexity of Agesilaus’ character, made up as it is of great virtues as well as real failings, not only mirrors Sparta, it actually stands in for the entire city and explains its actions’. 110 On Clearchus as ‘highly ambitious and self-interested adventurer’, see Laforse 2000: 77. Some have suggested that there was a continuing connection between Sparta and Clearchus after his exile (e.g., Lenschau 1921: 576 and Poralla and Bradford 1985: #425). This is not completely improbable, though Xenophon’s account does not encourage this point of view with its emphasis

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It is indeed worth pointing out how similar the portraits Xenophon draws of Lysander and Agesilaus in the Hellenica actually are, because of the not infrequent tendency to argue that Lysander and his faction in Sparta are implicitly being criticised in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, as if Agesilaus represented Xenophon’s ideal Spartan who cleaved to Lycurgan ways while Lysander was the dangerous outsider threatening to destroy the system.111 Both are, generally speaking, the most successful of the Spartan military commanders in Xenophon’s narratives, though arguably Lysander is the better on this front.112 Both, however, as noted in Chapter 6.1, are prone to letting anger and envy drive their decision-making, in a way that is perfectly understandable from the type of upbringing they underwent. More imperatively, both – not just Agesilaus – are aware that their public performance of conformity to austere ‘Lycurgan’ practices is key to maintaining their power and authority, and that having a strong power base among their fellow Spartiates is crucial to being free to act according to their desires outside Sparta. These points, I think, are not emphasised enough with respect to Lysander, partly because of the influence of the encomiastic portrait of Agesilaus in which Agesilaus’ adherence to ‘Lycurgan’ austerity in particular is emphasised to good effect.113 What follows, therefore, are some examples of calculated performances of conformity from both men, notably primarily at potential moments of crisis in their careers. First, at the end of the Peloponnesian War, Lysander arrived back in Sparta with an enormous amount of booty, including 470 talents left over from the money Cyrus had given him and gifts that had been both on Clearchus’ state of exile and on the fact that he was being funded by Cyrus (An. 1.1.9, 2.6.4). Nothing in Diodorus’ later account supports this view (14.19.4–5). Isocrates 8.98 and 12.104 are drawn on in support, but see Bigwood 1983: 345 n. 25, who argues that Isocrates’ information should be regarded with scepticism here. 111 Most recently Ducat 2014: 108, who concludes that the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia is ‘un éloge sans réserve de la Sparte de Lycurgue et une sévère critique de celle de Lysandre’ (‘a praise without reserve of the Sparta of Lycurgus and a severe criticism of that of Lysander’). 112 E.g., despite the fact that the Athenians did their best to lose the Peloponnesian War, it is hard to imagine that the Spartans would have won it without the shrewd generalship of Lysander, at least as far as Xenophon relates events. See Cartledge and Debnar 2006: 562 on the ‘brilliant ruthlessness’ of Lysander. 113 See, e.g., Hodkinson 1993: 169–70: ‘[Agesilaus’] austere personal life (illustrated at many points in Xenophon’s life of the king) and his deferential attitude to officials (X. Ages. 6–7; Plu. Ages. 4) seemed to restore traditional Spartan values. Unlike other commanders, he identified his career interests with those of the state ... and he was supported by those Spartiates who yearned for a return to old ways after the upheavals of recent years.’ Note that there is no reference to the Hellenica here (though there could be), there is no acknowledgement that Lysander too conformed when necessary to the interests of the polis and there is no indication of who these Spartiates were who yearned for a return to old ways.

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presented to him personally, and promptly handed everything over to the polis (HG 2.3.8–9). This very conspicuous display of obedience to the stricture forbidding the accumulation of private stores of wealth (Lac. 7) immediately distanced Lysander from those who were starting to boast openly of possessing wealth (Lac. 14).114 It will have won him some friends among those who appreciated such gestures and were worried about the effects of the availability of wealth to those who were in posts abroad,115 will have silenced – at least temporarily – some of his internal enemies, but will also undoubtedly have created envy among those who were not as capable of such self-control.116 Secondly, Xenophon shows Lysander accepting his public dressing-down from Agesilaus without complaint but with a promise instead to find some way to be of use to him (HG 3.4.7–9). Though he is mostly absent from the narrative after he secures the alliance of Sphithridates for Agesilaus (3.4.10), we know that he remains with Agesilaus because Xenophon reports that at the end of the year Lysander and the thirty Spartiates who initially went out with Agesilaus are sent home, and Herippidas and another thirty Spartiates arrive as replacements (3.4.20). Lysander publicly put up with this treatment from Agesilaus because Agesilaus’ support was crucial to him keeping his own status and power intact.117 Agesilaus’ paradigmatic performative act of conformity to Spartan practice is always said to be his obedient return to Greece in 394 BCE, partly because of the hyperbolic way Xenophon reports this in the encomium, but his situation was really no different from that of Lysander visà-vis him: the only way to keep advancing and maintain power and support within the system was for each to accept the personal setback with a public display of obedience to the higher authority of the polis. More interesting, I think, is his public performance of austerity at his 114

That he dedicated other personal gifts to sanctuaries in Athens and on Delos likewise suggests that he took care not to appear to be accumulating private wealth even when he was abroad. The performative value of such acts for the home audience would have been less, but would still have been high for his supporters abroad. See Hodkinson 2000: 346, 428–9. 115 Hodkinson 2000: 429 notes Lysander’s shrewd political tactics here. There has been much scholarship on the issue of the influx of wealth into Sparta. Prior to Hodkinson, important discussions include David 1979/80 and Cartledge 1987: 88–90 (arguing that Lysander ‘intended the money to be the initial deposit in a newly-opened imperialism account’). 116 Cf. Plutarch’s recording of the powerful posthumous effect of this gesture (Lys. 30.2), though in his version Gylippus is presented as the person who brought back the wealth to Sparta on Lysander’s command but was unable to resist the temptation to hive some off for himself (Lys. 16). 117 The sycophantic envy of the thirty Spartiates who complained to Agesilaus about Lysander can also partly be seen as jockeying for position with Agesilaus among this group; by removing Lysander from his privileged position with the new king, each of them could hope to increase his standing with Agesilaus.

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meeting with Pharnabazus in 395 BCE (HG 4.1.29–31), which was surely more for the benefit of the thirty Spartiates with him than for Pharnabazus, to show that he is not being swayed (as, for example, Pausanias had been many years prior, Th. 1.130) by the barbarian way of life.118 Among the various examples of Agesilaus cultivating his power base internally so that he is free to act as he wants – and it needs to be remembered that he might not have been king without Lysander’s help or support – is his masterful neutralising in 378 BCE of the faction of his co-king, Cleombrotus, by helping to secure the acquittal of Cleombrotus’ man Sphodrias, who was on trial for his life for having enacted a raid upon the Peiraeus at the very time when Spartan ambassadors (including one of Agesilaus’ men) were in Athens on a diplomatic mission (HG 5.4.20–33). As Cartledge notes, ‘by acquitting Sphodrias he [Agesilaus] had placed his fellow-king and a leading member of his circle under a deep personal obligation to himself ’.119 That the acquittal of Sphodrias was roundly condemned outside of Sparta (5.4.24) was clearly of less importance to Agesilaus than the opportunity to strengthen his position internally in Sparta, since the acquittal sent the Athenians straight into the arms of the Thebans (5.4.34). There is little disagreement about the fact that Agesilaus played a key role in Sphodrias’ acquittal, but there is considerable reluctance to concede that Xenophon acknowledges this in his text.120 This has always struck me as an odd reaction to the text, and perhaps based more on trying to maintain the fiction that Agesilaus can do no wrong in Xenophon’s eyes than anything else. As Tuplin notes, ‘the story stops ... with Agesilaus’ personal decision that it would be “difficult” to execute Sphodrias’, and the reader is drawn naturally to the same conclusion as is Cleonymus, i.e. that Agesilaus will support the acquittal of his father.121 If Xenophon had not wanted Agesilaus to be implicated, he would have done better to have left him out of the narrative of the proceedings altogether. 118

Cartledge 1987: 97–8 draws an interesting picture of Agesilaus pushing aside and stepping into the shoes of his mentor Lysander but succeeding where Lysander did not ‘behind a smokescreen of humble devotion to the laws of Lykourgos’. I think, however, that both of them successfully hid behind Lycurgan laws but Agesilaus, as king, had the more powerful pulpit from which to do so. 119 Cartledge 1987: 137, and see further 136–8 and 156–9 for Cartledge’s acute analysis of this episode, though he does not allow that Xenophon sees what is going on. 120 In this camp, e.g., as well as Cartledge (see previous note), is Gray 1989: 62 (whose argument that the episode is meant to show that it is not unjust to acquit a man who has only committed one wrong deed ignores the wider political picture). 121 Tuplin 1993: 126–8.

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I point out the similarities in Xenophon’s portraits of these two men, which have both positive and negative features, because I think that it is difficult to conclude from the Hellenica that Xenophon was any more pro- or anti-Lysander than he was pro- or anti-Agesilaus. This observation is important, I think, because in addition to the general tendency to see the figure of Agesilaus behind the text of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, some lean towards reading Xenophon’s treatise as a document feeding into internal constitutional wrangling in Sparta. Two possible scenarios exist. Either it might have been directed against the shadowy pamphlet of Pausanias, if it even existed,122 and about which there is not even agreement about its slant – either that it was concerning (περὶ) Lycurgan practices or against (κατὰ) Lycurgan practices123 – in either case directed against the opposing royal house to which both Lycurgus and Agesilaus belonged, the Eurypontids.124 It has also been proposed that it was written in response to Lysander’s attempt either to abolish the kingship (on Aristotle’s evidence, Pol. 1301b19–21) or to open it up enough to get himself elected (on Plutarch’s evidence, Lys. 24.2–26, 30.3–4).125 Lipka, for example, suggests that what he sees as Xenophon’s attempt in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia ‘to make the Spartan kingship a Lycurgan institution’ could be in response to Lysander’s plotting.126 If it was a response, it almost certainly came after Lysander was dead. Agesilaus at this period would still probably have been concerned to secure his grip on the 122

The only real evidence is Strabo 8.5.5, which is a paraphrase of some Ephoran material (FGrH 70 F 118): ‘Pausanias, having been driven out by the other [royal] family, the Eurypontids, in exile composed a discourse against (κατὰ) the laws of Lycurgus, who belonged to the family which had deposed him, in which he also recounts the oracles which were given to him, contrary to the eulogies of most people’ (trans. van Wees 1999: 14). Van Wees 1999: 14–19 argues for the existence of this document, but the majority argue that it never existed. 123 Arguing that it was against the Lycurgan laws (i.e. keeping κατὰ, the received text) are, e.g., van Wees 1999: 14–15 and Ducat 2006a: 42–4; arguing that it was concerning them (whether emending to περὶ or not) are, e.g., David 1979b and Cartledge 1987: 163. 124 A few scholars have proposed this as a possible scenario: e.g., Bianco 1996: 24; van Wees 1999: 18; and Ducat 2006a: 45. On the potential implications of the existence of this pamphlet for Xenophon’s comments on the ephors, see Chapter 4.4 n. 55 and Chapter 7.1.2 n. 26. 125 Plutarch’s version seems to go back to Ephorus. He has Lysander, upon returning to Sparta in 395 BCE, plotting to devise a way to open up the kingship either to other Heraclid families, or all Spartiates (Lys. 24.4–5). Some time after Lysander’s death, when Agesilaus was back in Sparta, Agesilaus discovered ‘a speech on the constitution’ (ὁ περὶ τῆς πολιτείας λόγος, Plu. Lys. 30.3) in Lysander’s house after the latter’s death, written apparently by the otherwise unknown Cleon of Halicarnassus (Lys. 30.3, with 25.1). On this speech, which never saw the light of day (Plu. Lys. 30.4), see Boring 1979: 50–2; Cartledge 1987: 94–7; and most particularly Powell 2010: 121–5. 126 Lipka 2002: 23, 36, though this holds only if the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia is viewed as a work of praise. In the end, however, Lipka 2002: 13 rejects the idea that the work was directed at a Spartan audience.

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kingship,127 having returned after a few years abroad to an environment in which his co-king Pausanias had been exiled, and he may not have been able to rely upon former supporters of Lysander, hence – the argument runs – his suppression of the speech (Plu. Lys. 30.4). There is nothing, however, in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia under the reading which I have just presented, which is fundamentally opposed to Lysander’s proposal. Xenophon, in fact, by the very placement of the section on the powers and honours of the kings in wartime (Lac. 13) holds these up for criticism – none of the Lycurgan practices described prior to Lac. 14 are guaranteed to be in place or followed. Further, the compact between the king and the polis and the honours given the kings at home and after death (Lac. 15) are hardly incompatible with the idea of opening up the kingship to a wider group. In the end, therefore, there is also nothing in the treatise which explicitly links it to Agesilaus – except a desire to believe that Agesilaus really was Xenophon’s model of, in Cawkwell’s translation of Ages. 1.1, ‘a completely good man’. Across his corpus, therefore, Xenophon casts a consistently ambivalent and critical eye over the Spartan polis and individual Spartans. Further, he does so in a comprehensive manner, in the sense that he appears very much to be keeping in mind his assessment of the weaknesses of the Spartan politeia when he is portraying present-day Spartans in action, so much so that we might be forgiven for suspecting him of manipulating historical events not to favour the Spartans, as he is so often represented as doing, but to support his own philosophical enquiry in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia to their detriment. 127

Powell 2010: 127.

chapter

7

Xenophon, Plato and Isocrates

If the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia is not a work of praise then, but one of philosophical enquiry, as argued, examining the practices which, upon investigation, seemed to Xenophon to be the key factors contributing to Sparta’s great power and renown but which at the same time also were deeply problematic, particularly with respect to their restricted nature and to the punitive ways in which compliance to them was ensured, it follows that Xenophon in no way considers some past version of the Spartan politeia as ideal.1 Obedience to the laws of Lycurgus may have brought Sparta eudaimonia (in the form of great power and renown) and this may indeed be something to wonder at, but the framing of the work as a philosophical enquiry, along with the dialogic elements and the narrative patterns (which clearly show the problematic nature of the Lycurgan practices), encourages the unseen audience to question the material at every stage. Further, investigation of how Xenophon depicts Spartans in his Hellenica and Anabasis shows both that individual Spartans on the historical stage do not generally, in his view, acquit themselves particularly well, and, more importantly, that they appear to be readily identifiable products of the politeia Xenophon describes in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. In addition, the analysis in the previous chapter has shown that Agesilaus in particular is not exempt from Xenophon’s critical eye. It follows, therefore, from the analysis so far that Xenophon could not have written the treatise in order to recommend Spartan ways to others (either Athenian laconophiles, disillusioned Spartans, or Greeks more widely) or in order to support Agesilaus in an internal battle on constitutional matters, or to act as Agesilaus’ amanuensis to promote traditional Lycurgan ways. Why, then, did he write it? This is not, of course, a question that can be answered definitively, but I would like to 1

Contra Atack 2018c: 182, who reads it as the work of an Athenian laconophile promoting the ideal past of Sparta ‘as an exemplum of an alternative political system and culture’.

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suggest a different scenario from those currently on offer, one which ties in with the general framework I proposed for Xenophon’s literary project in Chapter 1.5 and which also helps to explain further and support the reading I have just presented, in Chapters 3 to 5, of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia as analytical and critical rather than as praise. I argued in Chapter 1 that Xenophon ought to be viewed first and foremost as a Socratic, that his Anabasis is his own Socratic self-examination of the pivotal events in his life which led to an unforeseen exile from Athens under the patronage of the hegemonic power of the day, Sparta, and that his whole literary project is fundamentally philosophical and intended to be beneficial in a Socratic sense, i.e. to lead others, among other paths, to mindful civic engagement through close analyses of the ethics of such engagement from every imaginable angle. I suggested that his literary project was a consequence of the way events unfolded after his flippant rejection of Socrates’ advice about participating in the expedition with Cyrus and in some ways, therefore, a substitute for what can plausibly be postulated as his original goal at that time: participation in Athenian political life.2 I also noted that we can see across his corpus, no matter what generic framework he chooses to compose in, evidence of his adaptation of the pedagogical techniques which we see Socrates using3 to encourage his interlocutors towards philosophical reflection. These include the use of specific rhetoric to signal philosophical enquiry, tailoring the topic to suit the interlocutor, and the use of dialectic and other tools to encourage the active engagement necessary for the acquisition of (self-)knowledge. While direct conversation was the ideal way to go about philosophising, the Socratics were able to find ways to adapt Socrates’ practice to the written word, and we see plenty of evidence of this even in works that are not so obviously dialogic in form, such as the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. Indeed, Xenophon’s wide-ranging literary experimentation, I think, shows how seriously he took the idea that different audiences required different approaches. He does not, however, always make clear who his target audience for each work is, and he certainly gives no explicit indication in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia on this point. But I think that there is some good evidence that his initial audience for this treatise was not just Athenian but first and foremost the intellectual circle of the Socratics. This is a big 2

Whether he would have taken to literary experimentation if he had stayed in Athens, as his fellow Socratic, Critias, did, is impossible to tell. 3 At least those we can see across Xenophon’s and Plato’s Sokratikoi logoi.

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claim given that in general we are, as is so often the case, dependent on the actual literary works for trying to reconstruct the intellectual conversations behind them and the only extant complete works of this intellectual circle are those of Plato and Xenophon.4 Nonetheless, there are some arguments which can be made in favour of this scenario.

7.1  Xenophon and Plato There is, of course, as noted in Chapter 1.2 already, no agreement about what sort of relationship existed between Plato and Xenophon. As a general rule Xenophon’s status as a thinker has long suffered from comparison with his contemporary Plato on virtually every imaginable level. This state of affairs has resulted in a tendency to avoid examining whether or not the two authors were engaged in dialogue with each other. If the possibility of dialogue is mentioned at all it is generally in such a way as to reflect negatively on Xenophon: (1) he is viewed as insufficiently intellectual for Plato, et al., to engage with, and/or (2) any similarities between his works and those of other Socratics are regarded as semi-plagiarism on the part of Xenophon because he is incapable of original thought, and/or (3) his works are alluded to by Plato infrequently and only indirectly and negatively.5 Though partial impetus for these views can be found in Imperial-era authors, these late sources, if not drawing on one another, are certainly using a common source which itself seems to be drawing, as we do, simply on the writings of the two men, and there is little agreement among them or among interpreters of this evidence. But if we start instead by assuming that Xenophon actually was sufficiently intellectual for Plato and others to engage with, that similarities in their works might actually be the result of mutually stimulating and beneficial dialogue rather than plagiarism or antagonism, and that the lack of direct allusion to one another is of no consequence because they were well aware of when their ideas were being engaged with without the need for the type of signposting we wish they had provided, then a different picture emerges. Indeed, recent work has explored in greater detail and with suggestions of greater complexity some of the ways in which implicit responses are 4

Johnson 2018b: passim, and especially 81–3, is a salutary reminder of the problems in reconstructing the literary conversations of the Socratics when we are missing so much of the literature, but his article also suggests that if we read closely we can catch all sorts of signals that such a conversation existed. 5 See Kahn 1996: 29–31 and his Appendix 1 for expression of all these viewpoints.

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made by Plato and Xenophon to each other’s work. For the most part the conversation is still regarded as one of rivalry and primarily one-sided, i.e. that Xenophon is responding to Plato rather than the other way around.6 Danzig, however, has proposed a more elaborate, two-way conversation between the two Socratics,7 and although he still regards the conversation as antagonistic, his work is a good reminder that we should not regard Xenophon as writing in isolation on his estate in the NW Peloponnese. If he is engaging with the ideas of others, notably Plato, there is no good reason – modern prejudices about Xenophon’s limited intellectual capacity aside – why others, including Plato, should not be engaging with his. It is important to recall again here the following: (1) that the title of Plato’s Republic is actually Politeia; (2) that the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, even though on a far smaller scale than the Republic, is also a hybrid text combining philosophical enquiry and politeia literature;8 (3) that examining or theorising about the types of practices civic communities put in place to construct, educate and constrain conditions of citizenship is of interest among the Socratic circle; and (4) that composing politeia literature using Sparta as a point of departure seems also to have been of particular interest among the Socratics (see p. 87). The focus here will be primarily, though not exclusively, on Plato’s Republic and Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia for reasons laid out below, and I am going to argue that Xenophon and Plato are not only in dialogue about the inner workings of the Spartan polis, i.e. its politeia, but also that they are in close agreement about both the key strengths and weaknesses of Spartan practices and the reasons for her collapse. I will end with a brief comparison also to Isocrates’ comments on Sparta to suggest not only that he too can be seen to be engaging with Xenophon’s treatise in the way in which I have argued it ought to be read, but also that there are enough differences between his assessment of Sparta and that of the 6

See, e.g., Vander Waerdt 1993 on their respective Apologies with a short section on the Symposia too, in each case arguing that Xenophon ‘undertakes to respond to Plato’s portrayal in the light of his own understanding of Socratic philosophy’. Dorion 2003a and Danzig 2003 examine the one passage, Laws 3.694c–696b, in which Plato is deemed to respond – critically – to Xenophon’s Cyropaedia. See also Chapter 1.2, p. 7. 7 Danzig 2005 on their respective Symposia, and Danzig 2014 on their respective portraits of Critias. And see also now Tuplin 2018, who argues that Plato engages seriously, rather than in rivalry, with certain aspects of Xenophon’s presentation of Persia, and Atack 2018a, who argues in a different way that Xenophon and Plato participate in a shared discourse. 8 Schofield 2006: 35 speculates on the overall message of the Republic in the following way: ‘it is only by undertaking the politeia project that we will come to appreciate the importance of philosophy for the good city and for the happiness of the individual’.

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two Socratics to add weight to the suggestion that Xenophon’s primary audience, indeed his prime intellectual affiliation, was the Socratic circle. 7.1.1  Reconstructing a Dialogue: Difficulties There are several difficulties which need to be kept in mind in undertaking the proposed comparison, one of which concerns the respective intentions of the two writers when examining Sparta. For example, Plato does not devote any of his works specifically to Sparta, whereas Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia is a focused investigation about how Sparta came to be so powerful and so renowned. Certainly many features of Plato’s ideal state in the Republic bear resemblances to Spartan practices, but Sparta is only explicitly mentioned once before the discussion of the different regimes in Book 8,9 at which point Plato has Socrates note that the first regime to degenerate from the ideal aristocratic politeia which has just been created in speech with Glaucon and Adeimantus ‘is that which is praised by many, the Cretan and this one closer to home, the Laconian’ (ἥ τε ὑπὸ τῶν πολλῶν ἐπαινουμένη, ἡ Κρητική τε καὶ Λακωνικὴ αὕτη, 8.544c).10 He then has to invent a name for this type of regime, timocracy or timarchy, because it does not easily fit into one of the three other categories in his schema, but in doing so he is clearly keeping in mind ‘the need of his overall project for an analogue of the rule of the spirited element in the soul’.11 Plato’s main aim in the Republic is not to assess or critique Spartan practices, nor to give a history of the development and demise of the Spartan politeia,12 but these need not be excluded as subsidiary aims, particularly when they mirror other discussions. If, therefore, there are details which emerge in the account of the  9

R. 5.452c–d, where the Spartans are said to have been the next after the Cretans to begin exercising naked. 10 Xenophon went one step further in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, with ironic exaggeration, by saying that not merely ‘many’ but ‘all’ praise Spartan practices (Lac. 10.8; see Chapter 4.7). Isocrates’ statement in the Panathenaicus that ‘many praise the polis of the Spartiates moderately but some make mention of her as though demigods ruled there’ (τὴν [πόλιν] Σπαρτιατῶν ἣν οἱ μὲν πολλοὶ μετρίως ἐπαινοῦσιν, ἔνιοι δέ τινες ὥσπερ τῶν ἡμιθέων ἐκεῖ πεπολιτευμένων μέμνηνται, Panath. 12.41), has been viewed by some (e.g., Eucken 1982: 68) as a dig at Plato, who, in the Laws, refers to an unnamed (but assumed to be Lycurgus) Spartan lawgiver ‘in whom nature mingled with divine power’ (Lg. 3.691e). This may be so, but discussion of Lycurgus’ ambiguous status as human or divine goes back to the Delphic oracle reported by Herodotus (1.65.3). See n. 21 for bibliography which takes a closer look at the evidence for different kinds of laconophilia. 11 Schofield 2006: 131 n. 10. Menn 2005: 13–14 is less convinced about the centrality of the analogy of parts of the soul. 12 See, e.g., Shorey’s sensible comments on the limitations of regarding this material as intentional constitutional history (1935: 2.xlv–vi).

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timocratic regime and man which bear an uncanny similarity to those we find in Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, this should give us pause. Is Plato engaging with other contemporary assessments of Sparta? Is Xenophon in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia engaging with more theoretical speculation about Spartan-like regimes? Might his engagement even be on a more theoretical than historical level, particularly since the rhetorical structure of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia so clearly signals philosophic intention and since his depictions of Spartans in his more overtly historiographical works seem to be completely understandable products of the Spartan politeia as he presents it? This last question, in particular, is not negligible, since historical Sparta is nearly as hard to pin down as the historical Socrates. Just as Socrates left no writings, so we have no extant writings from a Spartan hand during the Classical period (though we know some existed)13 and so can only reconstruct Sparta through the eyes of outsiders. Plato and Xenophon both knew Socrates at his peak and outlived him to write about him after his death; they both also knew Sparta at her peak and outlived her period of hegemony, writing about her both during her peak and after her fall. It is frequently argued that Plato was closer to Socrates than Xenophon; whether or not this is true, certainly all the evidence suggests that Xenophon had a closer acquaintance with the Spartans than Plato did. The difficulty of regarding Plato’s comments on the timarchic regime and man in the Republic as his considered view, at the time, of Sparta or indeed as helpful for reconstructing the inner workings of ancient Sparta is, for the most part, acknowledged. Should we be applying the same caveat to Xenophon’s speculations about Sparta? Certainly Xenophon makes clear that the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia is indeed his considered view on the matter of how the Spartans became so powerful, but it makes a difference to how we read the details about Spartan practices if we believe that the broader context is a dialogue with other Athenian (Socratic) intellectuals about the nature of Spartan power, or that Xenophon is little more than an amanuensis for the Spartan king, Agesilaus, who is pushing his own agenda internally in Sparta. Because we do not have a baseline for any sort of comparison, we are justified, I think, in wondering whether, if there are uncanny resemblances between Xenophon’s and Plato’s analyses, these similarities are about historical Sparta or about the 13

E.g., in the early fourth century from the hands of Thibron (Arist. Pol. 1333b18), and possibly also Pausanias and Lysander, though there is much scholarly controversy around the treatises purported to have been written by the latter two (see Chapter 6.3 nn. 122 and 124).

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philosophical appropriation of the same. For while it is clear that appropriations of Sparta for philosophical purposes must bear some resemblance to reality, how much licence, literary or philosophical, is taken is perhaps not as disputed a point as it should be, particularly when the work of Xenophon is under scrutiny. I do not think we can resolve this difficulty definitively, but it is worth keeping it in mind. Who is responding to whom is also not easily apparent. Plato and Xenophon are exact contemporaries,14 but the dating of the works of both is a vexatious issue. The paucity of direct references to each other means that we must resort to speculation, through close readings of their texts, to try to determine whether they are engaged in some sort of dialogue with one another. There will be little disagreement in placing Plato’s Republic before his Laws, and in considering the latter a late (possibly the last) work of Plato, 15 and indeed in placing Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia prior to Plato’s Laws. But the relative chronology of the Republic and Lacedaimoniôn Politeia is much more difficult to ascertain. Because of the difficulty in securely dating both works,16 we are not in a position to assert definitively from that angle a potential line of influence, although worry about precise chronology may be a red herring anyway since it has rightly been pointed out that the ideas in the Republic must have been in discussion both in and outside of the Academy long before the work was ‘published’, 17 and the rhetorical structure of Xenophon’s work, which seems to be replicating either his own thought process or conversations with others,18 suggests a similar scenario. As 14

It is interesting, however, how often discussion of their respective contributions to our knowledge about Classical Sparta does not reflect this. The preference for grouping Plato with Aristotle is based undoubtedly upon the traditional reluctance to categorise Xenophon as a philosopher. Thus, for example, in her magisterial work on the Spartan tradition, Rawson (1969) deals with Xenophon in her chapter on the fourth century, but saves serious discussion of Platonic views until her fifth chapter ‘Plato and Aristotle’; likewise, Hodkinson 2000: 30–1 characterises Plato and Aristotle alone as the ‘most serious fourth-century analysts of Spartan society’. His further comment that ‘they share a critical attitude towards both the tendency to eulogize Sparta and the approach which treated her fourth-century failings as the product of recent corruption’ I would extend to include Xenophon as well, as indeed Hodkinson himself does in a later article (2005). 15 Theories about the relative dating of these two Platonic works all go back to Aristotle’s Politics; on which, see Bobonich 2010: 1. 16 Though there are problems dating the Republic within Plato’s own corpus, it is generally considered a work of the mid-370s (see recently Emlyn-Jones and Preddy 2013: x). There is next to no agreement, however, as noted in Chapter 2.2.3, on when to date Xenophon’s work. I still favour somewhat the period 394–371 BCE (which I argued for in Humble 2004a). While I acknowledge that such certainty for a terminus ante quem is difficult, one possible (and my favoured) conclusion suggested in this chapter, i.e. that Plato was cognisant of Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia when he wrote the Republic, would support my suggested dating range. 17 See the brief survey of views in Emlyn-Jones and Preddy 2013: xi–xiii. 18 See Humble 2014, the discussion in Chapters 3 to 5, as well as Humble 2018b: 582–3.

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things stand, therefore, it behoves us to examine the matter both ways: either that the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia might be a response to the first degenerate regime and man in the Republic, or that the analysis in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia might be informing Plato’s presentation of the timarchic regime. The final difficulty to keep in mind concerns the fact that there is no agreement as to the degree of regard in which each held Sparta. It can hardly be surprising that Athenian intellectuals, whether or not they were somewhat disillusioned with their own government, would in the early fourth century BCE be wondering about the nature of the Spartan politeia.19 As noted in Chapter 2.4, its longevity and stability had long been remarked upon, and Sparta’s position as hegemon in the Greek world, particularly after defeating Athens in the Peloponnesian War, would naturally have led to enquiry into how such a state of affairs arose, perhaps even more so once Sparta started more openly and systematically bullying other poleis after the King’s Peace in 387 BCE – Xenophon himself marks this out as a turning point in Sparta’s style of leadership (HG 5.2.1). Indeed, there is plenty of evidence that many in Athens admired Sparta at some level, and various modes of laconism have been detected: social laconism (manifested primarily by external appearance),20 pragmatic-political laconism (as practised by oligarchically leaning politicians such as Critias; cf. Arist. Pol. 1288b39–9a2), political-theoretical laconism (as found in more philosophical writings) and nostalgic laconism (as found in the writings of those who had not lived through the Peloponnesian War).21 But even within these categories there are gradations, so that while it might be agreed generally that both Xenophon and Plato ought to be regarded as political-theoretical laconophiles, the majority would certainly regard Plato as a more critical evaluator of Sparta than Xenophon. But if, as I have argued in the previous chapters, it is a mistake to regard Xenophon as uncritical about Sparta, it is necessary to re-evaluate his stance also vis-à-vis that of Plato. There is, however, not complete agreement on the level of Plato’s laconophilia. Consider, for 19

Or, more generally even, that the historical circumstances they lived through influenced and indeed determined the way in which they analysed politeiai. See, e.g., Hitz 2010: 104, who argues that the analysis of the degenerating regimes in the Republic is Plato’s response to the ‘historical conditions of his youth’. 20 Epitomised by the mocking of Aristophanes, e.g., Birds 1280–3. See Sommerstein 1987: 283 on line 1281 for further references; and Harvey 1994 for an overview of things Spartan in Aristophanes. 21 The language of these categories is taken directly from Hodkinson 2005: 222–5, who himself expanded slightly the categories proposed in Cartledge 1999: 313–14. See also Fisher 1994 and Humble 2018c: 60–1. See also n. 10, and Chapter 4.7.

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example, the passage in the Protagoras where Plato has Socrates, just before expounding on a poem of Simonides, make the claim that the Spartans (and Cretans) are the most philosophic of all Greeks (342a–343c). There is no consensus on the degree of Plato’s seriousness here. The passage is obviously a response to Protagoras’ earlier eulogy of sophistry (316b–317e), but whether it has at its base ‘a serious belief in Spartan good sense’, or is seriously equating laconic speech with philosophical training,22 or alternatively ‘is a superlative example of how one can cleverly make a strong case out of a weak, even ridiculous, case’, i.e. that the Spartans are philosophers,23 is more difficult to ascertain. And it is clear that different views reveal also the many different ways scholars approach the passage depending on their own interests.24 The following analysis, therefore, will take as its starting assumption that both Plato and Xenophon admired some features of Sparta’s way of life, which to them seemed quite clearly superior to the state of affairs in their native Athens, but that both also found much to criticise in Spartan practices, not least the way in which these practices were established and maintained, and that neither would ever have considered themselves anything other than Athenian in orientation.25 The question is: are they in conversation with one another about Sparta as a political and/or ethical model? 7.1.2  The Tyrannical Ephors Though I am going to focus on the relationship, or ‘dialogue’, between Plato’s Republic and Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, I want to start with an example which I think clearly shows Plato, in the Laws, picking 22

The first view is that of Rawson 1969: 62, the second that of Ducat 2006a: 52–3. Ducat points out that Plutarch took Plato’s argument here seriously at Lyc. 19–20, but this fact is not secure evidence that Plato meant it seriously. Cf. also Seung 1996: 82, who brings in as support the fact that Sparta (along with Crete) is held up as an example of the politeia closest in nature to the ideal in the Republic, and the fact that in the Laws a Cretan and Spartan are the interlocutors in another dialogue about politeia (Lg. 625a). 23 Arieti and Barrus 2010: 30; cf. Lampert 2010: 90–1. De Brasi 2013: 62–81 likewise regards the apparent praise as ironic. Compare also the difficulty in interpreting the tone of Crito 52e; on which, see Chapter 2.4 and nn. 157 and 159 there. 24 Compare, too, the Hippias Major. Whether or not it is genuinely Platonic, it again shows Socrates being made to hold up Spartan practices in order to bring a sophist down (282b–286a). How far this can be read as revealing Platonic approval of things Spartan is again open to interpretation. See Chapter 2.4 with n. 158 there. 25 This assessment is not infrequently made of Plato’s approach to Sparta (e.g., see Irwin 1992: 62), but is equally valid, as I hope the previous chapters have demonstrated, for describing Xenophon’s. Cf. De Brasi 2013: 235, who leans in this direction too.

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up on an image first found in Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, the striking metaphor of the tyrannical ephors (Lac. 8.4): τοσαύτην δὲ ἔχοντες δύναμιν οὐχ ὥσπερ αἱ ἄλλαι πόλεις ἐῶσι τοὺς αἱρεθέντας ἀεὶ ἄρχειν τὸ ἔτος ὅπως ἂν βούλωνται, ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ οἱ τύραννοι καὶ οἱ ἐν τοῖς γυμνικοῖς ἀγῶσιν ἐπιστάται, ἤν τινα αἰσθάνωνται παρανομοῦντά τι, εὐθὺς παραχρῆμα κολάζουσι. Having such great power, however, they do not, as the other poleis do, allow those who have been elected for the whole year always to rule however they wish, but like tyrants and overseers at gymnastic contests, if they perceive that anyone is transgressing the law in any way, they punish him immediately on the spot.

There are only two other places where this image is employed.26 First, Plato uses the same metaphor in the Laws, placing it in the mouth of Spartan interlocutor, Megillus (Lg. 4.712d):27 καὶ μὴν ξυννοῶν γε, ὦ ξένε, τὴν ἐν Λακεδαίμονι πολιτείαν οὐκ ἔχω σοι φράζειν οὕτως ἥντινα προσαγορεύειν αὐτὴν δεῖ. καὶ γὰρ τυραννίδι δοκεῖ μοι προσεοικέναι· τὸ γὰρ τῶν ἐφόρων θαυμαστὸν ὡς τυραννικὸν ἐν αὐτῇ γέγονε. καί τοι ἐνίοτέ μοι φαίνεται πασῶν τῶν πόλεων δημοκρατουμένῃ μάλιστ᾽ ἐοικέναι. And besides, Stranger, when I reflect upon the politeia in Sparta, I am not able to declare to you thus by what name one ought to call it. For it seems to me to resemble a tyranny, since the position of the ephors in it is amazingly tyrannical. And yet sometimes it appears to me to be, of all poleis, most similar to a democracy.

Plato actually says very little about the ephorate in terms of further defining it. Xenophon, on the other hand, clearly stated why he deemed it tyrannical: ephors could fine whomever they chose on the spot, deprive magistrates of office, imprison them and even indict them on a capital charge (Lac. 8.4), and as already argued, the clear narrative pattern in this 26

It is, of course, possible that we are simply missing other references to tyrannical ephors. For example, Pausanias may have referred to the ephors as tyrannical in his bid to abolish that magistracy (Arist. Pol. 1301b20–1), which according to Aristotle seems to have been part and parcel of his desire to make himself sole ruler (Pol. 1307a3–5) – despite the fact that Pausanias was able to reestablish democracy in Athens because he won over enough ephors to his point of view (X. HG 2.4.29). But if this is the case, very interestingly it would place Xenophon squarely in line with the camp opposing Agesilaus, which is quite contrary to the usual view. On Pausanias and his pamphlet, see Chapter 4.4 n. 55 and Chapter 6.3. 27 Plato never refers to the Spartan ephors in any work other than the Laws. Their tyrannical nature, for example, is not given as part of the reason the timocratic regime collapses in the Republic (where Plato primarily focuses on social not political structures in the account of how regimes degenerate). It is not, in fact, set forth as a direct reason why Sparta collapses in Xenophon either.

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section of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia confirms that this magistracy works, in Xenophon’s view, like many other institutions in Sparta in that it was set up to compel obedience to the laws by means of fear (see Chapter 4.4).28 The other occurrence is in Aristotle: ‘and since the office [the ephorate] was too great and equal to a tyranny, the kings too were compelled to curry favour with them’ (καὶ διὰ τὸ τὴν ἀρχὴν εἶναι λίαν μεγάλην καὶ ἰσοτύραννον δημαγωγεῖν αὐτοὺς ἠναγκάζοντο καὶ οἱ βασιλεῖς, Pol. 1270b14–15).29 Because Xenophon does not refer to the ephorate as tyrannical in the context of a discussion about how to define Sparta’s constitution (in the strict sense of how to categorise its system of governing offices) as Plato and Aristotle do, his contribution – even if it amounts only to a particular way of viewing the ephorate, i.e. as tyrannical – has received less attention than it deserves.30 Yet if he is – barring missing references – the source of the very idea that the ephorate was tyrannical in nature, then neither Plato nor Aristotle is essentially disagreeing with or correcting his assessment, even though both also present a view which suggests that in other lights the ephorate could be viewed as a democratic feature.31 What they are doing, I suggest, is agreeing with and taking Xenophon’s observation on board in order to appropriate it for their own more specific musings about types of constitutions (as opposed to politeiai).32 28

Nafissi 1991: 61 n. 129 thinks that Xenophon does not mean ‘tyrannical’ to be negative, in line with Bordes 1982: 195, on the grounds that Xenophon wishes to suggest that the ‘tyranny of the ephors is in fact that of the laws’. Richer 1998: 496–7, on the other hand, argues that it does have negative connotations because of the contrast with what Xenophon says about the kings at Lac. 15.8 (i.e. that Lycurgus wanted to avoid tyrannical pride in the kings), but this interpretation is closely linked to Richer’s belief that Xenophon favours the kings because of his friendship with Agesilaus; Richer also views Plato’s mention of the tyrannical ephorate simply as an essential piece in the government. By contrast, I would argue that both Xenophon and Plato are using ‘tyrannical’ as a negative trait in the context of the ephorate. 29 This is only a small portion of Aristotle’s criticism of the ephorate; see further Pol. 1270b7–36. 30 E.g., Richer 1998: 496–8, where Xenophon is not mentioned again after his evidence is presented. Hodkinson 2005: 240, by contrast, does suggest that Xenophon ‘may be the origin of the association of the ephorate and tyranny found later in Plato and Aristotle’. 31 Whether or not the Platonic passage above can be read in support of this, there is certainly an earlier passage in the Laws in which Plato presents an aspect of the ephorate which is more democratic in nature (Lg. 3.692a): ‘Then your third saviour, seeing the government still acting insolently and fuming against you, threw upon it, as a sort of bridle, the power of the ephors, bringing it near to power bestowed by lot.’ (ὁ δὲ τρίτος σωτὴρ ὑμῖν ἔτι σπαργῶσαν καὶ θυμουμένην τὴν ἀρχὴν ὁρῶν, οἷον ψάλιον ἐνέβαλεν αὐτῇ τὴν τῶν ἐφόρων δύναμιν, ἐγγὺς τῆς κληρωτῆς ἀγαγὼν δυνάμεως.) Their democratic nature comes from the fact that they are elected by lot (as implied here in Plato and confirmed in Aristotle – ὄντες οἱ τυχόντες, Pol. 1270b29 – who also notes that the office gives the dêmos the feeling of having a share in running the polis, 1270b19). 32 Much is made of the fact that Xenophon attributes the ephorate to Lycurgus, while Plato and Aristotle see it as a later addition (cf. the previous note along with Arist. Pol. 1313a19–34, where King Theopompus is specified as the one who established the ephorate). Xenophon is deemed, on

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As already noted it is not possible to be certain whether Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia was in circulation prior to Plato’s Republic or vice versa, but in order to facilitate the comparison I am going to set out first passages from Plato’s analysis of the timocratic regime in the Republic (8.544c–550c), followed by passages from Xenophon, without meaning to imply priority one way or another at this point, but simply because the Platonic account is much more condensed. Further, since Plato divides up the attributes of the timocratic state first according to the features which resemble his best regime, then to those which are unique to itself, and then to those which resemble the next worst regime, oligarchy, I will follow that order of discussion below also. Some of the points of comparison are definitely peculiar to Xenophon and Plato; others are widespread; others still, though widely commented on, are noted in a singular fashion in Xenophon, Plato or sometimes both. It is at locating and attempting to explain the more unusual confluences that the following survey is aimed. At the start of his exposition of the degeneration of politeiai Plato explicitly notes that he needs a name for the first degenerate regime, which resembles the Spartan and Cretan politeiai (8.544c, 545a), and he decides to name this politeia after what he considers is its principal characteristic, ‘love of honour’ (8.545b): καὶ νῦν οὕτω πρῶτον μὲν τὴν φιλότιμον σκεπτέον πολιτείαν· ὄνομα γὰρ οὐκ ἔχω λεγόμενον ἄλλο· ἢ τιμοκρατίαν ἢ τιμαρχίαν αὐτὴν κλητέον. So now we must consider first the politeia which loves honour. Since I do not have any other name for it, it must be called either timocracy or timarchy.

The three underlined terms make no appearance at all in Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia,33 but I will come back to note some of the conceptual similarities found in this work at the end of the basic comparison when Plato returns again to this point. the whole, to be naïve and overly anxious to attribute everything to Lycurgus. This is, however, both to take Xenophon’s use of Lycurgus too literally (see Chapter 2.2.2) and to be somewhat careless in reading his text, which is slightly more complex: it is ‘the strongest men in the polis’ (τοὺς κρατίστους τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει, Lac. 8.1; cf. Lac. 8.5 also) along with Lycurgus who establish this office in order to secure the obedience of the rest of the citizens. In Herodotus 1.65 and in the (pseudo-)Platonic Epistle 8.354b–c, the establishment of the ephorate is attributed to Lycurgus (even though the letter is quite clearly following Lg. 3.692 in all other respects). 33 In fact, they appear rarely in descriptions of Spartans in Xenophon in general. The notable exception is in the Agesilaus (10.4), where the king is called φιλοτιμότατος.

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Plato’s timocracy is said to have the following attributes in common with the best regime already set out previously in the work (8.547d): οὐκοῦν τῷ μὲν τιμᾶν τοὺς ἄρχοντας καὶ γεωργιῶν ἀπέχεσθαι τὸ προπολεμοῦν αὐτῆς καὶ χειροτεχνιῶν καὶ τοῦ ἄλλου χρηματισμοῦ, ξυσσίτια δὲ κατεσκευάσθαι καὶ γυμναστικῆς τε καὶ τῆς τοῦ πολέμου ἀγωνίας ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, πᾶσι τοῖς τοιούτοις τὴν προτέραν μιμήσεται; Accordingly, on the one hand, in honouring its rulers and in having its warrior class abstain from farming and handicrafts and other moneymaking pursuits, and, on the other hand, in the establishment of syssitia and the cultivation of exercise and contests of war, in all such things will it imitate the previous politeia?

None of these points would make a contemporary Athenian raise his eyebrows – they are all, in one way or another, part of the standard portrait of Sparta – and all can be found in some form in Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. The first, that rulers were honoured in Sparta, is a fairly generic statement. It ties into many aspects of the Spartan image, including obedience to the laws and the stability of the Spartan politeia. But if we take the statement more narrowly, indeed literally, it is worth observing that Xenophon does use τιμάω and its cognates exclusively of two of the ruling groups in Sparta: the Council of Elders (Lac. 10.2: old age is more honoured (ἐντιμότερον) than youthful strength because this Council tries capital cases) and the kings (at 13.1 he says that he will set out the power and honour (τιμὴν) Lycurgus gave the kings on campaign, and conversely at 15.8 he sums up by saying that he has set out the honours (τιμαὶ) given to the kings at home in their lifetime, which include honouring (ἐτίμησεν) them with a double portion of food so that they in turn can honour (τιμῆσαι) someone of their choosing). Regarding the activities in which full Spartiates are not allowed to engage, Xenophon’s list is remarkably similar to that of Plato (Lac. 7.1–2): ἐν μὲν γὰρ δήπου ταῖς ἄλλαις πόλεσι πάντες χρηματίζονται ὅσον δύνανται· ὁ μὲν γὰρ γεωργεῖ, ὁ δὲ ναυκληρεῖ, ὁ δ᾽ ἐμπορεύεται, οἱ δὲ καὶ ἀπὸ τεχνῶν τρέφονται· ἐν δὲ τῇ Σπάρτῃ ὁ Λυκοῦργος τοῖς ἐλευθέροις τῶν μὲν ἀμφὶ χρηματισμὸν ἀπεῖπε μηδενὸς ἅπτεσθαι, ὅσα δὲ ἐλευθερίαν ταῖς πόλεσι παρασκευάζει, ταῦτα ἔταξε μόνα ἔργα αὑτῶν νομίζειν. For in the other poleis, of course, everyone makes as much money as possible. For one man is a farmer, another is a ship owner, another a merchant, and others are actually maintained by crafts. In Sparta, on the other hand, Lycurgus forbade free men from engaging in any of the matters concerning moneymaking, but all the sort of things which bring freedom to the poleis, these tasks alone he ordered them to consider as their own.

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In addition to Plato’s farming and handicrafts Xenophon has shipowning and mercantile activity and he is slightly firmer in noting that Lycurgus forbade moneymaking as opposed to the formulation in Plato that Spartans keep away from moneymaking. On the other hand, the idea that Spartan citizens were to devote themselves to military matters rather than trades is somewhat more strongly stressed in the Platonic passage, but that is partly also because in Lac. 7 Xenophon’s point is to reveal that the desire for wealth was not actually suppressed despite further, more direct types of legislation instituted for that purpose. Isocrates, too, comments on the avoidance of banausic activity in the citizen classes in Sparta and links it to military activity. In his Busiris he notes (in comparing Egyptian and Spartan ways) that no citizen fit for military life ‘spends his time in other crafts but turns his mind to weapons and campaigning’ (μηδ᾽ ἐπὶ ταῖς ἄλλαις τέχναις διατρίβειν, ἀλλὰ τοῖς ὅπλοις καὶ ταῖς στρατείαις προσέχειν τὸν νοῦν, Bus. 11.18). While the thought confirms contemporary Athenian understanding of Spartan practice, Isocrates’ whole formulation here is more akin in substance, language and context (i.e. the comparison with things Egyptian) to that found in Herodotus (2.166–7), who, after noting that those belonging to the Egyptian warrior class are forbidden to follow any craft (τέχνην) and have an exclusively military training, remarks that almost all people place craftsmen (τοὺς τὰς τέχνας μανθάνοντας) on a lower social rank than those who do no manual work or those trained for war; all the Greeks, but especially the Spartans, he says, hold this view. If Niall Livingstone is correct that Isocrates had the Republic in front of him when composing the Busiris,34 Isocrates did not choose to echo closely the formulation of this principle as it was found in Plato and Xenophon.35 That common messes were a distinctive element of Spartan life had long been observed, and not infrequently they were also linked to military practice: Herodotus, for example, had noted them as one of Lycurgus’ innovations (1.65.5), and lists them among other military 34

The date of the Busiris is debated (see Chapter 6.2 n. 84). Livingstone 2001: 40–56 argues that it postdates, and in some senses parodies, Plato’s Republic. Murphy 2013: 340 concurs with Livingstone. 35 It is interesting, however, in view of the argument at the end of the current chapter, that in his much later Panathenaicus (342–339 BCE) Isocrates says that the Spartans ‘neglected agriculture and the crafts’ (ἀμελήσαντες γεωργιῶν καὶ τεχνῶν) in order to devote themselves to warfare so as to engage in wars of conquest (12.46). With the addition of farming the formulation is now slightly closer to that of Xenophon and Plato, though the action is deemed one of neglect rather than a directive to avoid or a prohibition. On this, see further Humble 2018c: 65–7. For a brief survey of Isocrates’ employment of different opinions on Sparta in different rhetorical situations, see Livingstone 2001: 141.

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innovations which he says Lycurgus put in place. Indeed, earlier in the Republic and not in a Spartan context, when the common messes are first mooted, Plato articulated their link to military life (3.416e): ‘coming together regularly into syssitia to live together in common just as those on campaign do’ (φοιτῶντας δὲ εἰς ξυσσίτια ὥσπερ ἐστρατοπεδευμένους κοινῇ ζῆν). Xenophon neatly expresses the military link simply by introducing them in Lac. 5 as syskênia and elsewhere using cognates of that term to refer to those who dine in them together, but military practice is not his emphasis when examining them, and comparison with Plato helps to illuminate this. Plato’s reasoning for establishing common messes in his best regime is, not surprisingly, positive: they are set up in order to free the warrior class from having to provide for their needs so that they can devote themselves to the larger body of citizens that they are guarding. Though Plato is not talking about Spartan practice at this juncture, and, therefore, direct comparison with why the common messes were set up in Sparta is not strictly reasonable, it is instructive to note that in Xenophon’s account the motivation is considerably less positive: Xenophon states that they are set up to prevent negative behaviour, ‘slacking’, rather than to promote positive behaviour (Lac. 5.2).36 Finally, that the Spartans were devoted to physical exercise and war was a standard trope and it is no surprise that we also find examples of this devotion in Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. While endurance and obedience are more central in the section describing the education of boys, stealing food is meant to make them ‘more warlike’ (Lac. 2.7). Xenophon also notes that men were required to work out in the gymnasium regularly and were supervised while doing this (Lac. 5.8–9), and comments on the superiority of Lycurgus’ arrangements for organising the army on campaign, including provisioning, manoeuvres and methods of encampment, and the role of the kings on campaign (Lac. 11–13; see further, pp. 262–3). In terms of these first points, then, whether or not their inspiration came from Sparta directly or elsewhere,37 there is nothing on the surface that would trouble anyone as a description of Sparta. Plato next turns to certain features which he considers unique to the timocratic regime (8.547e–548a): 36

As are other regulations; cf. Lac. 2.2 and 4.4. See also the discussion in Chapter 4.1 on the common messes. On features of the Republic’s ideal state which could be Spartan but which could refer to other things too, see Rawson 1969: 63.

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Xenophon, Plato and Isocrates τῷ δέ γε φοβεῖσθαι τοὺς σοφοὺς ἐπὶ τὰς ἀρχὰς ἄγειν ... ἐπὶ δὲ θυμοειδεῖς τε καὶ ἁπλουστέρους ἀποκλίνειν, τοὺς πρὸς πόλεμον μᾶλλον πεφυκότας ἢ πρὸς εἰρήνην, καὶ τοὺς περὶ ταῦτα δόλους τε καὶ μηχανὰς ἐντίμως ἔχειν, καὶ πολεμοῦσα τὸν ἀεὶ χρόνον διάγειν, αὐτὴ ἑαυτῆς αὖ τὰ πολλὰ τῶν τοιούτων ἴδια ἕξει; In its fear to allow wise men to hold office ... and its propensity to lean towards high-spirited and less complex men, more suited by nature for war than for peace, and its honouring the tricks and contrivances connected with these things, and its full-time pursuit of war, will it be idiosyncratic in most of these arrangements?

Asserting that the Spartans had a propensity towards things military, again, would hardly have surprised anyone – since the time of Croesus, according to Herodotus (cf. 1.56–69), the Spartans had a reputation for military superiority, hence the awarding of overall leadership to them in the Persian Wars.38 Plato, however, is certainly not regarding it as a wholly positive characteristic in this passage, and Xenophon in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia concurs. Fully one quarter of Xenophon’s treatise deals with military matters, if we count section 9 on the measures for ensuring preferring a good death, along with sections 11 on preparations and manoeuvres, section 12 on encampment and section 13 on the role of the kings in war, and at every stage Xenophon reveals the limitations and weaknesses of the various practices. In section 9 the clear message is that preferring a good death to a shameful life is brought about through fear of punishing social exclusion; in section 11 the description of the military preparations highlights the superficiality of the masking of social status among the troops, and the detailed description of standard manoeuvres serves only to invite questioning about how the Spartans cope in non-standard situations; in section 12 the safety precautions directed at friends and others inside the encampment engender unease; and in section 13 the powers and honours allocated to the kings on campaign are a strange mixture of superficial (since a king is well supervised) and potentially damaging (since a king could also potentially subvert the system with some careful planning). The two summary comments within the last two of these sections bear highlighting again. First, the conclusion to section 12 (Lac. 12.7): ὅτι δὲ πολλὰ γράφω, οὐ δεῖ θαυμάζειν· ἥκιστα γὰρ Λακεδαιμονίοις εὕροι ἄν τις παραλελειμμένα ἐν τοῖς στρατιωτικοῖς ὅσα δεῖ ἐπιμελείας. 38

Cf. Th. 1.18.2; on this aspect of their reputation, see further Chapter 2.4.

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And that I am writing a great deal, one should not wonder at, for anyone would discover that the least number of things requiring care have been overlooked by the Lacedaemonians in military matters.

Secondly, after setting forth the elaborate procedures involving the way sacrifices are conducted out on campaign, Xenophon remarks (Lac. 13.5): ὥστε ὁρῶν ταῦτα ἡγήσαιο ἂν τοὺς μὲν ἄλλους αὐτοσχεδιαστὰς εἶναι τῶν στρατιωτικῶν, Λακεδαιμονίους δὲ μόνους τῷ ὄντι τεχνίτας τῶν πολεμικῶν. Consequently, observing these things you might hold that whereas others are improvisers in military matters, the Lacedaemonians alone are craftsmen in matters of war.

These are strong statements and not made by Xenophon about any other aspect of Spartan life. Out of context they appear rather positive, but they are far from unqualified praise. In the first instance, while the majority of the measures show good foresight, regarding general points about levying and encamping, the majority of the measures in sections 11 and 12 are put in place both to integrate superficially and to guard against ‘friends’, i.e. other members of the Spartan polis: perioikoi, hypomeiones, neodamodeis, nothoi, mothakes, helots and all the subclasses. And by his method of presentation, Xenophon at the same time has questioned the efficacy of these measures. In the second instance, ‘improvisation’ is presented as a negative quality in comparison with ‘being craftsmen’, but again the surrounding discussion shows that this statement just serves to demonstrate that actually the positive aspects of having a highly regulated Spartan system need to be balanced against the negative side which discouraged improvisation and innovation. There are Xenophontic parallels too for some of the smaller details in the Platonic passage above, though not directly regarding spiritedness (θυμός and its cognates). But this, more than anything else, is a reflection of the influence of the Platonic view of the soul on the overarching framework shaping Plato’s vision in the Republic, in the sense that the timarchic regime/man is seen as the clear, and undesirable, ascendancy of the spirited part of the soul. In other respects, however, Xenophon is drawing a similar picture of a society of men ‘more suited by nature for war’ and ‘honouring the tricks and contrivances connected with these things’. For example, encouraging the boys in the practice of stealing (which required being deceptive and using spies, among other things) is meant to make them ‘more capable of contriving to get provisions … and more warlike’ (μηχανικωτέρους τῶν ἐπιτηδείων … καὶ πολεμικωτέρους,

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Lac. 2.7); and young men who have not been chosen to be part of the 300 are at war (πολεμοῦσι) with those who have been chosen and always spying on them to try to catch them slacking (Lac. 4.4). If those who are most successful in this war are most valued, they will be the ones who eventually end up in positions of authority. As a rule Xenophon does not say much about the qualifications for ruling other than that the competition for a position on the Council of Elders is concerned with the virtue of the soul. On the face of it, this appears a positive sort of contest, but if we consider what is meant by virtue (ἀρετή) within the confines of Xenophon’s own description of the Spartan system and how only the public practice of virtue is required (Lac. 10.4–8), then it follows that ‘high-spirited and less complex’ men were indeed the sort who would end up in positions of authority such as the Council of Elders. Plato’s examination of the features characteristic of the timarchic regime closes with an account of how it resembles the next worse regime, oligarchy. While excessive focus on the military is the key feature of his timarchic regime and itself a point of degradation from the best regime, the cause of further degradation comes from a corresponding excessive desire for wealth, a desire which becomes the key feature of Plato’s oligarchic regime, based as it is on the open pursuit of wealth. Further, Plato explicitly links unbridled desire for wealth with the education system (8.548a–c): ἐπιθυμηταὶ δέ γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, χρημάτων οἱ τοιοῦτοι ἔσονται, ὥσπερ οἱ ἐν ταῖς ὀλιγαρχίαις, καὶ τιμῶντες ἀγρίως ὑπὸ σκότου χρυσόν τε καὶ ἄργυρον, ἅτε κεκτημένοι ταμιεῖα καὶ οἰκείους θησαυρούς, οἷ θέμενοι ἂν αὐτὰ κρύψειαν, καὶ αὖ περιβόλους οἰκήσεων, ἀτεχνῶς νεοττιὰς ἰδίας, ἐν αἷς ἀναλίσκοντες γύναιξί τε καὶ οἷς ἐθέλοιεν ἄλλοις πολλὰ ἂν δαπανῷντο. ᾽Αληθέστατα, ἔφη. Οὐκοῦν καὶ φειδωλοὶ χρημάτων, ἅτε τιμῶντες καὶ οὐ φανερῶς κτώμενοι, φιλαναλωταὶ δὲ ἀλλοτρίων δι᾽ ἐπιθυμίαν, καὶ λάθρᾳ τὰς ἡδονὰς καρπούμενοι, ὥσπερ παῖδες πατέρα τὸν νόμον ἀποδιδράσκοντες, οὐχ ὑπὸ πειθοῦς ἀλλ᾽ ὑπὸ βίας πεπαιδευμένοι διὰ τὸ τῆς ἀληθινῆς Μούσης τῆς μετὰ λόγων τε καὶ φιλοσοφίας ἠμεληκέναι καὶ πρεσβυτέρως γυμναστικὴν μουσικῆς τετιμηκέναι. Such men, I said, will be desirous of wealth, like those in oligarchies, and will fiercely honour gold and silver in secret, seeing that they possess treasuries and private strong-rooms in which to place and hide these, within the protecting walls of their houses,39 literally private nests in which they 39

This phrase, ‘within the protecting walls of their houses’, I have taken from Rowe’s (2012) translation as it seems to render the thought best.

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can make great and lavish expenditure on their women and any others they want. – Most true, he said. – And will they not be miserly about money since they honour it and do not possess it openly, but prodigal of others’ wealth because of their desire, enjoying their pleasures in secret, just like boys from a father, running away from the law, since they have been educated not by persuasion but by force, through neglecting the true Muse, the Muse of reason and philosophy, and through valuing gymnastics over music?

Xenophon’s Spartans also desire wealth and hoard gold and silver in their homes secretly. This observation comes at the end of the section of the text which starts by pointing out the prohibition on moneymaking (Lac. 7). A question is posed (7.3): how could money be an object of serious pursuit there when Lycurgus insisted on equal contributions of food and a similar standard of living for all? In answer to two hypothetical objections, namely that clothing and spending money on messmates might cause one to covet money, answers are given, namely that fitness is more admired than fancy clothing and toiling with one’s body worth more to one’s messmates than spending money on them (7.3–4). There must, however, be other reasons for coveting money since Xenophon proceeds to note measures put in place to prevent unjust moneymaking: making money too bulky to hoard and instituting searches for hidden caches of gold and silver (7.5–6). He then asks why moneymaking would be taken seriously when the pain of its possession outweighs the joy of its use (7.6). The rhetorical structure of the whole passage leaves us in no doubt that Xenophon is at one with Plato on this front: wealth was coveted in Sparta and was accumulated illegally.40 Xenophon does not, like Plato, actually ever say what this wealth might be used for (such as pleasing women and others within the confines of the home), only what it was not used for. Just as secret coveting of wealth in the timocratic regime degrades to open pursuit of wealth in the oligarchic regime, so too does secret coveting of wealth degrade to open flaunting of wealth in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia (Lac. 14.3): ‘Also I know that previously they were afraid to be seen with gold, but now there are those who take pride in its possession.’41 Indeed in this one section in which Xenophon describes 40

This assessment also surfaces in Plato Alcibiades 1 (122d–123a), illustrated there, with beautiful irony, by one of Aesop’s fables. Denyer 2001: 14–26 argues for the authenticity of this dialogue (as does Johnson 2003: xiv n. 7) and would place it tentatively at least in the 360s or later (see under ‘dating’ in his index). 41 De Brasi 2013: 143 compares R. 548a–c with Lac. 14.3, but misses the crucial parallel with the earlier passage, Lac. 7. Likewise do Denyer 2001: 185–6 (who reads Lac. 7.5–8.1 as Xenophon saying

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what happens when the Spartans depart from following their ancestral (Lycurgan) ways, the emphasis is all on the desire to possess wealth openly and without penalty. Since punishment results from being seen with this wealth, living abroad is desired (and Xenophon reiterates this point, 14.2 and 14.4). This desire to possess wealth openly leads to a corresponding desire to rule without being worthy of ruling and consequently the rejection by others of the Spartans as hegemon (14.5–6) – a hegemony they won in the first place through their renown (political stability) and power (military superiority). Being prodigal of others’ wealth is not a point Xenophon makes directly,42 though we might connect the strong desire among Spartans to serve abroad as harmosts and willingly expose themselves to flattery (Lac. 14.2, 4) as indicative of this tendency. By living abroad, at any rate, they are certainly ‘just like boys from a father, running away from the law’. But whether or not we want to see any connection on that point, Xenophon’s whole treatise certainly confirms the next point: that force of one sort or another, not persuasion, was the dominant means of education and the reason that the Spartans secretly coveted wealth. For example, consider the opening of the section on educating boys (Lac. 2.2): ὁ δὲ Λυκοῦργος ... ἄνδρα ἐπέστησε κρατεῖν αὐτῶν ἐξ ὧνπερ αἱ μέγισται ἀρχαὶ καθίστανται, ὃς δὴ καὶ παιδονόμος καλεῖται. τοῦτον δὲ κύριον ἐποίησε καὶ ἀθροίζειν τοὺς παῖδας καὶ ἐπισκοποῦντα, εἴ τις ῥᾳδιουργοίη, ἰσχυρῶς κολάζειν. ἔδωκε δ᾽ αὐτῷ καὶ τῶν ἡβώντων μαστιγοφόρους, ὅπως τιμωροῖεν ὅτε δέοι, ὥστε πολλὴν μὲν αἰδῶ, πολλὴν δὲ πειθὼ ἐκεῖ συμπαρεῖναι.

that the Spartans ‘scrupulously obeyed the ban’); Menn 2005: 31; and Recco 2007: 149–50. Menn does take note of Lac. 7, but because he is starting from the assumption that Xenophon’s work, barring Lac. 14, is wholly positive, he can only conclude that Lac. 7 is an ‘implicit’ admission on the part of Xenophon of the failure of Spartan education because ‘Xenophon finds nothing wrong in the ideals themselves’. Overall, Menn is more apt to gloss Xenophon’s points about Sparta to suggest a stronger parallel with Plato’s ideal polis than with the timarchy. For example, he argues that ‘both in Xenophon and in Plato the children of the elite are not left under the control of their parents but live collectively and are subject to a common state education’ (2005: 28). In Xenophon’s Sparta children certainly had ‘a common state education’ under the control of a paidonomos (Lac. 2.2) and virtually anyone was allowed to inflict punishment upon them (Lac. 2.2; 2.10–11; 6.2), but there is absolutely no suggestion that they lived collectively, and indeed quite a bit of evidence that loyalty to one’s oikos was strong (e.g., Lac. 1.9 shows concerns about the wealth of each oikos, and 6.3 quite clearly states that the sharing of servants, hunting dogs and horses was done with deference to their owners). 42 It is an image found, however, in the later works of Isocrates, who is probably drawing his rhetoric in this regard from Plato: compare ‘desire for the wealth of others’ (ἐπιθυμίας δὲ τῶν ἀλλοτρίων, Isoc. On the Peace 8.96) to ‘prodigal of others’ wealth because of their desire’ (φιλαναλωταὶ δὲ ἀλλοτρίων δι᾽ ἐπιθυμίαν, Plato R. 8.548b).

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Lycurgus, on the other hand, ... appointed a man to rule over them from among those for whom the greatest offices have been established, who indeed is actually called the paidonomos. He gave this man authority both to gather the boys and, as he was watching over them, to punish them harshly, if any were to be slacking. He gave to this man also whip-bearers from among the young men in order to exact due punishment whenever necessary. The result is that a great deal of shame and respect and a great deal of obedience are present together there.

What slacking entails and details about when or for what it might be necessary to punish boys are not noted. The main point is that obedience and shame are instilled through constant supervision and fear of punishment. 43 This pattern is repeated throughout the discussion of the upbringing and daily life of male citizens, though the mode of punishment varies: for example, unspecified punishment (Lac. 2.10, 10.6), beatings (2.8, 6.2), exclusion from ‘good things’ (τὰ καλά, 3.3), fines (or other penalties) (4.6, 7.6, 8.4, 10.5), social exclusion (9.4–5). A useful point of comparison here is Thucydides. The idea that a harsh education system, the aim of which was primarily military in focus and worked at instilling courage, contributed to Spartan military superiority was put by Thucydides into the mouths of both Archidamus and Pericles (Th. 1.84 and 2.39 respectively), but there was nothing fundamentally negative about this assessment (whether we are to view it as Thucydides’ own or not): such a focus was not viewed as a precursor of failure but as a predictor of success.44 The view from Xenophon and Plato, however, is different: both see the harsh aspect and restricted focus of the education system as contributing to decline, as the following shows. Plato’s account of the timocratic regime concludes first with a remark by Glaucon – that the regime seems a mixture of good and evil – and then with the following comment by Socrates (8.548c): ‘But the most obvious feature in it is one thing and one thing alone, due to the predominance of the high-spirited element, namely competitiveness and ambition’ (διαφανέστατον δ᾽ ἐν αὐτῇ ἐστὶν ἕν τι μόνον ὑπὸ τοῦ θυμοειδοῦς κρατοῦντος, φιλονικίαι καὶ φιλοτιμίαι).45 Plato has here come 43

Ducat 2006a: 6–7 is mindful that this type of rhetoric can hardly be described as eulogistic (as it frequently is) and so argues that Xenophon is here defending the aspects of Spartan education that were deemed the worst by outsiders. 44 Ducat 2006a: 40 notes that these are positive views of Spartan education, but Thucydides, of course, died long before Sparta lost her hegemony and so he was not engaged in wondering, as Xenophon and Plato were, how Sparta fell from power. 45 The translation of φιλονικίαι καὶ φιλοτιμίαι varies greatly. I have used Waterfield’s (1993) translation of the terms because he has chosen English terms which can be used both positively and

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full circle: philotimia was precisely why he suggested the terms ‘timarchy’ or ‘timocracy’ for this type of regime (8.544b). Of these terms only φιλονικία is to be found, once, in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia and then not even directly of the Spartans. This is not to say, however, that Xenophon did not view Spartan society as incredibly competitive – indeed I have argued throughout that he viewed their politeia as encouraging a negative form of civic competitiveness and that this caused massive problems, particularly when it came to Spartan behaviour abroad (see particularly Chapters 5.5 and 6.1) – but his presentation of this fact is singular. Consider the passage in which philonikia is actually mentioned (Lac. 4.2): ὁρῶν οὖν, οἷς ἂν μάλιστα φιλονικία ἐγγένηται, τούτων καὶ χοροὺς ἀξιακροατοτάτους γιγνομένους καὶ γυμνικοὺς ἀγῶνας ἀξιοθεατοτάτους, ἐνόμιζεν, εἰ καὶ τοὺς ἡβῶντας συμβάλλοι εἰς ἔριν περὶ ἀρετῆς, οὕτως ἂν καὶ τούτους ἐπὶ πλεῖστον ἀφικνεῖσθαι ἀνδραγαθίας. Observing, therefore, that of those in whom philonikia was particularly inbred, both their choruses were most worth hearing and their athletic contests were most worth watching, he believed that if he could actually engage the young men with one another in strife over virtue, in this way they would also arrive at the highest degree of bravery.

This ‘strife over virtue’ will be the result of the choosing of the 300, when those who are not chosen are at war with those who are chosen, leading to them constantly fighting one another (Lac. 4.3–6). This is a particularly bleak picture of what philonikia can produce and it is made bleaker by drawing on the negative image of strife from Hesiod (Op. 11–26), rather than on the positive, and by concluding the discussion by noting that it was so difficult to separate young men sparring in the street that heavy penalties had to be handed out to those who could not restrain themselves, out of anger, from continuing to fight after being ordered to stop. It is notable, too, that the penalties for cowardice are recounted in detail rather than the honours attained for bravery (Lac. 9). Fear of negatively in the same way that the Greek terms can. Compare the more positive translation of Bloom (1968), ‘love of victories and honours’, and the more negative translation of Shorey (1935), ‘contentiousness and covetousness of honour’; Rowe (2012) with ‘coming out on top and being honoured’ and Emlyn-Jones and Preddy (2013) with ‘contentiousness and ambition’ are somewhat in between. It is, I think, hard to capture Plato’s meaning here. The Greek terms can be used in positive and negative senses, and I think Plato intended both the more positive and more negative aspects of the words to have force, the more positive because this is, after all, the second-best regime, the more negative in that the regime is already one removed from the best regime. Cf. the comments of Sheppard 2009: 129. Craig 1996: 77–8 follows a different line altogether, arguing that philonikia is positive and self-sufficient whereas philotimia is negative and self-regarding.

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punishment rather than love of honour is the main motivating factor in Xenophon’s Sparta. He does not so frame it, but his Sparta appears more as a φοβοκρατία than a τιμοκρατία, i.e. governed by fear rather than honour.46 7.1.4  Who is Reading Whom? What particularly stands out in the above survey is that both Plato and Xenophon see the following strikingly new additions to the standard images about Spartan practices as distinctly characteristic of Spartan society: employment of an education system which is lacking in certain areas (Plato is explicit in this regard – reason, philosophy and music – Xenophon implicit, in that he does not say what is not taught) and which uses force rather than persuasion as its prime pedagogical tool, and thus quite manifestly on both fronts fails to lead its citizens to internalise virtuous behaviour, which in turn leads to them lusting after wealth in private. Further, they both agree that a sign of the regime’s degradation is that this covert desire for wealth turns to open pursuit of wealth. It is difficult, therefore, not to ask whether or not there is a dialogue of some sort going on here.47 Three scenarios present themselves as possibilities in terms of lines of influence. One scenario, of course, is that these points had been bandied about in Socratic circles much earlier and are now turning up coincidentally in the works of both men because they suit their respective literary and philosophical purposes. It is not difficult to imagine discussions with Socrates about the best way to inculcate virtue focusing on imitation and persuasion rather than on force (since, for example, throughout Xenophon’s corpus – Socratic and non-Socratic works alike – the former are the preferred means of educating others) and, given Socrates’ very public display of his own poverty, the pitfalls of excessive desire for wealth can hardly 46

Vandiver 2014 argues that philotimia, and indeed a defence of it, is central to Xenophon’s political discourse in his Cyropaedia, and that the defence is made through engagement with Plato’s Republic. If Vandiver’s (not unproblematic) assessment is deemed correct, it would make it even more striking – at least from the point of view of those who regard the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia as a work of praise – that Xenophon does not engage with this concept there. 47 Hodkinson 2005: 251 also notes that Plato echoes Xenophon on these points. Thus even though determining lines of influence was not his aim, his analysis shows that looking at this material in other ways still reveals the striking similarity between what Plato says about the timarchic regime in the Republic and what Xenophon says about Sparta in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. Rahe 2016: 30–1, building partly on the work of those who have seen Xenophon as critical of Sparta in various ways (see his p. 161 n. 78 which includes Hodkinson 2005), has, therefore, no problem stating that ‘Plato agreed wholeheartedly with his fellow Socratic’.

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have escaped discussion either, regardless of whether any specific Spartan practice entered the picture.48 That a more positive view of Spartan education is presented in what are possibly earlier works by Plato (for example, the Protagoras) is inconclusive in terms of disproving this notion, since it is not clear how far the positive presentation is dependent upon the need to show Socrates demolishing and/or satirising his opponents’ arguments. The second scenario is that Xenophon had Plato’s Republic in front of him as he was writing his Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. The situation is, of course, not quite the same as that which we find in the case of the two Apologiai and Symposia where form and purpose are mirrored much more closely and where the portrayal of Socrates is the bone of contention, but since the relationship is generally regarded as antagonistic and corrective how would that work in this case? Is Xenophon setting out in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia to correct Plato’s analysis of the positive and negative features of the timarchic regime?49 If he is, he can only be doing so to show that things in Sparta are not as positive as the description of the timarchic regime suggests. For example, Plato says that rulers (τοὺς ἄρχοντας) in the timarchic regime were honoured. Xenophon’s assessment of rulers in Sparta (ephors, Council of Elders and the kings) is not quite the same. The ephors are not said to be honoured, and their power comes from fear of their tyrannical status (Lac. 8.3–4). Of the Council of Elders it is certainly noted that old age is more honoured than youthful strength, but the reason for this is that these particular elders have been given the right to try capital cases (Lac. 10.2). This honouring, therefore, amounts to little more than fearing.50 The kings are the only rulers in

48

Old education in Aristophanes Clouds (961–1023) may also be meant to recall, in certain aspects, Spartan education. There, too, corporal punishment makes an appearance, but trying to tie that to Sparta specifically is difficult, since corporal punishment was hardly unknown in Athens (see Chapter 3.3). 49 This is not an unreasonable line to consider, given that the treatise has significant intertextual credentials, as argued in the previous chapters: (1) with Critias on Spartan drinking and symposiastic practices (cf. Lac. 5.4–6 with Critias D-K 88(81) B6 = Athen. 10.432d–433b), which I argued Xenophon undertook with a corrective impulse (see Chapter 4.1); (2) with Hesiod’s two kinds of strife (Op. 11–26) in the discussion of consequences of the competition among young men to gain a position in the 300 (Lac. 4.3–6; see Chapter 3.5); and (3) with Herodotus on, among other issues, Spartan kings (cf. Lac. 13, 15 with Hdt. 6.56–58), again probably with a corrective impulse, though not in as combative a spirit as that with which Xenophon engaged Critias’ work; see Chapters 5.4 and 5.6. 50 A point which tempers the vaunted honouring of elders in Sparta, an idea which certainly had a wider pedigree and is found elsewhere in Xenophon (e.g., Lac. 9.5; also Mem. 3.5.15, where it is used to criticise Athenian practice).

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Sparta in Xenophon’s work who are explicitly accorded honours (in war, at home, and after death; Lac. 13 and 15). Concerning abstention from moneymaking, as noted (p. 259) Xenophon and Plato are remarkably close in their formulation. Xenophon could, however, be correcting Plato in pointing out that moneymaking was forbidden rather than just to be kept away from, and it is possible to imagine his longer list of occupations to be eschewed as a sort of pedantic improvement on Plato’s. Concerning the common messes, if Xenophon’s explanation for why Lycurgus established them is intended as a corrective response, it must be to point out that the institution, like so much else Lycurgus established, was not, in fact, set up for so positive a reason as that which Plato proposes for his best regime, i.e. to promote and enhance the capacity of the guardians to carry out their duties on behalf of those they are charged with protecting. Rather, common messes were established in Sparta, in Xenophon’s view, to prevent negative behaviour, ‘slacking’, keeping citizens in the public eye more often in order to improve their levels of obedience. Likewise, Xenophon’s avoidance of the terms philotimos and timocracy/timarchy could be read again as a point of disagreement, a corrective response, to say that Plato’s assessment once more is too generous (on the understanding that the timarchic regime is the second-best regime and that these terms must be meant to be viewed in some part, at least, as positive in the context of Plato’s discussion). In the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, apart from when he is talking about the kings, Xenophon focuses more on punishments than on honours and so could be arguing implicitly in opposition to Plato that fear of punishment motivates more than love of honour. Alternatively, Xenophon may be avoiding use of these terms because he knows that that part of Plato’s analysis was intimately linked with his theory about the parts of the soul.51 Ducat suggests that if we are to regard the presentation of Spartan education in the Hippias Major and the Protagoras as positive (and this, as noted (p. 255), is far from certain, a point which Ducat himself also admits) ‘we might accept that it was the reflections which accompanied the writing of the Republic which led him [Plato] seriously to qualify this

51

This second scenario might work better, indeed, with the traditional (and still quite prevalent) view of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia as a work of praise and of Xenophon as a naïve laconophile, pumping out propaganda for Agesilaus, since it would not require him to take cognisance of (or even to understand, as some would perhaps have it) the broader context of Plato’s comments in order to set the record straight.

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opinion’.52 What Ducat does not consider in following this train of thought, however, is the possibility that reflections which accompanied the reading of Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia might have led Plato seriously to qualify this opinion. The third scenario, therefore, is that Xenophon’s work was in circulation and in Plato’s hands as he was composing the Republic and that it influenced his presentation of the timarchic regime (and man).53 Thus, though I am inclined to think that Plato is being wholly ironic in his presentation of Sparta in the Hippias Major and Protagoras, if he was not, this third scenario could explain his more negative portrait of Spartan education in the Republic. Contemporary views certainly held that Spartan education was harsh and produced hardy soldiers, but no one except Xenophon presents such an extended account of the disciplinary punishments in force at every level.54 Indeed, much of Plato’s description of the timocratic regime (honouring its rulers, the institution of the common messes, devotion to military matters, etc.) could have been culled from standard tropes about Sparta (and Crete) which had been in circulation at least for the duration of Plato’s lifetime. Yet no other extant account of Spartan education and life, bar Xenophon’s, represents good behaviour as being so thoroughly dependent on fear of punishment and constant supervision (i.e. education by force rather than persuasion), and no other contemporary account comments on their secret lusting after wealth, their consequent hoarding of it in their houses and then connects their open flaunting of wealth with their decline. Under this scenario, Plato’s more extensive description of where the Spartans store wealth (‘treasuries and private strong-rooms’) can be viewed as rhetorical enhancement of what he found in Xenophon (Lac. 52

Ducat 2006a: 53, though he does not discuss in his survey Plato’s views on Spartan education in the Republic, skipping straight to the Laws. 53 I do not mean to limit this scenario to Plato literally reading Xenophon’s work. It could equally be that Xenophon’s ideas were in circulation and reached Plato via oral communication, or even that Plato visited Xenophon and they discussed these issues together. To those who would like to maintain a picture of constant rivalry this will perhaps seem ludicrous, but as far as we can tell during the 380s Plato travelled quite extensively, so why not to Scillus, for example, among other places? 54 There is, likewise, no contradiction between what Plato says is neglected in Spartan education (reason, philosophy and music) and what Xenophon presents as comprising Spartan education, though I do not think much can be made of this, since there are too many other factors at play here: (1) the general view of Sparta as surpassing others in military skills could easily lead to this argument; (2) Xenophon is aware of music in Spartan life generally (e.g., Ducat 2006a: 263–4 and Chapter 2.3), and so he knows it was taught; he just does not see it as an important element leading to their renown and power; and (3) Plato’s own opinion of what topics of education were most important also feeds in here.

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7.6). Similarly, that his formulation regarding abstention from moneymaking is so close to Xenophon’s can be explained by its being dependent upon Xenophon. (If he has toned it down somewhat, it is because this is an element which also belongs to his ideal regime.) And his comment about lavishing this wealth on women and others in private enclosures in their homes can be construed as yet another answer to Xenophon’s question about why wealth should be zealously pursued in Sparta when it had supposedly been brought about that the Spartans did not yearn for luxuries (Lac. 7.3). Xenophon himself followed this question by presenting two hypothetical objections and then countering them, but as noted already this narrative strategy, followed by the information that searches for gold and silver were carried out, serves only to draw attention to further obvious objections, such as spending money on women in the privacy of their own homes, precisely the point Plato makes in the Republic.55 In this scenario, therefore, Plato is Xenophon’s perfect reader.56 It is not beyond the realm of possibility that Plato was interested in what Xenophon had to say about Sparta, not least because he recognised that Xenophon had greater experience of the Spartans. Xenophon was certainly in a better position to make authoritative statements regarding the private hoarding of wealth, being dependent on the Spartans for his estate at Scillus, and in the circle of King Agesilaus. In addition, his experience of campaigning with Spartans from 401–394 BCE likewise gave him opportunity to see how they behaved abroad.57 Finally, Plato’s idiosyncratic emphasis on thumos and timê and his creation of the terms ‘timarchy’ or ‘timocracy’ to describe his second-best regime – all of which are easily explained by looking to his own broader analogy with the soul – work better also as a more positive slant on what is seen in Xenophon’s treatise than the other way around. And given the position of the timarchic regime in the hierarchy of regimes, Plato needed to be a bit more positive than Xenophon in his presentation. The very fact that the details that conform most closely to Xenophon’s account are 55

Women are, however, present more than once as pernicious influences in Plato’s account of the degradation of the regimes, so his negative opinion of their role in general may be guiding this particular point here, regardless of its obviousness as an answer to the question Xenophon poses. Xenophon, by contrast, in general does not take such a misogynistic stance at any point. 56 It could of course be the case that Plato’s point about the women is corrective and so pointing out an obvious element missed by Xenophon, but that seems less likely in view of the overall agreement on the major points. Further, even if they are correcting one another on other matters, this does not mean that their rivalry was not friendly. See also Tuplin 2018 for the suggestion that Plato is well aware of Xenophon’s narrative strategies in the Oeconomicus. 57 I would not, however, press this point too far since Spartan behaviour abroad had long been under scrutiny, at least since Pausanias had been accused of medising in the 470s.

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those in which Plato says the regime most closely resembles the next degenerate regime, oligarchy, signals to me that Plato knew exactly what Xenophon was doing in his Lacedaimoniôn Politeia: he knew that Xenophon had insider knowledge of Sparta; he knew the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia was a philosophic enquiry (in the Socratic mode) into the nature of Spartan power; he knew that Xenophon’s opinion about Sparta, like his own, was mixed; and he appreciated very keenly Xenophon’s observations on the deficiencies of the Spartan education system, both in terms of content and mode of enforcement, which aimed only at making sure a limited type of virtue was practised in public (cf. Lac. 10.4–6) but did not ensure the practice of virtue in private, hence the Spartans’ penchant for covertly lusting after wealth.58 Further, the observation made above – that Xenophon was the first to describe the ephorate as a magistracy with tyrannical powers and that Plato later, approvingly, picks this up and puts it in the mouth of the Spartan interlocutor in the Laws – supports this third scenario: that Plato was in agreement with Xenophon about at least certain important aspects of Spartan practice. In this vein, I want to draw attention to another occasion on which it seems perfectly clear to me that Plato in the Laws has drawn upon Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia in the spirit of agreement rather than with any corrective impulse. The subject again is education, and the following comments put in the mouth of Megillus look very much like direct allusions to the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia (Lg. 1.633b): ἔτι τοίνυν καὶ τὸ τέταρτον ἔγωγε πειρῴμην ἂν λέγειν τὸ περὶ τὰς καρτερήσεις τῶν ἀλγηδόνων· πολὺ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν γιγνόμενον ἔν τε ταῖς πρὸς ἀλλήλους ταῖς χερσὶ μάχαις καὶ ἐν ἁρπαγαῖς τισὶ διὰ πολλῶν πληγῶν ἑκάστοτε γιγνομέναις. Further I would like to explain the fourth thing, concerning the endurance of pain: it is very prevalent amongst us both in hand-to-hand fighting and in certain thefts always perpetrated under the threat of many blows.

The ‘hand-to-hand fighting’ recalls Xenophon’s description of the young men always being at war with one another, constantly at the ready to spar with their fists because of the institutionalised strife over the choosing of the 300 (Lac. 4.3–6), while the ‘thefts perpetrated under the threat of many blows’ seems a remarkably concise summation of the encouraged 58

Cf. Hitz 2010: 114–15, who highlights the fact that in Plato’s timocracy virtue is only ‘a matter of appearance’.

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practice of theft in the education of the boys, where one, if caught, risks ‘many blows’ (πολλὰς πληγὰς, 2.8).

7.2  Xenophon and Isocrates Of the three possible scenarios offered in explanation of the striking similarities found in Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia and Plato’s description of the timarchic regime in the Republic, the second and third certainly do not preclude the first, though we are hampered in seeing fully how Sparta was regarded more broadly in the Socratic circle because of the fragmentary nature of the remains of their writings. So while I think that it is likely that Critias certainly held a different, laudatory view of Sparta, it is hard to prove whether the aspects of Sparta which Plato and Xenophon focus upon represent a dialogue simply between them alone (whatever direction we think it took) or represent a view of Sparta which descended from Socrates and/or which was held more widely among the Socratics.59 It is possible, however, to demonstrate that at least as far as we can reconstruct the broader world of the Athenian intelligentsia, these particular points of confluence appear to be specific to them. I am thinking here particularly of Isocrates and his view of Sparta.60 Though any conversation that has been discerned between Isocrates and Xenophon, like that between Plato and Xenophon, has generally been regarded as antagonistic, there are good reasons to suggest that this view should be reconsidered. The two men had a significant shared background. They were members of the same deme, Erchia, and the fortunes of both took unexpected turns at the end of the Peloponnesian War. Both (coincidentally?) wrote works of advice for Athens c. 355 BCE about how the city should proceed after the so-called Social War (Isocrates’ On the Peace and Xenophon’s Poroi). Finally, there is the not inconsequential piece of evidence preserved by Diogenes Laertius (2.55) that upon the death of Xenophon’s son Gryllus at the Battle of Mantineia in 362 BCE: ‘Aristotle says that numerous people composed encomia and epitaphs for Gryllus in part to gratify his father; indeed, Hermippus says … that Isocrates also wrote an encomium for Gryllus’.61 Though none of this 59

Though there is some suggestion that Aeschines was critical also of Spartan educational practices (see Chapter 3.4 n. 114). See Humble 2021 for some preliminary thoughts. 60 What follows is a distillation of arguments which can be found in Humble 2018c. 61 Anderson 1974: 44–5 n. 2 notes this evidence but only to use it as a springboard to suggest that ‘it is interesting that Xenophon and Isocrates ignore each other’. Azoulay (2004b: 296, 2006a: 139

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conclusively demonstrates that Xenophon and Isocrates were friends or even friendly, or that they conversed in a mutually respectful and beneficial way, it does suggest that the possibility should be considered, as should the implications for how this affects a reading of their texts.62 Like Plato and Xenophon, Isocrates can be generally classified as practising political-theoretical laconism to some degree, but also, as was the case for them, where he is to be placed on the spectrum is much debated.63 The following gives some idea of the general ways in which he employs Sparta in his oratory. When Isocrates deals with Sparta in a sustained way, it is usually to highlight Spartan behaviour as a leading polis in Greece and to present it as a negative foil to Athenian behaviour. So, for example, the Panegyricus is a call for the Greeks to unite against Persia under the joint leadership of Athens and Sparta, but in it Isocrates gives the impression that he would prefer to advocate Athens as sole leader if he could only ignore the fact that the Spartans were the hegemonic power at the time.64 Criticism of Sparta is more sustained and more negative in his last major work, the Panathenaicus (c. 342–338 BCE). This is due partly to the different purposes of the two works (the former being a call to panhellenic unity, the latter a praise of Athens) and to the different political circumstances at the time of composition (i.e. Sparta is no longer a hegemonic power in the late 340s), but the speech is also interestingly complicated by the addition of a dialogue with one of Isocrates’ pro-Spartan ex-pupils (12.200– 63), to which I will return.65 and 2006b: 514–15) is a rare exception in treating this piece of evidence as important and indicative of cordial relations between Xenophon and Isocrates; and see also Humble 2018c: 57–8. More broadly, regarding Xenophon as having intellectual standing in Athens at this point in time, see from different angles Jansen 2007: 32–50 and Humble 2008: 363–4 (also Chapter 1.3.3 n. 44). 62 More attention has been paid to the literary conversation engaged in by Plato and Isocrates and it, too, has been regarded as antagonistic on the grounds that these two heads of rival educational establishments in Athens held competing visions of education and philosophy; see, e.g., Murphy 2013. Though I am here arguing that Xenophon is very much an active member of the Socratic circle, any antagonism Isocrates has towards Plato for the reasons expressed above, if true, need not automatically extend to Xenophon since Xenophon is not a direct pedagogical rival of Isocrates. 63 Cloché 1933; Tigerstedt 1965–78: 200–2; and Hodkinson 2005: 224, 270 all argue for Isocrates admiring certain aspects of the Spartan way of life but not Spartan behaviour on the wider Greek stage. Blank 2014: 604–5, 610–11 sees him as admiring of Spartan kingship. Atack 2018b, however, argues that Isocrates should not be regarded as holding any pro-Spartan sentiments. Humble 2018c leans towards the view in Hodkinson 2005. 64 E.g., Cloché 1933: 130–2 and Papillon 2004: 24–7. 65 There is not complete agreement on the purpose of the dialogue, whether it is to reinforce the criticism of Sparta, or if it should be read as polysemic, i.e. as the pro-Spartan interlocutor implies (12.239–40). Good arguments have been made on both sides: (1) arguing for polysemy, e.g., Too 1995: 68–73 and Livingstone 2007: 31–4; (2) arguing against, e.g., Gray 1994, followed by Fisher 1994; Murphy 2013: 351; and Atack 2018b: 86. I incline towards the latter view in that although I

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There are, on the other hand, more positive comments about the Spartan politeia scattered throughout his corpus. Some are in his own voice, some in the mouths of others, and often they are qualified by the observation that the negative reality of Spartan actions is far removed from the positive assessment of the theory behind their way of life. So, for example, in the Areopagiticus (c. 357 BCE) Isocrates writes (7.7): Λακεδαιμόνιοί τε τὸ μὲν παλαιὸν ἐκ φαύλων καὶ ταπεινῶν πόλεων ὁρμηθέντες διὰ τὸ σωφρόνως ζῆν καὶ στρατιωτικῶς κατέσχον Πελοπόννησον, μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα μεῖζον φρονήσαντες τοῦ δέοντος, καὶ λαβόντες καὶ τὴν κατὰ γῆν καὶ τὴν κατὰ θάλατταν ἀρχήν, εἰς τοὺς αὐτοὺς κινδύνους κατέστησαν ἡμῖν. The Spartans, in the past, having started from common and humble cities, became masters of the Peloponnese by living moderately and in a military fashion, but afterwards, being more presumptuous than necessary and seizing command by both sea and land, they found themselves in the same dangers as us.

Later in the same speech we find a positive statement about various aspects of the Spartan politeia which is not followed by a negative contrast with Spartan actions (7.61): οἶδα γὰρ τούς τε προγόνους τοὺς ἡμετέρους ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ καταστάσει πολὺ τῶν ἄλλων διενεγκόντας, καὶ Λακεδαιμονίους διὰ τοῦτο κάλλιστα πολιτευομένους, ὅτι μάλιστα δημοκρατούμενοι τυγχάνουσιν. ἐν γὰρ τῇ τῶν ἀρχῶν αἱρέσει καὶ τῷ βίῳ τῷ καθ᾽ ἡμέραν καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ἐπιτηδεύμασιν ἴδοιμεν ἂν παρ᾽ αὐτοῖς τὰς ἰσότητας καὶ τὰς ὁμοιότητας μᾶλλον ἢ παρὰ τοῖς ἄλλοις ἰσχυούσας. I know that our ancestors under this constitution far surpassed others, and that the Spartans because of this were governed in the finest manner because they were particularly democratic. For in their election of magistrates and in their daily life and other practices, we might see that equality and uniformity are much stronger among them than among others.

Insisting that Sparta is actually democratic is rhetorical manipulation designed to support Isocrates’ call for Athens to return to its older, less radical form of democracy in which the Areopagus had more power, but nonetheless this is a positive assessment of Spartan practices.66

like the idea of a polysemic Isocrates at the end of his life, I find it difficult to read the speech as doubling as praise of Sparta. See Ober 1998: 280–1 for an interesting angle on Isocrates’ rhetorical manipulation here. See also Chapter 2.4 and n. 153.

66

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Aspects of Spartan kingship are held up as models for Athens to imitate in a very different rhetorical situation. In On the Peace (355 BCE) Isocrates portrays the relationship between Spartan kings and their subjects, wherein the subjects are willing to die on behalf of their kings, as an ideal model for the Athenians to strive for in their relations with the rest of the Greeks (8.142–4). This is an extraordinary statement in what it implies Athens’ expectations of her allies should be, but the Spartan features are wholly subordinate to the point being directed at the Athenians in this speech. Therefore, though Isocrates usually takes the line that the Spartans owe their constitution to imitation of ancestral Athens, in the end his rhetorical needs dictate the particular way he frames his presentation of the Spartan political system.67 The only manufactured Spartan voice in Isocrates’ corpus is to be found in the Archidamus. The dramatic date of the oration is 366 BCE and it is presented as being delivered by Archidamus to the Spartan assembly to urge them to fight to hold on to Messenia. Interpretation of this speech and its actual date of composition are much debated.68 On one level the expected rhetoric abounds, at least insofar as it reflects what an Athenian thought a Spartan should say, i.e. that Spartans are well governed, live moderately, are willing to fight to the death against enemies, and think nothing more fearful than to be spoken of badly by their fellow citizens (6.59). But the positive statements on Sparta throughout this speech cannot really be used to argue that Isocrates is a laconophile, unless they match statements he makes elsewhere in his own mouth, though his complexly constructed rhetorical stances make interpretation difficult at any level. Because Isocrates’ Panathenaicus can be securely dated to the late 340s and thus certainly postdates Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, and because it contains extended criticism of Sparta, it is worth examining whether or not any dialogue with Xenophon can be discerned and what its tone might be. Fairly late on in the Panathenaicus, Isocrates pauses to 67

Livingstone 2001: 141. Also, in the Nicocles (c. 372–365 BCE), Isocrates has Nicocles say that the Spartans are ‘the best governed people of the rest’ (τοὺς ἄριστα τῶν ἄλλων πολιτευομένους, 3.24). This time Sparta, however, is held up as an oligarchic and monarchic model, as is suitable in the mouth of a young king. Hodkinson 2005: passim analyses these types of passages in detail vis-à-vis other utopian and dystopian images of Sparta in this period. See also Blank 2014: passim. 68 As noted in Chapter 2.4 n. 151, some think it a genuine speech, and so match the composition date with the dramatic date; others think that it was composed as a classroom exercise at a later period and so it is difficult to know how to read its tone. Blank 2014: 287–372 reads the speech as strongly discrediting any appeal to Spartan models. Both this oration and the truncated letter To Archidamus (356 BCE; on the genuineness of which, see Smith 1940) deserve closer analysis than they have hitherto received.

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ask a pro-Spartan ex-pupil to review what he has said about Sparta (12.200). The ex-pupil praises the speech, to Isocrates’ amazement, since it is clear he is also not happy with the portrayal of the Spartans (12.201), whom he describes as ‘having discovered the best practices’ (τὰ κάλλιστα τῶν ἐπιτηδευμάτων εὑρόντες, 12.202). Isocrates, expressing disbelief that the Spartans could actually have discovered these practices, since the practices must be far older than the Spartans are, bids his ex-pupil to defend his views (12.203–7). Isocrates follows this up with a trenchant criticism of Sparta’s education system (12.209–14). His first criticism is that the Spartans ‘are so far behind in general education and philosophy that they do not even learn letters’ (τοσοῦτον ἀπολελειμμένοι τῆς κοινῆς παιδείας καὶ φιλοσοφίας εἰσὶν ὥστ᾽ οὐδὲ γράμματα μανθάνουσιν, 12.209). The second criticism is that ‘they accustom their children to spend time in such occupations in the hope not that they will become benefactors to other men, but that they will be especially able to harm the Greeks’ (τοὺς παῖδας τοὺς ἑαυτῶν ἐθίζουσι περὶ τοιαύτας πραγματείας διατρίβειν, ἐξ ὧν ἐλπίζουσιν αὐτοὺς οὐκ εὐεργέτας γενήσεσθαι τῶν ἄλλων, ἀλλὰ κακῶς ποιεῖν μάλιστα δυνήσεσθαι τοὺς ῞Ελληνας, 12.210). The third criticism is that (12.211– 214): [211] ἐκεῖνοι γὰρ καθ᾽ ἑκάστην τὴν ἡμέραν εὐθὺς ἐξ εὐνῆς ἐκπέμπουσι τοὺς παῖδας, μεθ᾽ ὧν ἂν ἕκαστοι βουληθῶσι, λόγῳ μὲν ἐπὶ θήραν, ἔργῳ δ᾽ ἐπὶ κλωπείαν τῶν ἐν τοῖς ἀγροῖς κατοικούντων· [212] ἐν ᾗ συμβάινει τοὺς μὲν ληφθέντας ἀργύριον ἀποτίνειν καὶ πληγὰς λαμβάνειν, τοὺς δὲ πλεῖστα κακουργήσαντας καὶ λαθεῖν δυνηθέντας ἔν τε τοῖς παισὶν εὐδοκιμεῖν μᾶλλον τῶν ἄλλων, ἐπειδὰν δ᾽ εἰς ἄνδρας συντελῶσιν, ἢν ἐμμείνωσι τοῖς ἤθεσιν οἷς παῖδες ὄντες ἐμελέτησαν, ἐγγὺς εἶναι τῶν μεγίστων ἀρχῶν. [213] καὶ ταύτης ἤν τις ἐπιδείξῃ παιδείαν μᾶλλον ἀγαπωμένην ἢ σπουδαιοτέραν παρ᾽ αὐτοῖς εἶναι νομιζομένην, ὁμολογῶ μηδὲν ἀληθὲς εἰρηκέναι μηδὲ περὶ ἑνὸς πώποτε πράγματος. καίτοι τί τῶν τοιούτων ἔργων καλόν ἐστιν ἢ σεμνόν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ αἰσχύνης ἄξιον; πῶς δ᾽ οὐκ ἀνοήτους χρὴ νομίζειν τοὺς ἐπαινοῦντας τοὺς τοσοῦτον τῶν νόμων τῶν κοινῶν ἐξεστηκότας καὶ μηδὲν τῶν αὐτῶν μήτε τοῖς Ἕλλησι μήτε τοῖς βαρβάροις γιγνώσκοντας; [214] οἱ μὲν γὰρ ἄλλοι τοὺς κακουργοῦντας καὶ κλέπτοντας πονηροτέρους τῶν οἰκετῶν νομίζουσιν, ἐκεῖνοι δὲ τοὺς ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις τῶν ἔργων πρωτεύοντας βελτίστους εἶναι τῶν παίδων ὑπολαμβάνουσι καὶ μάλιστα τιμῶσιν. [211] Each day they send out their sons, as soon as they rise and with whomever they wish, in theory to hunt, but in practice to steal from those living in the country; [212] in this practice it happens that those who are caught pay a fine and receive blows, but those who do most harm and are

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Xenophon, Plato and Isocrates able to escape detection are more highly esteemed among the boys than the others, and when they become adults, if they are faithful to the customs they practised as children they will be on the verge of the greatest offices. [213] And if anyone can show an education believed more prized or more zealously pursued by them than this one, I agree that I have stated nothing true even about a single matter ever. And yet, which of such deeds is good or holy, but not rather worthy of shame? And how can we not believe them unthinking, those who praise men who have departed from the common laws to such a degree and who have formed judgements with respect to them like neither the Greeks nor the barbarians? [214] Others consider those who do harm and steal are more wicked than slaves, but the Spartans assume that those who are superior in such deeds are the best of their children and honour them especially.

The first point of contact to note is the specific summation by the expupil that the Spartans follow ‘the best practices’. Ducat has argued that Isocrates must be deliberately alluding to Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia in his use here of the term epitêdeumata,69 which occurs not simply in the introductory sentence of Xenophon’s treatise but also, as noted earlier, at structurally significant points (Lac. 1.1, 5.1, 10.8). Once one follows this signal to Xenophon’s treatise, it is remarkable how closely the rest of the criticism, even in its rhetorically exaggerated state, echoes both specific and general points in Xenophon’s treatise, particularly Lac. 2. There Xenophon does not specifically say that the Spartans were so backward in culture and philosophy that they did not even learn letters, but the opening of his discussion of the education of boys could be interpreted this way, since he notes that in other Greek poleis boys are educated in letters, music and exercises (Lac. 2.1), but in Sparta, he goes on to report, the emphasis is on beatings, physical exercise and encouragement of theft.70 The most striking concordance, however, is with the lengthy third criticism about the practice of encouraging thieving skills. In Xenophon, it will be recalled, an equally disproportionate portion of the description of the education system is given over to explaining, in a remarkably similar fashion, the role of theft in the upbringing of boys (Lac. 2.6–9). Xenophon likewise notes that stealing is encouraged (2.6– 7),71 that any boy caught stealing is punished by receiving ‘many blows’ 69

Ducat 2006a: 45–6; and see also Chapter 5.1 n. 1. Indeed, as discussed in Chapter 2.3, Strauss 1939: 507 interpreted it this way. Neither Xenophon nor Isocrates, however, could have believed the Spartans did not learn their letters, but it was a handy insult to hurl if necessary. 71 He does not use a form of the verb σπουδάζω (‘zealously pursue’) in this section of the work, though it does occur at 7.3, 7.6, 10.3 (bis) and 14.4. 70

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(πολλὰς πληγὰς, 2.8; cf. πληγὰς, Isoc. 12.212) on the principle that it is right to punish those who do not properly learn what they have been taught, thus contrary to normative standards of justice in the rest of the Greek – implied by Xenophon (Lac. 2.8; cf. Isoc. 12.213–14) – and barbarian world – also implied by Xenophon (Cyr. 1.2.6). Furthermore, he then gives considerable detail about a ritual public stealing of cheeses from the altar of Artemis Orthia, where the best thief wins the greatest esteem (εὐδοκιμοῦντα, 2.9; cf. εὐδοκιμεῖν, Isoc. 12.212), allowing public acknowledgment of a practice that only otherwise drew attention if it was done badly. That good thieves achieve the highest offices – reading Isocrates’ τῶν μεγίστων ἀρχῶν (12.212) as a deliberate echo of Xenophon’s αἱ μέγισται ἀρχαὶ (Lac. 4.7; and cf. 2.2) – Xenophon knew well: he presents himself in the Anabasis repeating many of these points as he mocks the Spartan commander Cheirisophus about the Spartan talent for thieving (An. 4.6.14–15).72 Ducat concludes that Isocrates is indirectly attacking Xenophon. This is certainly a reasonable assessment if the starting point is that the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia is eulogistic.73 Yet it could be that Isocrates is here simply drawing on Xenophon’s treatise, specifically for its description of Spartan theft – understanding that Xenophon, too, had criticised this Spartan practice – and then rhetorically manipulating the information for his own purposes and articulating explicitly what was implicit in Xenophon’s text.74 On this reading, therefore, Isocrates has his pro-Spartan 72

See Chapter 2.2.1 for the different responses which scholars have had to this passage in the Anabasis. 73 Ducat 2006a: 45–9 has the most sustained treatment of the Isocratean passage vis-à-vis Xenophon’s. Gray 2000: 153–4 also reads the two passages as opposite in intent. Lipka 2002: 38 denies a close connection here between Isocrates and Xenophon. Roth 2003: 227–8 notes the differences between the two passages and wonders if the ex-pupil’s concession that Isocrates was right to condemn the autonomous behaviour of Spartan youths reflects the Xenophontic view. Blank 2014: 564 n. 271 concludes that Xenophon is only one of a number being criticised here by Isocrates. 74 As noted earlier, the skills appropriate to war which stealing is said to develop in Sparta are in Xenophon’s other works best acquired through the practice of hunting (see Chapters 3.3 and 3.6). Interestingly, Ducat 2006a: 22–3 is happy to consider that Herakleides Lembos, the secondcentury BCE epitomiser of Aristotle’s Politeia, has been directly inspired by Xenophon (fr. 13 Dilts = fr. 611.13 Rose): ‘they feed the children in such a way that they are never full, so that they learn to endure hunger. They also teach them to steal and punish with blows anyone who lets himself be caught, to make them better able to endure fatigue and lack of sleep in the face of the enemy.’ Ducat finds disappointing the brevity and lack of new information, but it seems to me that what we might have here is not that Herakleides Lembos is drawing on Xenophon but that he is accurately recounting Aristotle (or whoever in Aristotle’s circle it was who composed this treatise) and that Aristotle drew on Xenophon. That, in light of the discussion here, is not a disappointing observation.

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interlocutor comment on the ‘best practices’ in Sparta in the knowledge that he is going to rebut him by using material from a work on these ‘practices’ by someone who he knew had also viewed them with a critical eye. From this angle, then, the second general criticism above reads as a general summary of Xenophon’s Lac. 2, when collated with the behaviour of the Spartans noted in Lac. 14 and the general behaviour of Spartan commanders in both Xenophon’s Anabasis and his Hellenica. In the slightly earlier On the Peace is another passage which it is instructive to compare with the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, precisely because it reads like a restatement of the issues raised in the Lac. 14, not so much on the level of the precise language used but more broadly in the sentiments expressed (8.95–103): [95] οὐ γὰρ μόνον ἡμᾶς ἀλλὰ καὶ τὴν Λακεδαιμονίων πόλιν διέφθειρεν, ὥστε τοῖς εἰθισμένοις ἐπαινεῖν τὰς ἐκείνων ἀρετὰς οὐχ οἷόν τ᾽ ἐστὶν εἰπεῖν τοῦτον τὸν λόγον, ὡς ἡμεῖς μὲν διὰ τὸ δημοκρατεῖσθαι κακῶς ἐχρησάμεθα τοῖς πράγμασιν, εἰ δὲ Λακεδαιμόνιοι ταύτην τὴν δύναμιν παρέλαβον, εὐδαίμονας ἂν καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους καὶ σφᾶς αὐτοὺς ἐποίησαν. πολὺ γὰρ θᾶττον ἐν ἐκείνοις ἐπεδείξατο τὴν φύσιν τὴν αὑτῆς· τὴν γὰρ πολιτείαν ἣν ἑπτακοσίοις ἔτεσιν οὐδεὶς οἶδεν οὔθ᾽ ὑπὸ κινδύνων οὔθ᾽ ὑπὸ συμφορῶν κινηθεῖσαν, ταύτην ἐν ὀλίγῳ σαλεῦσαι καὶ λυθῆναι παρὰ μικρὸν ἐποίησεν. [96] ἀντὶ γὰρ τῶν καθεστώτων παρ᾽ αὐτοῖς ἐπιτηδευμάτων τοὺς μὲν ἰδιώτας ἐνέπλησεν ἀδικίας, ῥᾳθυμίας, ἀνομίας, φιλαργυρίας, τὸ δὲ κοινὸν τῆς πόλεως ὑπεροψίας μὲν τῶν συμμάχων, ἐπιθυμίας δὲ τῶν ἀλλοτρίων, ὀλιγωρίας δὲ τῶν ὅρκων καὶ τῶν συνθηκῶν [...] [102] διὰ μὲν γὰρ τὴν κατὰ γῆν ἡγεμονίαν καὶ τὴν εὐταξίαν καὶ τὴν καρτερίαν τὴν ἐν αὐτῇ μελετωμένην ῥᾳδίως τῆς κατὰ θάλατταν δυνάμεως ἐπεκράτησαν, διὰ δὲ τὴν ἀκολασίαν τὴν ὑπὸ ταύτης τῆς ἀρχῆς αὐτοῖς ἐγγενομένην ταχέως κἀκείνης τῆς ἡγεμονίας ἀπεστερήθησαν. οὐ γὰρ ἔτι τοὺς νόμους ἐφύλαττον οὓς παρὰ τῶν προγόνων παρέλαβον, οὐδ᾽ ἐν τοῖς ἤθεσιν ἔμενον οἷς πρότερον εἶχον, [103] ἀλλ᾽ ὑπολαβόντες ἐξεῖναι ποιεῖν αὑτοῖς ὅ τι ἂν βουληθῶσιν, εἰς πολλὴν ταραχὴν κατέστησαν. [95] For not only did it [imperialism] destroy us but also the polis of Sparta, so that those accustomed to praise the virtue of those men are not able to say that we, because of being a democracy, managed our affairs badly, but if the Spartans had had this power, they would have made both themselves and others prosperous. For this power revealed its nature much more quickly with them. For their politeia, which for 700 years no one knew to have been disturbed by dangers or misfortunes, in a short time tottered and was nearly undone. [96] Instead of the practices established among them, it filled its citizens with injustice, laziness, lawlessness, love of money, and the whole of its polis with disdain for its allies and a desire for the possessions of others, and contempt for oaths and treaties […]

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[102] For because of their hegemony on land and the discipline and endurance which they practised on it, they easily prevailed by sea, but because of the licentiousness which grew in them because of this empire, they were quickly deprived of that hegemony too. For they no longer observed the laws which they received from their ancestors, nor did they abide by their former customs, [103] but assuming that it was possible for them to do whatever they wished, they fell into a state of great confusion.

Thus to Isocrates’ injustice, lawlessness and licentiousness we can compare Xenophon’s comments about the Spartans no longer striving to be worthy of ruling (Lac. 14.5); to laziness, the desire to live abroad and being demoralised by contact with foreigners (Lac. 14.2, 4); to love of money, the boasting about their possessions (Lac. 14.3); to desire for the possessions of others, the eagerness to serve as harmosts in foreign lands (Lac. 14.4); to contempt for their allies and oaths, the fact that the Greeks are calling on each other to prevent renewed Spartan hegemony (14.6); and to no longer keeping the laws they inherited or remaining faithful to their past ways, the encircling statements that the laws of Lycurgus do not remain unchanged and that the Spartans manifestly do not obey the laws of Lycurgus (Lac. 14.1, 7).75 Further, the aggressive actions towards other poleis which Isocrates lists as part of this diatribe (8.98–100) are almost all set out in detail in Xenophon’s Hellenica. Neither of these two Isocratean passages which can be closely linked to the material in Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, however, picks up the singular points about the Spartan system on which Xenophon and Plato concur: the fact that its educational regime was so harsh and limited that it resulted in secret coveting and hoarding of wealth, and that open pursuit of wealth is the characteristic sign of the regime’s degradation. Indeed no Isocratean passage expresses Sparta’s relationship with wealth in this way. In contrast to Plato and Xenophon, who are in agreement that avarice was a consequence of the internal system in Sparta, Isocrates makes it a consequence of the acquisition of empire. Further, it is the Isocratean formulation, or variations of the same, which becomes the dominant explanation from hereon in.76 This observation, to my mind, further strengthens the idea that Plato and Xenophon are not only aware of each other’s views in this regard (whichever way we want to read the conversation as proceeding) but are in discussion about and in concurrence on this significant point of political analysis. Whereas they appear 75

Blank 2014: 428 n. 214 notes only that Xenophon addresses the theme of accumulation of wealth abroad but does not speculate on any relationship between the thought of the two men here. 76 See Hodkinson 2000: 26–30.

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to be more interested in deconstructing the foundations of the Spartan system, for Isocrates Spartan behaviour and practices are important primarily as a touchstone for Athenian behaviour and practices. ◊ This comparison of Xenophon’s presentation of Sparta in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia with the views of his contemporaries, Plato and Isocrates, strengthens the reading of the treatise I have presented herein. Whether we are to view the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia simply as a source from which both Plato and Isocrates drew, in the knowledge that it was a critical assessment, and not a praise, of Sparta, or want also to see Plato and Xenophon in discussion on the compelling topic of how Sparta became so powerful – and I am in favour of this latter position because of the very singular way in which Plato and Xenophon agree on the key issues –, my analysis shows that Xenophon was not writing in isolation and that his primary audience was far more likely to be his fellow Athenians than Spartans,77 and even more likely to be members of the Athenian intelligentsia, whether specifically Plato and possibly other fellow Socratics, or a wider (or narrower) intellectual circle of his own, of which Isocrates could certainly plausibly have been a member (as suggested on p. 275). There are too many points of connection between Xenophon and Plato and Isocrates, in my view, to assume otherwise.78 Whether the startling and exact agreement between Plato and Xenophon was rooted in early discussions Socrates had about Sparta with his young disciples in the dying days of the Peloponnesian War, or was singular to them alone, springing from discussions based on Xenophon’s critical observation both of Spartan behaviour abroad and back in the Peloponnese once he was living under their patronage at Scillus, can only, in the end, be a point of speculation, but nonetheless a speculation worth considering. 77

Note, interestingly, that Rawson, who declines to attribute definitively the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia to the authorship of Xenophon, in fact considers the Cyropaedia Xenophon’s ‘most serious attempt at political literature’ and a work which ‘allows us to see that his attitude to Sparta was not unlike that of his fellow-Athenians’ (1969: 33–4, 51). 78 Atack 2018b: 86 wants to read Sparta as ‘a symbol in Isocrates’ imaginary world for the intellectual opposition that the Academy represented’, but I am not sure that this is so. The only ‘Socratic’ for whom Sparta appears to have been a really significant model is Critias. Certainly Danzig 2014 has argued that Plato tries to present Critias in a favourable light, though in doing so I think he underestimates the dramatic setting of the Platonic dialogues. In general, it seems to me, that Sparta appears to be a useful tool for any Athenian to employ when analysing the state of their own political and social practices.

Conclusion

The attempt to contextualise ancient works is a process fraught with pitfalls. There are so many gaps in our knowledge that it is necessary continually to seek to fill them from different angles, to see which combination of material evidence, interpretation and speculation gives us the least problematic or, conversely, the most coherent result. The impetus for this monograph was, thus, quite simply, the constant nagging feeling that interpretation of Xenophon’s view of Sparta was out of line with what he had actually written about Sparta. Of course, everyone knows that Xenophon was not writing in a vacuum, but the vacuum that faces us can clearly be filled in many different ways. I have chosen here to try to fill it by starting from the self-portrait which Xenophon presented in his works. His picture of himself as a young man is not particularly flattering. He is intelligent but headstrong, clearly fond of the company of Socrates and a person in whom Socrates took an interest, little different, indeed, from some of the other characters we see Socrates associating with in Xenophon’s and others’ Sokratikoi logoi, for example, Alcibiades, Charmides and Euthydemus. Thus I think it is perfectly reasonable for us to assume that, like them, he was aiming at pursuing a political career in Athens. His friend Proxenus lures him away to campaign with Cyrus at a time when Athens is recovering not just from defeat at the hands of the Spartans in 404 BCE but also from the tyranny of the Thirty and civil war. Prospects, it is easy to imagine, might have seemed a bit brighter overseas. His self-portrait in the Anabasis shows his talents as well as his limitations. The character Xenophon comes across as a gifted military strategist, a natural leader with good rhetorical skills and possessed of a fairly well-honed political sensibility. But it also shows that he still had a lot to learn. He tries several times to leave the army and journey home but shows us that he was a helpless pawn in the hands of the Spartan commanders who controlled the Hellespontine region. When the Spartans come on the scene to take charge of the remnants of the 285

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mercenaries, he is once more trying to depart to return home because ‘there was no sign yet that he would be officially banished’. How closely this portrait reflected reality is not the issue. The point is that Xenophon chose to portray himself within his own narratives in a particular way and that he must have had a reason for doing this. That Socrates turns out to be the key figure in his life is by no means an original conclusion, but in reading Xenophon’s self-portrait as an indication of what his real ambitions had been – political life in Athens – and also, therefore, of how unexpectedly and profoundly his life plan was altered by his disregard of Socrates’ advice, I have, I trust, opened up a different way of viewing his literary project and the place of Sparta within it, which in turn leads in the end back to Athens. This line of interpretation starts by viewing the Anabasis as a work of trenchant self-examination and the rest of his literary project as showing that in exile he had finally understood some of Socrates’ key lessons, not least the importance of being useful. And by looking more broadly at how not just Xenophon, but also Plato, portrays Socrates as leading others to better themselves, I have argued that Xenophon adapted these techniques as best he could to the composition of philosophically aware, generically explorative works, all of which teach lessons about political life and active participation in it from various different angles and approaches. Within the broader purpose of his literary output, there can be no doubt that Xenophon was intrigued by Sparta, a thinly populated state which had attained such great power and renown long before he was born, which had defeated his own polis during his formative years, and which had also quite dramatically lost its power during his lifetime. No one interested in politics from any angle during this period of time could ignore the phenomenon that was Sparta. And the historical time period is important. Thucydides, for example, died when Sparta was undisputed hegemon of the Greek world and, by contrast, Sparta was no longer a significant power by the time Aristotle reached the age of majority. This is also clear from the works of Xenophon’s direct contemporaries, Isocrates and Plato. Yet he is in a different position vis-à-vis Sparta from either Isocrates or Plato because of the way his life unfolded. Circumstances led to his being more closely associated with the Spartans than he could ever have anticipated. I have tried to show, however, that this does not mean that he maintained an uncritical stance or regarded Sparta as an ideal to be held up for others to imitate. That he campaigned with the Spartans, was exiled from Athens and lived on an estate provided by the Spartans did not prevent him from casting a critical eye over Spartan actions and

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Spartan individuals. Not only does he do this across his two historical narratives, the Anabasis and Hellenica which examine Spartan actions on the wider stage of Aegean politics, but the reading of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia presented here shows how he has examined as a philosophical exercise the very foundations of the Spartan way of life in order to try to understand how Sparta gained hegemony – and how and why she lost it. How far his presentation of Sparta represents his personal experiences influencing his philosophical analysis, or instead his later philosophical analysis overlaying his personal observations, it is not possible to know. It is nonetheless quite startling how Spartan leaders of all types in Xenophon’s works can be shown to embody the strengths and weaknesses of the Spartan system as described by Xenophon in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia. The only one of his fourteen works which could be described as unabashedly pro-Spartan is the Agesilaus, but that is because it is an encomium, the very purpose of which is fulsome praise. To maintain that Agesilaus is Xenophon’s hero against the clear evidence of the much more negative portrait presented in Xenophon’s historical narrative of the period is, I think, as methodologically mistaken, as it is to focus on the Agesilaus to prove Xenophon’s laconophilia. What importance does this new reading of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia have for scholars of Xenophon? A great deal of excellent new scholarship has recently emerged looking at Xenophon’s works from various angles – historical, literary, philosophical and theoretical. But with the exception of some of the work produced on the more historical parts of Xenophon’s oeuvre, in particular the Hellenica and Anabasis, even as more and more scholars deal with his Athenian affiliations and leanings, the notion that he is, nonetheless, a laconophile is still persistent. I have tried to show here that this view is problematic, and that hanging on to it holds us back from a proper understanding of Xenophon’s intellectual leanings and motives. For example, the traditional Spartan-supporting Xenophon is known and criticised for omitting material unfavourable to Sparta (e.g., the Second Athenian League and the loss of Messenia) and for his lack of coverage of things we would have liked him to discuss (hence the inexplicable flow of topics in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia), and for his charming naivety (e.g., in attributing all that is singular about Sparta to Lycurgus when it really could not be the case). On my reading, however, there is plenty that is unfavourable about Sparta (almost the least of which are the actions of Sphodrias and Phoebidas as portrayed in the Hellenica), so that these omissions will require a different explanation. Moreover, the points of discussion in the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia have, on

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my argument, been very carefully chosen to hammer home certain key themes (the emphasis on shame and punishment, the startling observation that behaving well needs only to be carried out in public when under supervision, the lack of any training in justice, etc.), all essential philosophical criticisms of the Spartan system. Finally, hanging all the legislation on Lycurgus is a trope of fourth-century political discussions, and indeed allows Xenophon better scope for presenting the legislation as a coherent whole – which of course, rightly, no Spartan scholar would allow could have been the case in actuality. What importance does my reading of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia have for the field of Spartan studies? The prevailing view, which holds that the treatise is a praise or defence of the Spartan way of life by a committed laconophile (for though disillusion must be granted him on the basis of Lac. 14, the notion that he expresses wholehearted commitment to and admiration of the system he describes in Lac. 1–13 and 15 is still rarely questioned), results in the information in the text being read as a real glimpse inside Sparta, albeit one that is still a bit idealised. On this view, he is either describing things as he saw them with an admiring gaze, or as they were described or explained to him by Spartans. Following this latter line further, many see the powerful figure of Agesilaus behind the treatise, which leads to an interpretative stream which reads it as a good indication of how the Spartans (or perhaps just one faction of them, i.e. Agesilaus and his followers) viewed themselves, or wished themselves to be viewed. Whether this Spartan performance is aimed at the world outside Sparta or more specifically is meant to be read as revealing of factional disputes inside Sparta (on constitutional issues such as the ephors or the very nature of Spartan kingship), the argument is that it gives us a glimpse into Spartan views on Sparta. This is heady stuff and profoundly attractive, given the lack of extant Spartan writing in this period. My reading, however, is not compatible with this viewpoint. I would not, of course, want to deny that we can learn much about some of the internal workings of the Spartan state from the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, however negative some of the portrayal is, or even that Xenophon discussed such matters with Spartans. But my conclusion is that Xenophon is an independent Athenian voice and that what he says springs from an Athenian, indeed from a Socratic, perspective not a Spartan perspective. In fact, my comparison of Plato’s and Xenophon’s views on the causes of Spartan collapse may serve seriously to complicate even further our understanding of the origin of the views Xenophon presents.

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In general, therefore, I think that we need, as far as possible, to consider Xenophon’s oeuvre not only as a whole but also as in some way philosophical and Socratic: not the work of a committed laconophile but rather of a committed Athenian. I have made here only the opening gambits in this direction, but I think there is much fruitful work to be done taking this as our starting point. I also think that we need to be very wary about assuming that literary conversations between Xenophon and his contemporaries are always antagonistic or one-sided. The startling agreement between Xenophon and Plato on what they see as the real causes of Spartan collapse, causes which they, unlike others, believe are internal, speaks to a much more complex relationship than the one generally asserted.

appendix

Text and Translation of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia

The three most recently published Greek texts of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia in which varying degrees of attention have been paid to the manuscript tradition are Lipka 2002, Jackson 2006 and Gray 2007. None can properly be said to be new editions, since they do not fully consider and/or fully present all aspects of the complicated manuscript tradition.1 Further, all work from different stemmata. While a new edition is certainly desirable, that is not what is being set out here. The main purpose of this appendix is to present the text and a translation to allow the reader to follow closely the detailed critical reading I provide in Part II of this monograph. I have, therefore, used as the basis for my text here the Oxford Classical Text edition of E. C. Marchant (first published in 1920, and which is, as it happens, closely followed by Gray 2007), since it has a full apparatus and is easily available. I follow the paragraph divisions within each section throughout, but I have once deviated from the standard subdivisions: see 12.3 (where I propose starting the sentence three words prior to where the OCT makes the division). I do also, at times, deviate from the readings presented in Marchant’s text, often following the lead of Lipka 2002. When I do deviate, I have explained my decisions in a footnote, rather than in an apparatus, so as not to give the impression that I am presenting a completely new edition. Note that the four editors mentioned here will be referred to by name only in the notes on Of the three, Lipka 2002: 56–9 provides the most thorough explanation of how he came to produce his text (and clearly admits that there was material he could not access). Surprisingly he does not seem to know Muratore 1997, which is a detailed look at the manuscript tradition of our text, but one which does not produce an actual text in accompaniment. Jackson 2006: 3–7, who has done an enormous amount of work on the manuscript tradition of Xenophon’s works more broadly, frustratingly does not provide enough information about his choices in relation to those of other editors, particularly concerning Muratore’s conclusions (1997: 172) that there are in fact eleven independent witnesses to the text. Gray 2007: 20–1 provides some discussion of the textual tradition but seems in the main for this text to follow the Oxford Classical Text, Marchant 1957 (which is also predominantly the text used in the Loeb edition, Marchant 1968).

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the text and translation, and any reference to past editors they draw upon can easily be checked in their editions. In a few instances, the fifth-century CE anthologist Stobaeus is mentioned as having a bearing on textual issues. This is because he excerpted certain portions of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, so he is an important early witness when the manuscript tradition proves problematic.2 With the English translation I have tried to strike a balance between being as faithful as possible to the Greek and not sacrificing understanding in English.3 This is, of course, a Catch-22 situation and I have in no way resolved the translator’s dilemma. This approach will not please everyone, though I hope that the more familiar the reader is with the Greek language the more understandable will be my decisions. Since I have argued throughout the monograph that Xenophon’s rhetorical presentation of the material is key to understanding his purpose, I have tried to capture as far as possible the tone of the text in that regard even when it sounds somewhat stilted in English. Thus, for example, where he repeats words for emphasis, so have I, even if English idiom would prefer otherwise.4 My aim has been to produce a translation that will best support understanding of the Greek text. Some terminology defies direct translation, and I have employed a number of different approaches depending on the context. A particularly good example is the Greek concept of aidôs. Its many shades of meaning certainly are not always in play in every context, but more often than not in this text more than one meaning is present.5 In order not to make things too complicated I have adopted the practice of translating the term as ‘shame and respect’ when I think more than one meaning needs to be brought to the fore. I do not regard this as a wholly adequate solution and ask the reader to bear the complexity of this and other like terminology in mind. Further, there are a number of technical terms for which there are often no really adequate English equivalents, or whose nearest English equivalents may bring unwanted images to mind. I find it the case, for example, that when the Greek πολέμαρχος is translated as See Stobaeus 4.2.23 (ed. Hense 1974). In strong contrast, therefore, to Jackson 2006: 8, whose translation aims ‘to render Xenophon’s unadorned Attic Greek in a similar form of modern American expression’. For a start, I would not agree that Xenophon’s Greek is unadorned. The translations of Lipka 2002 and of Kuiper and Collins 2018: 107–25 are much closer to the Greek in general. (The latter I had not seen before doing my own translation.) 4 Occasionally, too, to get the force of the particle γε across I have simply italicised the word it is emphasising. 5 See Chapter 3.3 n. 89 for further elucidation. 2 3

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‘colonel’ or πεντηκοστήρ as ‘lieutenant’, images of English armies, both real and literary, often cloud understanding.6 I have, therefore, transliterated these terms instead. At other times direct translation seems sufficient because there is no significant cultural baggage to impede comprehension (for example, ‘whip-bearers’ for μαστιγοφόροι). For one reasonably important practice I have, on the other hand, translated two different words, τὸ φιλίτιον (at 3.5 and 5.6) and τὰ συσκήνια (at 5.2) in the same way, i.e. by ‘common mess’.7 Explanations for all these choices can be found in the body of the monograph.

For example, in the same vein, therefore, but for different reasons I have translated patris as ‘native land’ (not ‘fatherland’), and I have always simply transliterated, rather than translated, polis (pl. poleis). I have followed this practice primarily because ‘city’ or ‘state’ alone conjure up strong and not always appropriate modern images, nor is ‘city-state’ as a translation without its own problems. Thus my prime aim has been to try not to (mis)lead too far, keeping in mind, but not engaging on a broader level with, such scholarly works as Hansen 2006 and Vlassopoulos 2007. The paradigm I am aiming to shift here is how we read Xenophon on Sparta, not our understanding of the ancient Greek polis. 7 See further Chapter 3.4 n. 113 and Chapter 4.1 n. 1. 6

ΛΑΚΕΔΑΙΜΟΝΙΩΝ ΠΟΛΙΤΕΙΑ Section 1 [1] Ἀλλ᾽ ἐγὼ ἐννοήσας ποτὲ ὡς ἡ Σπάρτη τῶν ὀλιγανθρωποτάτων πόλεων οὖσα δυνατωτάτη τε καὶ ὀνομαστοτάτη ἐν τῇ Ἑλλάδι ἐφάνη, ἐθαύμασα ὅτῳ ποτὲ τρόπῳ τοῦτ᾽ ἐγένετο· ἐπεὶ μέντοι κατενόησα τὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα τῶν Σπαρτιατῶν, οὐκέτι ἐθαύμαζον. [2] Λυκοῦργον μέντοι τὸν θέντα αὐτοῖς τοὺς νόμους, οἷς πειθόμενοι ηὐδαιμόνησαν, τοῦτον καὶ θαυμάζω καὶ εἰς τὰ ἔσχατα [μάλα]8 σοφὸν ἡγοῦμαι. ἐκεῖνος γὰρ οὐ μιμησάμενος τὰς ἄλλας πόλεις, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐναντία γνοὺς ταῖς πλείσταις, προέχουσαν εὐδαιμονίᾳ τὴν πατρίδα ἐπέδειξεν. [3] Αὐτίκα γὰρ περὶ τεκνοποιίας, ἵνα ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἄρξωμαι, οἱ μὲν ἄλλοι τὰς μελλούσας τίκτειν καὶ καλῶς δοκούσας κόρας παιδεύεσθαι καὶ σίτῳ ᾗ ἀνυστὸν μετριωτάτῳ τρέφουσι καὶ ὄψῳ ᾗ δυνατὸν μικροτάτῳ· οἴνου γε μὴν ἢ πάμπαν ἀπεχομένας ἢ ὑδαρεῖ χρωμένας διάγουσιν. ὥσπερ δὲ οἱ πολλοὶ τῶν τὰς τέχνας ἐχόντων ἑδραῖοί εἰσιν, οὕτω καὶ τὰς κόρας οἱ ἄλλοι Ἕλληνες ἠρεμιζούσας ἐριουργεῖν ἀξιοῦσι. τὰς μὲν οὖν οὕτω τρεφομένας πῶς χρὴ προσδοκῆσαι μεγαλεῖον ἄν τι γεννῆσαι; [4] ὁ δὲ Λυκοῦργος ἐσθῆτας μὲν καὶ δούλας παρέχειν ἱκανὰς ἡγήσατο εἶναι, ταῖς δ᾽ ἐλευθέραις μέγιστον νομίσας εἶναι τὴν τεκνοποιίαν πρῶτον μὲν σωμασκεῖν ἔταξεν οὐδὲν ἧττον τὸ θῆλυ τοῦ ἄρρενος φύλου· ἔπειτα δὲ δρόμου καὶ ἰσχύος, ὥσπερ καὶ τοῖς ἀνδράσιν, οὕτω καὶ ταῖς θηλείαις ἀγῶνας πρὸς ἀλλήλας ἐποίησε, νομίζων ἐξ ἀμφοτέρων ἰσχυρῶν καὶ τὰ ἔκγονα ἐρρωμενέστερα γίγνεσθαι. [5] ἐπεί γε μὴν γυνὴ πρὸς ἄνδρα ἔλθοι, ὁρῶν τοὺς ἄλλους τὸν πρῶτον τοῦ χρόνου ἀμέτρως ταῖς γυναιξὶ συνόντας, καὶ τούτου τἀναντία ἔγνω· ἔθηκε γὰρ αἰδεῖσθαι μὲν εἰσιόντα ὀφθῆναι, αἰδεῖσθαι δ᾽ ἐξιόντα. οὕτω δὲ συνόντων ποθεινοτέρως μὲν ἀνάγκη σφῶν αὐτῶν ἔχειν, ἐρρωμενέστερα δὲ γίγνεσθαι, εἴ τι βλάστοι οὕτω, μᾶλλον ἢ εἰ διάκοροι ἀλλήλων εἶεν. [6] πρὸς δὲ τούτοις καὶ ἀποπαύσας τοῦ ὁπότε βούλοιντο ἕκαστοι γυναῖκα ἄγεσθαι, ἔταξεν ἐν

Marchant, followed by Lipka, places μάλα here in square brackets. Lipka argues cogently that it might have originally been a gloss for εἰς τὰ ἔσχατα which subsequently was copied directly into the text. This seems an eminently reasonable explanation for what otherwise is tautologous.

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LACEDAIMONIÔN POLITEIA Section 1 [1] But I, reflecting once that Sparta, though being one of the most thinly populated poleis, emerged as both the most powerful and the most renowned in Greece, wondered at how ever this had come about; but when I had observed closely the practices of the Spartiates, I wondered no longer. [2] Further,9 as to Lycurgus, the one who laid down for them the laws, obedience to which brought them eudaimonia,10 this man I both wonder at and regard as wise in the extreme. For he, not by imitating the other poleis, but actually by determining things opposite to most of them, put his native land on show as pre-eminent in eudaimonia. [3] For example, in relation to the begetting of children – to begin right at the beginning – the rest rear those maidens who are going to bear children and who seem to be well brought up both with the most moderate amount of bread practicable and the smallest amount of garnishes possible. Further, as for wine, they either make them keep away from it altogether or use it only with water. And just as the majority of those having craft-skills are sedentary, so also the other Greeks expect their maidens to work wool quietly. But how, therefore, should one expect those who are being so reared to bear anything great? [4] Lycurgus, by contrast, held that actually slave women were sufficient to supply clothing, but, believing that for free women the greatest task was to bear children, first of all he ordered the female no less than the male sex to exercise their bodies. Then he created contests against one another in running and strength, just as actually for men, so for women too, believing that the offspring from parents who were both strong would also be more vigorous. [5] Further, in respect of the time when a wife has come to her husband, seeing that the others during this first period of time had unlimited intercourse with their wives, he also determined things opposite to this practice. For he laid down matters so that it was shameful for a man to be seen going in to his wife, and shameful for him to be seen coming out. By having intercourse in this way, they would necessarily be more desirous of one another, and if any offspring should thus be born, they would be healthier than if they were satiated with each other. [6] In addition to these things, he also stopped men taking a wife whenever they I take this μέντοι in a progressive sense; see Denniston 1954: 407. The Greek concept of eudaimonia is complex. It is often here translated as ‘prosperity’, in other contexts as ‘happiness’. For a discussion, see Chapter 3.1 and nn. 39 to 46 there for some examples of translation solutions.

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ἀκμαῖς τῶν σωμάτων τοὺς γάμους ποιεῖσθαι, καὶ τοῦτο συμφέρον τῇ εὐγονίᾳ νομίζων. [7] εἴ γε μέντοι συμβαίη γεραιῷ νέαν ἔχειν, ὁρῶν τοὺς τηλικούτους φυλάττοντας μάλιστα τὰς γυναῖκας, τἀναντία καὶ τούτου ἐνόμισε· τῷ γὰρ πρεσβύτῃ ἐποίησεν, ὁποίου ἀνδρὸς σῶμά τε καὶ ψυχὴν ἀγασθείη, τοῦτον ἐπαγαγομένῳ τεκνοποιήσασθαι. [8] εἰ δέ τις αὖ γυναικὶ μὲν συνοικεῖν μὴ βούλοιτο, τέκνων δὲ ἀξιολόγων ἐπιθυμοίη, καὶ τοῦτο νόμιμον ἐποίησεν, ἥντινα ἂν 11 εὔτεκνον καὶ γενναίαν ὁρῴη, πείσαντα τὸν ἔχοντα ἐκ ταύτης τεκνοποιεῖσθαι. [9] καὶ πολλὰ μὲν τοιαῦτα συνεχώρει. αἵ τε γὰρ γυναῖκες διττοὺς οἴκους βούλονται κατέχειν, οἵ τε ἄνδρες ἀδελφοὺς τοῖς παισὶ προσλαμβάνειν, οἳ τοῦ μὲν γένους καὶ τῆς δυνάμεως κοινωνοῦσι, τῶν δὲ χρημάτων οὐκ ἀντιποιοῦνται. [10] περὶ μὲν δὴ τεκνοποιίας οὕτω τἀναντία γνοὺς τοῖς ἄλλοις εἴ τι διαφέροντας καὶ κατὰ μέγεθος καὶ κατ᾽ ἰσχὺν ἄνδρας τῇ Σπάρτῃ ἀπετέλεσεν, ὁ βουλόμενος ἐπισκοπείτω.

Section 2 [1] Ἐγὼ μέντοι, ἐπεὶ καὶ περὶ γενέσεως ἐξήγημαι, βούλομαι καὶ τὴν παιδείαν ἑκατέρων σαφηνίσαι. τῶν μὲν τοίνυν ἄλλων Ἑλλήνων οἱ φάσκοντες κάλλιστα τοὺς υἱεῖς παιδεύειν, ἐπειδὰν τάχιστα αὐτοῖς οἱ παῖδες τὰ λεγόμενα ξυνιῶσιν, εὐθὺς μὲν ἐπ᾽ αὐτοῖς παιδαγωγοὺς θεράποντας ἐφιστᾶσιν, εὐθὺς δὲ πέμπουσιν εἰς διδασκάλων μαθησομένους καὶ γράμματα καὶ μουσικὴν καὶ τὰ ἐν παλαίστρᾳ. πρὸς δὲ τούτοις τῶν παίδων πόδας μὲν ὑποδήμασιν ἁπαλύνουσι, σώματα δὲ ἱματίων μεταβολαῖς διαθρύπτουσι· σίτου γε μὴν αὐτοῖς γαστέρα μέτρον νομίζουσιν. [2] ὁ δὲ Λυκοῦργος, ἀντὶ μὲν τοῦ ἰδίᾳ ἕκαστον παιδαγωγοὺς δούλους ἐφιστάναι, ἄνδρα ἐπέστησε κρατεῖν αὐτῶν ἐξ ὧνπερ αἱ μέγισται ἀρχαὶ καθίστανται, ὃς δὴ καὶ παιδονόμος καλεῖται, τοῦτον δὲ κύριον ἐποίησε καὶ ἁθροίζειν τοὺς παῖδας, καὶ ἐπισκοποῦντα, εἴ τις

Marchant, not followed by anyone else, encloses this ἂν in square brackets, but Lipka notes that Xenophon occasionally uses ἄν ‘in relative clauses with a hypothetic and iterative notion’; see also 2.10.

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individually wished to, and ordered them to marry at their physical peak, believing that this also would be beneficial to fruitfulness. [7] If, however, an old man should happen to have a young wife, seeing that such individuals are particularly watchful over their wives, he also made customary things the opposite of this. For he brought it about for an old man to beget children by procuring the kind of man whose body and soul he admired. [8] And, in turn, if someone should not want to marry a woman but desired notable children, he also made this customary, that is, begetting children from whatever fertile and well-born woman he saw, after persuading her husband. [9] And he conceded to many such arrangements. For the women want to possess two households and the men to get for their sons brothers, who have a share of their family and its power, but who lay no claim to its wealth. [10] In relation to the begetting of children, then, whether by determining things in so opposite a manner to the others, he produced in Sparta men superior in any way both in size and strength, let anyone who wishes consider for himself.

Section 2 [1] Further, since I have actually explained matters in relation to birth, I also want to make clear the education of each of the two. Well then, on the one hand, those among the other Greeks who profess to educate their sons in the finest possible way, as soon as their boys understand what is said to them, immediately they set over them slaves as their minders and immediately they send them to teachers in order to learn both letters and music and the activities in the wrestling-ground. In addition to these things they soften the feet of the boys with shoes, and they pamper their bodies with changes of cloaks. Further, as regards food they believe their stomachs to be the measure of that. [2] Lycurgus, on the other hand, instead of having each man privately appoint slaves as minders, appointed a man to rule over them from among those for whom the greatest offices have been established, who indeed is actually called the paidonomos.12 He gave this man authority both to gather the boys and, as he was watching over them, to punish them harshly if any were to be

The paidonomos appears to be a supervisory role. See further Chapter 3.3 n. 73.

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ῥᾳδιουργοίη, ἰσχυρῶς κολάζειν. ἔδωκε δ᾽ αὐτῷ καὶ τῶν ἡβώντων μαστιγοφόρους, ὅπως τιμωροῖεν ὁπότε δέοι, ὥστε πολλὴν μὲν αἰδῶ, πολλὴν δὲ πειθὼ ἐκεῖ συμπαρεῖναι. [3] ἀντί γε μὴν τοῦ ἁπαλύνειν τοὺς πόδας ὑποδήμασιν ἔταξεν ἀνυποδησίᾳ κρατύνειν, νομίζων, εἰ τοῦτ᾽ ἀσκήσειαν, πολὺ μὲν ῥᾷον ἂν ὄρθια εὖ βαίνειν,13 ἀσφαλέστερον δὲ πρανῆ καταβαίνειν, καὶ πηδῆσαι δὲ καὶ ἀναθορεῖν καὶ δραμεῖν θᾶττον ἀνυπόδητον,14 εἰ ἠσκηκὼς εἴη τοὺς πόδας, ἢ ὑποδεδεμένον. [4] καὶ ἀντί γε τοῦ ἱματίοις διαθρύπτεσθαι ἐνόμιζεν ἑνὶ ἱματίῳ δι᾽ ἔτους προσεθίζεσθαι, νομίζων οὕτως καὶ πρὸς ψύχη καὶ πρὸς θάλπη ἄμεινον ἂν παρεσκευάσθαι. [5] σῖτόν γε μὴν ἔταξε τοσοῦτον [ἔχοντα] συμβολεύειν15 τὸν εἴρενα ὡς ὑπὸ πλησμονῆς μὲν μήποτε βαρύνεσθαι, τοῦ δὲ ἐνδεεστέρως διάγειν μὴ ἀπείρως ἔχειν, νομίζων τοὺς οὕτω παιδευομένους μᾶλλον μὲν ἂν δύνασθαι, εἰ δεήσειεν, ἀσιτήσαντας ἐπιπονῆσαι, μᾶλλον δ᾽ ἄν, εἰ παραγγελθείη, ἀπὸ τοῦ αὐτοῦ σίτου πλείω χρόνον ἐπιταθῆναι, ἧττον δ᾽ ἂν ὄψου δεῖσθαι, εὐχερέστερον δὲ πρὸς πᾶν ἔχειν βρῶμα, καὶ ὑγιεινοτέρως δ᾽ ἂν διάγειν· καὶ εἰς μῆκος ἂν τὴν [αὐξάνεσθαι] 16 ῥαδινὰ τὰ σώματα ποιοῦσαν τροφὴν μᾶλλον συλλαμβάνειν ἡγήσατο ἢ τὴν διαπλατύνουσαν τῷ σίτῳ. [6] ὡς δὲ μὴ ὑπὸ λιμοῦ ἄγαν αὖ πιέζοιντο, ἀπραγμόνως μὲν αὐτοῖς οὐκ ἔδωκε λαμβάνειν ὧν ἂν προσδέωνται, κλέπτειν δ᾽ ἐφῆκεν ἔστιν ἃ τῷ λιμῷ ἐπικουροῦντας. [7] καὶ ὡς μὲν οὐκ ἀπορῶν ὅ τι δοίη ἐφῆκεν αὐτοῖς γε μηχανᾶσθαι τὴν τροφήν, οὐδένα οἶμαι τοῦτο ἀγνοεῖν· δῆλον δ᾽ ὅτι τὸν μέλλοντα κλωπεύειν καὶ νυκτὸς ἀγρυπνεῖν δεῖ καὶ μεθ᾽ ἡμέραν ἀπατᾶν καὶ ἐνεδρεύειν, καὶ κατασκόπους δὲ ἑτοιμάζειν τὸν μέλλοντά τι λήψεσθαι. ταῦτα οὖν δὴ πάντα δῆλον ὅτι μηχανικωτέρους τῶν ἐπιτηδείων βουλόμενος τοὺς παῖδας ποιεῖν καὶ πολεμικωτέρους οὕτως ἐπαίδευσεν.

Marchant, followed by Gray, has ὀρθιάδε ἐκβαίνειν; Jackson has ὀρθιάδε βαίνειν. The reading which I have here and which I think makes better sense is that of Lipka, who follows the text in some lesser manuscripts, arguing that ἐκ is a later corruption of what originally was εὖ. 14 Marchant has from ἀνυπόδητον to the end of the sentence in square brackets essentially on the grounds that it is not in Stobaeus, but his reading is not followed by anyone else. 15 Marchant, followed by Gray, has ἔχοντα συμβολεύειν. The main manuscript, followed by Jackson, in fact has ἔχοντα συμβουλεύειν, which makes little sense. Lipka likes neither alternative and conjectures συμβάλλειν instead. But συμβολεύειν does appear in a lesser manuscript (and it is easy to see how it could have morphed into συμβουλεύειν along the way) and does make sense, even if it appears to be a hapax, particularly if one follows, as I do here, Lipka in placing ἔχοντα in square brackets, on the grounds that it may have been a gloss or reading for εἴρενα. In this way the text is rendered intelligible. 16 Marchant, followed by Gray, has ἂν τὴν αὐξάνεσθαι ῥαδινὰ. This deviates from the main manuscript tradition, followed by Jackson, which reads αὐξάνεσθαι τὴν ῥαδινὰ. Likpa, however, following the arguments of Weiske (1804), argues convincingly that the infinitive ought to be deleted altogether and so that is what I have done here. 13

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slacking. He gave to this man also whip-bearers from among the young men in order to exact due punishment whenever necessary. The result is that a great deal of shame and respect and a great deal of obedience are present together there. [3] Further, instead of softening their feet with shoes he ordered that they should strengthen them by going barefoot, believing that if they practised this, they would more easily go well uphill and more safely go pell-mell downhill, and that they would leap and bound and run faster barefoot if they had trained their feet than if they wore shoes. [4] And instead of being pampered with cloaks, he made it customary that they get used to one cloak throughout the year, believing that in this way they would be better prepared both for the cold and for the heat. [5] Further, he ordered that the eirên17 bring just so much food that on the one hand they would never be oppressed by satiety, and on the other hand they would not be inexperienced in living with less. For he believed that those thus brought up would be more able, if necessary, to continue toiling when deprived of food, and more able, if ordered, to endure for more time on the same food, and would need fewer garnishes, and have more tolerance towards every food, and would live more healthily. And he held that the nourishment that made their bodies slender would contribute more towards height than the one that fattened them up with food. [6] So that they might not in turn be oppressed too much by hunger, while he did not allow them to take whatever they needed without trouble, he did permit them to steal some things in order to aid against hunger. [7] And that it was not because he lacked the resources to give them that he permitted them, at any rate, to use contrivances to procure nourishment, nobody, I think, is ignorant of this. Rather, it is clear that the one intending to steal must both lie awake at night and by day be deceptive and lay ambushes, and also the one intending to take anything must have spies to hand. With respect to all these things, therefore, it is clear that because he wanted to make the boys more capable of contriving to get provisions and more warlike, he educated them in this way.

One of those from the age group 20–30.

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[8] εἴποι δ᾽ ἂν οὖν τις, τί δῆτα, εἴπερ τὸ κλέπτειν ἀγαθὸν ἐνόμιζε, πολλὰς πληγὰς ἐπέβαλλε τῷ ἁλισκομένῳ; ὅτι, φημὶ ἐγώ, καὶ τἆλλα, ὅσα ἄνθρωποι διδάσκουσι, κολάζουσι τὸν μὴ καλῶς ὑπηρετοῦντα. κἀκεῖνοι οὖν τοὺς ἁλισκομένους ὡς κακῶς κλέπτοντας τιμωροῦνται. [9] καὶ ὡς πλείστους δὴ ἁρπάσαι τυροὺς παρ᾽ Ὀρθίας καλὸν θείς, μαστιγοῦν τούτους ἄλλοις ἐπέταξε, τοῦτο δηλῶσαι καὶ ἐν τούτῳ βουλόμενος ὅτι ἔστιν ὀλίγον χρόνον ἀλγήσαντα πολὺν χρόνον εὐδοκιμοῦντα εὐφραίνεσθαι.18 δηλοῦται δὲ ἐν τούτῳ ὅτι καὶ ὅπου τάχους δεῖ ὁ βλακεύων ἐλάχιστα μὲν ὠφελεῖται, πλεῖστα δὲ πράγματα λαμβάνει. [10] ὅπως δὲ μηδ᾽ εἰ ὁ παιδονόμος ἀπέλθοι, ἔρημοί ποτε οἱ παῖδες εἶεν ἄρχοντος, ἐποίησε τὸν ἀεὶ παρόντα τῶν πολιτῶν κύριον εἶναι καὶ ἐπιτάττειν τοῖς παισὶν ὅ τι ἂν19 ἀγαθὸν δοκοίη εἶναι, καὶ κολάζειν, εἴ τι ἁμαρτάνοιεν. τοῦτο δὲ ποιήσας διέπραξε καὶ αἰδημονεστέρους εἶναι τοὺς παῖδας· οὐδὲν γὰρ οὕτως αἰδοῦνται οὔτε παῖδες οὔτε ἄνδρες ὡς τοῦς ἄρχοντας. [11] ὡς δὲ καὶ εἴ ποτε μηδεὶς τύχοι ἀνὴρ παρών, μηδ᾽ ὣς ἔρημοι οἱ παῖδες ἄρχοντος εἶεν, ἔθηκε τῆς ἴλης ἑκάστης τὸν τορώτατον τῶν εἰρένων ἄρχειν· ὥστε οὐδέποτε ἐκεῖ οἱ παῖδες ἔρημοι ἄρχοντός εἰσι. [12] Λεκτέον δέ μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι καὶ περὶ τῶν παιδικῶν ἐρώτων· ἔστι γάρ τι καὶ τοῦτο πρὸς παιδείαν. οἱ μὲν τοίνυν ἄλλοι Ἕλληνες ἢ ὥσπερ Βοιωτοὶ ἀνὴρ καὶ παῖς συζυγέντες ὁμιλοῦσιν, ἢ ὥσπερ Ἠλεῖοι διὰ χαρίτων τῇ ὥρᾳ χρῶνται· εἰσὶ δὲ καὶ οἳ παντάπασι τοῦ διαλέγεσθαι τοὺς ἐραστὰς εἴργουσιν ἀπὸ τῶν παίδων. [13] ὁ δὲ Λυκοῦργος ἐναντία καὶ τούτοις πᾶσι γνούς, εἰ μέν τις αὐτὸς ὢν οἷον δεῖ ἀγασθεὶς ψυχὴν παιδὸς πειρῷτο ἄμεμπτον φίλον ἀποτελέσασθαι καὶ συνεῖναι, ἐπῄνει καὶ καλλίστην παιδείαν ταύτην ἐνόμιζεν· εἰ δέ τις παιδὸς σώματος ὀρεγόμενος φανείη, αἴσχιστον τοῦτο θεὶς ἐποίησεν ἐν Λακεδαίμονι μηδὲν ἧττον ἐραστὰς παιδικῶν ἀπέχεσθαι ἢ γονεῖς παίδων ἢ καὶ ἀδελφοὶ ἀδελφῶν εἰς ἀφροδίσια ἀπέχονται. [14] τὸ μὲν τοιαῦτα20 ἀπιστεῖσθαι ὑπό τινων οὐ θαυμάζω· ἐν πολλαῖς γὰρ τῶν πόλεων οἱ νόμοι οὐκ ἐναντιοῦνται ταῖς πρὸς τοὺς παῖδας ἐπιθυμίαις. Ἡ μὲν δὴ παιδεία εἴρηται ἥ τε Λακωνικὴ καὶ ἡ τῶν ἄλλων Ἑλλήνων· ἐξ ὁποτέρας δ᾽ αὐτῶν καὶ εὐπειθέστεροι καὶ αἰδημονέστεροι καὶ ὧν δεῖ ἐγκρατέστεροι ἄνδρες ἀποτελοῦνται, ὁ βουλόμενος καὶ ταῦτα ἐπισκοπείσθω. Marchant alone places this sentence in square brackets. There is no good reason to do so, as Lipka rightly notes. 19 Again Marchant alone encloses this ἂν in square brackets, but see n. 11 on 1.8. 20 Marchant, along with Gray and, surprisingly, Jackson, has τὸ μέντοι ταῦτα, yet the reading above is in what is considered the best manuscript and is sensible, so, like Lipka, I have retained it here. 18

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[8] Someone, therefore, might say ‘why then, if he really believed that stealing was good, did he lay many blows on the one who was caught?’ Because, I say, as with all the other things which men teach, they punish the one not carrying out his task well. And so those men exact due punishment from the ones who are caught, on the grounds that they are bad thieves. [9] And although he laid down that it was a good thing to snatch away as many cheeses as possible from Orthia, he ordered others to whip these individuals, wishing to show this also, in this case that it is possible by suffering for a short time for a person to rejoice in being highly esteemed for a long time. And it is shown in this case that also where there is a need of speed the lazy one derives least advantage but gets into most trouble. [10] In order that, even if the paidonomos was absent, the boys might never lack a ruler, he gave any citizen who happened to be present authority both to order the boys to do whatever he thought good and to punish them if they did any wrong. By doing this he also caused the boys to be more shameful and respectful. For neither boys nor men respect or feel shame before anything so much as those ruling them. [11] So that also even if no adult male happened to be present, not even in this case would the boys lack a ruler, he laid down matters so that the smartest of the eirenes of each troop should rule. Consequently, the boys there never lack a ruler. [12] I think mention ought to be made also about love affairs with favourite boys. For this also has something to do with education. Well then, the other Greeks either – like the Boeotians – have a man and boy associate as if married, or – like the Eleians – enjoy their bloom by means of favours. There are also those who prevent altogether lovers from conversing with boys. [13] But Lycurgus determined things opposite also to all these. If anyone, himself being of the sort he ought to be, admired the soul of a boy and tried to accomplish a blameless friendship and be with him, Lycurgus approved and considered this the finest education. But if anyone seemed to be yearning for the body of a boy, laying down this as most shameful, he brought it about that in Lacedaemon lovers keep away from their favourite boys no less than parents from their children or also brothers from brothers in regard to sexual contact. [14] Indeed, I do not wonder that such things are disbelieved by some, because in many of the poleis the laws are not opposed to sexual desire for boys. Now then, the education system, both the Laconian and that of the other Greeks, has been stated. From which of the two of them, however, are produced men who are more obedient and more shameful and respectful and more self-restrained with regard to what is necessary, let anyone who wishes consider these things also for himself.

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Section 3 [1] Ὅταν γε μὴν ἐκ παίδων εἰς τὸ μειρακιοῦσθαι ἐκβαίνωσι, τηνικαῦτα οἱ μὲν ἄλλοι παύουσι μὲν ἀπὸ παιδαγωγῶν, παύουσι δὲ ἀπὸ διδασκάλων, ἄρχουσι δὲ οὐδένες ἔτι αὐτῶν, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτονόμους ἀφιᾶσιν· ὁ δὲ Λυκοῦργος καὶ τούτων τἀναντία ἔγνω. [2] καταμαθὼν γὰρ τοῖς τηλικούτοις μέγιστον μὲν φρόνημα ἐμφυόμενον, μάλιστα δὲ ὕβριν ἐπιπολάζουσαν, ἰσχυροτάτας δὲ ἐπιθυμίας τῶν ἡδονῶν παρισταμένας, τηνικαῦτα πλείστους μὲν πόνους αὐτοῖς ἐπέβαλε, πλείστην δὲ ἀσχολίαν ἐμηχανήσατο. [3] ἐπιθεὶς δὲ καὶ εἴ τις ταῦτα φύγοι, μηδενὸς ἔτι τῶν καλῶν τυγχάνειν, ἐποίησε μὴ μόνον τοὺς ἐκ δημοσίου ἀλλὰ καὶ τοὺς κηδομένους ἑκάστων ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, ὡς μὴ ἀποδειλιάσαντες ἀδόκιμοι παντάπασιν ἐν τῇ πόλει γένοιντο. [4] πρὸς δὲ τούτοις τὸ αἰδεῖσθαι ἰσχυρῶς ἐμφυσιῶσαι21 βουλόμενος αὐτοῖς καὶ ἐν ταῖς ὁδοῖς ἐπέταξεν ἐντὸς μὲν τοῦ ἱματίου τὼ χεῖρε ἔχειν, σιγῇ δὲ πορεύεσθαι, περιβλέπειν δὲ μηδαμοῖ, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὰ τὰ πρὸ τῶν ποδῶν ὁρᾶν. ἔνθα δὴ καὶ δῆλον γεγένηται ὅτι τὸ ἄρρεν φῦλον καὶ εἰς τὸ σωφρονεῖν ἰσχυρότερόν ἐστι τῆς τῶν θηλειῶν φύσεως.22 [5] ἐκείνων γοῦν ἧττον μὲν ἂν φωνὴν ἀκούσαις ἢ τῶν λιθίνων, ἧττον δ᾽ ἂν ὄμματα [μετα]στρέψαις ἢ τῶν χαλκῶν, αἰδημονεστέρους δ᾽ ἂν αὐτοὺς ἡγήσαιο καὶ αὐτῶν τῶν ἐν τοῖς ὀφθαλμοῖς παρθένων.23 καὶ ἐπειδὰν εἰς τὸ φιλίτιόν γε ἀφίκωνται, ἀγαπητὸν αὐτῶν καὶ τὸ ἐρωτηθὲν ἀκοῦσαι. καὶ τῶν μὲν αὖ παιδίσκων οὕτως ἐπεμελήθη.

Section 4 [1] Περί γε μὴν τῶν ἡβώντων πολὺ μάλιστα ἐσπούδασε, νομίζων τούτους, εἰ γένοιντο οἵους δεῖ, πλεῖστον ῥέπειν ἐπὶ τὸ ἀγαθὸν τῇ πόλει. [2] ὁρῶν οὖν, οἷς ἂν μάλιστα φιλονικία ἐγγένηται, τούτων καὶ χοροὺς ἀξιακροατοτάτους γιγνομένους καὶ γυμνικοὺς ἀγῶνας ἀξιοθεατοτάτους, Marchant, followed by Gray, reads ἐμφῦσαι (with Stobaeus) against Lipka and Jackson, who follow the main manuscript tradition, which seems to work perfectly well so I have also retained it. 22 Marchant, followed by Gray, reads τῶν τῆς θηλείας φύσεως. Jackson surprisingly omits the τῶν even though it is found in his favoured manuscript. I follow Lipka’s reconstruction above. 23 For a discussion of the phrase τῶν ἐν τοῖς ὀφθαλμοῖς παρθένων, see Chapter 3.4 n. 112. 21

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Section 3 [1] Further, when they move on from childhood to puberty, at that time the others release them from their minders and release them from their teachers, and instead nobody rules over them any longer, but they allow them to be autonomous. But Lycurgus determined things opposite to these arrangements also. [2] For, having learnt that in those of such an age there is implanted the greatest pride, and that unprovoked aggression especially prevails, and that the strongest desires for pleasures beset them, at that time he imposed upon them the greatest number of toils, and conversely contrived the least amount of leisure time. [3] And he also imposed a penalty if anyone should flee these tasks, namely that they would not hereafter obtain any of the good things,24 and he brought it about that not only public officials but also those who are concerned for each youth took care that they not, by flinching from toil, be discredited altogether in the polis. [4] In addition to these things, wishing to implant shame and respect strongly in them, he ordered them even in the streets to keep their hands inside their cloak, to walk in silence and to look around in no direction but to gaze at the very things in front of their feet. From this indeed it has also become clear that the male sex is stronger, even with regard to moderation, than is the nature of females. [5] From these, at any rate, you would be less likely to hear a sound than from marble statues, and you would be less likely to turn aside their eyes than those of bronze figures, and you would regard them as more modest25 than even the very pupils in their eyes. And when they come to the common mess, it is a pleasing thing to hear from them even an answer to a question. And so in this way he took care in turn of the youths.

Section 4 [1] Further, with regard to young men he was most particularly zealous, believing that these, if they were to become the sort they should, would have the most influence for good for the polis. [2] Observing, therefore, that of those in whom philonikia26 was particularly inbred, both their choruses were See Chapter 3.4 and n. 117 there for a discussion of what ‘the good things’ probably comprise. Cf. also 4.4. 25 There is a cognate of αἰδώς again here, but the context limits the sense to that of ‘modesty’. 26 Literally ‘love of victory’, but the term contains both negative and positive qualities, making deciphering its shading challenging. See further Chapter 3.5 and n. 126; also Chapter 7.1.3 and n. 45. 24

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ἐνόμιζεν, εἰ καὶ τοὺς ἡβῶντας συμβάλλοι εἰς ἔριν περὶ ἀρετῆς, οὕτως ἂν καὶ τούτους ἐπὶ πλεῖστον ἀφικνεῖσθαι ἀνδραγαθίας. ὡς οὖν τούτους αὖ συνέβαλεν, ἐξηγήσομαι. [3] αἱροῦνται τοίνυν αὐτῶν οἱ ἔφοροι ἐκ τῶν ἀκμαζόντων τρεῖς ἄνδρας· οὗτοι δὲ ἱππαγρέται καλοῦνται. τούτων δ᾽ ἕκαστος ἄνδρας ἑκατὸν καταλέγει, διασαφηνίζων ὅτου ἕνεκα τοὺς μὲν προτιμᾷ, τοὺς δὲ ἀποδοκιμάζει. [4] οἱ οὖν μὴ τυγχάνοντες τῶν καλῶν πολεμοῦσι τοῖς τε ἀποστείλασιν αὐτοὺς καὶ τοῖς αἱρεθεῖσιν ἀνθ᾽ αὑτῶν καὶ παραφυλάττουσιν ἀλλήλους, ἐάν τι παρὰ τὰ καλὰ νομιζόμενα ῥᾳδιουργῶσι. [5] Καὶ αὕτη δὴ γίγνεται ἡ θεοφιλεστάτη τε καὶ πολιτικωτάτη ἔρις, ἐν ᾗ ἀποδέδεικται μὲν ἃ δεῖ ποιεῖν τὸν ἀγαθόν, χωρὶς δ᾽ ἑκάτεροι ἀσκοῦσιν ὅπως ἀεὶ κράτιστοι ἔσονται, ἐὰν δέ τι δέῃ, καθ᾽ ἕνα ἀρήξουσι τῇ πόλει παντὶ σθένει [ἄν]. [6] ἀνάγκη δ᾽ αὐτοῖς καὶ εὐεξίας ἐπιμελεῖσθαι. καὶ γὰρ πυκτεύουσι διὰ τὴν ἔριν ὅπου ἂν συμβάλωσι· διαλύειν μέντοι τοὺς μαχομένους πᾶς ὁ παραγενόμενος κύριος. ἢν δέ τις ἀπειθῇ τῷ διαλύοντι, ἄγει αὐτὸν ὁ παιδονόμος ἐπὶ τοὺς ἐφόρους· οἱ δὲ ζημιοῦσι μεγαλείως, καθιστάναι βουλόμενοι εἰς τὸ μήποτε ὀργὴν τοῦ μὴ πείθεσθαι τοῖς νόμοις κρατῆσαι. [7] Τοῖς γε μὴν τὴν ἡβητικὴν ἡλικίαν πεπερακόσιν, ἐξ ὧν ἤδη καὶ αἱ μέγισται ἀρχαὶ καθίστανται, οἱ μὲν ἄλλοι Ἕλληνες ἀφελόντες αὐτῶν τὸ ἰσχύος ἔτι ἐπιμελεῖσθαι στρατεύεσθαι ὅμως αὐτοῖς ἐπιτάττουσιν, ὁ δὲ Λυκοῦργος τοῖς τηλικούτοις νόμιμον ἐποίησε κάλλιστον εἶναι τὸ θηρᾶν, εἰ μή τι δημόσιον κωλύοι, ὅπως δύναιντο καὶ οὗτοι μηδὲν ἧττον τῶν ἡβώντων στρατιωτικοὺς πόνους ὑποφέρειν.

Section 5 [1] Ἃ μὲν οὖν ἑκάστῃ ἡλικίᾳ ἐνομοθέτησεν ὁ Λυκοῦργος ἐπιτηδεύματα σχεδὸν εἴρηται· οἵαν δὲ καὶ πᾶσι δίαιταν κατεσκεύασε, νῦν πειράσομαι διηγεῖσθαι. [2] Λυκοῦργος τοίνυν παραλαβὼν τοὺς Σπαρτιάτας ὥσπερ

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most worth hearing and their athletic contests most worth watching, he believed that if he could actually engage the young men with one another in strife about virtue, in this way they would also arrive at the highest degree of bravery. How, therefore, in turn he made them engage with one another, I will explain. [3] Well then, of them the ephors choose three men from among those at the prime of their life. These are called hippagretai.27 Each of these selects 100 men, making clear for what reason he has preferred to honour some and rejected others as unworthy. [4] Those, then, who do not win the good things are at war both with those who sent them away and those who were picked instead of them. And they watch one another closely to see if they are slacking contrary to what are regarded as the good things. [5] And indeed this is the strife which is most beloved of the gods and most political, in which it has been made clear on the one hand what the good man must do, while on the other hand each side separately practises to be consistently the most dominant. But if there is any necessity, one by one they will bring aid to the polis with all their strength. [6] And it is necessary for them also to take care that they are in good physical condition. Indeed they use their fists because of this strife, whenever they come up against one another. Nevertheless, anyone at all who is present has the authority to separate those fighting. And if anyone disobeys the one trying to break up the fight, the paidonomos leads him to the ephors, and they penalise him heavily, wishing to establish a situation in which anger never prevails over obeying the laws. [7] Further, concerning those who have passed through the youthful time of life, from among whom at that point actually the greatest offices are appointed, the other Greeks, having relieved them from taking care of their physical strength any longer, order them nevertheless to serve in the army. Lycurgus, however, made it customary that hunting was the finest activity for men of such an age, unless some public duty prevented it, so that these men also would be no less able to undergo military toils than the young men.

Section 5 [1] The practices, therefore, which Lycurgus ordained by law for each age group have been stated more or less; but what sort of daily life he also arranged for all, I will now attempt to describe. [2] Well then, when The main role of these three hippagretai seems clear from the text. See further Chapter 3.5 and n. 127 there.

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τοὺς ἄλλους Ἕλληνας οἴκοι σκηνοῦντας, γνοὺς ἐν τούτοις πλεῖστα ῥᾳδιουργεῖσθαι, εἰς τὸ φανερὸν ἐξήγαγε τὰ συσκήνια, οὕτως ἡγούμενος ἥκιστ᾽ ἂν παραβαίνεσθαι τὰ προσταττόμενα. [3] καὶ σῖτόν γε ἔταξεν αὐτοῖς ὡς μήτε ὑπερπληροῦσθαι μήτε ἐνδεεῖς γίγνεσθαι. πολλὰ δὲ καὶ παράλογα γίγνεται ἀπὸ τῶν ἀγρευομένων· οἱ δὲ πλούσιοι ἔστιν ὅτε καὶ ἄρτον ἀντιπαραβάλλουσιν· ὥστε οὔτε ἔρημός ποτε ἡ τράπεζα βρωτῶν γίγνεται, ἔστ᾽ ἂν διασκηνῶσιν, οὔτε πολυδάπανος. [4] καὶ μὴν τοῦ πότου ἀποπαύσας τὰς [οὐκ] ἀναγκαίας πόσεις, αἳ σφάλλουσι μὲν σώματα, σφάλλουσι δὲ γνώμας, ἐφῆκεν ὁπότε διψῴη ἕκαστος πίνειν, οὕτω νομίζων ἀβλαβέστατόν τε καὶ ἥδιστον ποτὸν γίγνεσθαι. οὕτω γε μὴν συσκηνούντων πῶς ἄν τις ἢ ὑπὸ λιχνείας ἢ οἰνοφλυγίας ἢ αὑτὸν ἢ οἶκον διαφθείρειεν; [5] καὶ γὰρ δὴ ἐν μὲν ταῖς ἄλλαις πόλεσιν ὡς τὸ πολὺ οἱ ἥλικες ἀλλήλοις σύνεισι, μεθ᾽ ὧνπερ καὶ ἐλαχίστη αἰδὼς παραγίγνεται· ὁ δὲ Λυκοῦργος ἐν τῇ Σπάρτῃ ἀνέμειξε ... παιδεύεσθαι τὰ πολλὰ τοὺς νεωτέρους ὑπὸ τῆς τῶν γεραιτέρων ἐμπειρίας. [6] καὶ γὰρ δὴ ἐπιχώριον ἐν τοῖς φιλιτίοις λέγεσθαι ὅ τι ἂν καλῶς τις ἐν τῇ πόλει ποιήσῃ· ὥστ᾽ ἐκεῖ ἥκιστα μὲν ὕβριν, ἥκιστα δὲ παροινίαν, ἥκιστα δὲ αἰσχρουργίαν καὶ αἰσχρολογίαν ἐγγίγνεσθαι. [7] ἀγαθά γε μὴν ἀπεργάζεται καὶ τάδε ἡ ἔξω σίτησις· περιπατεῖν τε γὰρ ἀναγκάζονται ἐν τῇ οἴκαδε ἀφόδῳ, καὶ μὴν τοῦ ὑπὸ οἴνου μὴ σφάλλεσθαι ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, εἰδότες ὅτι οὐκ ἔνθαπερ ἐδείπνουν καταμενοῦσι καὶ τῇ ὄρφνῃ ὅσα ἡμέρᾳ χρηστέον· οὐδὲ γὰρ ὑπὸ φανοῦ τὸν ἔτι ἔμφρουρον ἔξεστι πορεύεσθαι. [8] Καταμαθών γε μὴν ὁ Λυκοῦργος καὶ ὅτι ἀπὸ τῶν σίτων οἱ μὲν διαπονούμενοι εὖχροί τε καὶ εὔσαρκοι καὶ εὔρωστοί εἰσιν, οἱ δ᾽ ἄπονοι πεφυσημένοι τε καὶ αἰσχροὶ καὶ ἀσθενεῖς ἀναφαίνονται, οὐδὲ τούτου ἡμέλησεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐννοῶν ὅτι καὶ ὅταν αὐτός τις τῇ ἑαυτοῦ γνώμῃ φιλοπονῇ, ἀρκούντως τὸ σῶμα ἔχων ἀναφαίνεται, ἐπέταξε τὸν ἀεὶ πρεσβύτατον ἐν τῷ γυμνασίῳ ἑκάστῳ ἐπιμελεῖσθαι ὡς μήποτε αὐτοὺς28

The text here is problematic: Marchant has †αὐτοὶ ἐλάττους τῶν σιτίων γίγνεσθαι†. Schneider proposed γίγνωνται to deal with the problem, but since αὐτοὺς occurs in one of the lesser manuscripts it is the reading I have adopted here (following Lipka).

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Lycurgus took on the Spartiates, like the other Greeks they were messing at home. Having determined that in these circumstances there was the greatest slacking, he brought the common messes out into the open,29 holding that in this way his decrees would be least likely to be transgressed. [3] And he ordered food for them, so that they would neither be overfull nor be left wanting. But also there are many unexpected portions of food from what is caught in the hunt, and there are times when rich men contribute wheat bread alongside also. As a result, the table is neither ever empty of food until they leave the mess, nor is it extravagant. [4] And moreover with respect to drinking, having stopped the compulsory potations which trip up bodies and trip up minds, he permitted each to drink whenever thirsty, believing that in this way drinking is least harmful and most pleasurable. Thus, therefore, how could any of those messing together either by gluttony or drunkenness ruin either himself or his household? [5] Indeed, in the other poleis for the most part it is men of the same age who assemble with one another, among whom shame and respect is actually least present. But Lycurgus in Sparta mixed 30 with respect to many things the younger are educated through the experience of those who are older. [6] For indeed it is the custom in the common messes to speak about any noble deed anyone in the polis did. As a result, in that place there are engendered least of all unprovoked aggression, least of all drunkenness, and least of all shameful deeds and shameful speech. [7] Further, eating outside the home produces these following good things also. For they are compelled to walk on the return homeward, and in fact to take care not to trip up under the influence of wine, knowing that they will not remain there where they were dining, and that by night they must make use of all the things they use by day. For it is not possible for one still liable for military duty to journey with a light. [8] Further, Lycurgus having learnt also that on the same food men who work hard have a good complexion and good flesh and good strength, whereas men who are lazy prove to be swollen and ugly and feeble, he did not neglect this either. But although reflecting that also, whenever any man himself is industrious of his own inclination, he proves to have a fit enough body, he ordered the one who is at the time the eldest in each gymnasium to take care that they are never defeated by their food Lipka translates εἰς τὸ φανερὸν as ‘into the public domain’, which perhaps more clearly explains what is happening here, though I have eschewed ‘public’ in this instance to leave that term available for cognates of δημόσιος (which are strikingly placed elsewhere in the text). 30 This is a rough estimation of what may be missing, based on Plutarch’s similar account of this practice at Lyc. 12.6 and Lipka’s note on the same. 29

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ἐλάττους τῶν σιτίων γίγνεσθαι. καὶ ἐμοὶ μὲν οὐδ᾽ ἐν τούτῳ σφαλῆναι δοκεῖ. [9] οὐκ ἂν οὖν ῥᾳδίως γέ τις εὕροι Σπαρτιατῶν οὔτε ὑγιεινοτέρους οὔτε τοῖς σώμασι χρησιμωτέρους· ὁμοίως γὰρ ἀπό τε τῶν σκελῶν καὶ ἀπὸ χειρῶν καὶ ἀπὸ τραχήλου γυμνάζονται.

Section 6 [1] Ἐναντία γε μὴν ἔγνω καὶ τάδε τοῖς πλείστοις. ἐν μὲν γὰρ ταῖς ἄλλαις πόλεσι τῶν ἑαυτοῦ ἕκαστος καὶ παίδων καὶ οἰκετῶν καὶ χρημάτων ἄρχουσιν· ὁ δὲ Λυκοῦργος, κατασκευάσαι βουλόμενος ὡς ἂν μηδὲν βλάπτοντες ἀπολαύοιέν τι οἱ πολῖται ἀλλήλων ἀγαθόν, ἐποίησε παίδων ἕκαστον ὁμοίως τῶν ἑαυτοῦ καὶ τῶν ἀλλοτρίων ἄρχειν. [2] ὅταν δέ τις εἰδῇ ὅτι οὗτοι πατέρες εἰσὶ τῶν παίδων ὧν αὐτὸς ἄρχει, ἀνάγκη οὕτως ἄρχειν ὥσπερ ἂν καὶ τὸν31 ἑαυτοῦ ἄρχεσθαι βούλοιτο. ἢν δέ τις παῖς ποτε πληγὰς λαβὼν ὑπ᾽ ἄλλου κατείπῃ πρὸς τὸν πατέρα, αἰσχρόν ἐστι μὴ οὐκ ἄλλας πληγὰς ἐμβάλλειν τῷ υἱεῖ. οὕτω πιστεύουσιν ἀλλήλοις μηδὲν αἰσχρὸν προστάττειν τοῖς παισίν. [3] ἐποίησε δὲ καὶ οἰκέταις, εἴ τις δεηθείη, χρῆσθαι καὶ τοῖς ἀλλοτρίοις. καὶ κυνῶν δὲ θηρευτικῶν συνῆψε κοινωνίαν· ὥστε οἱ μὲν δεόμενοι παρακαλοῦσιν ἐπὶ θήραν, ὁ δὲ μὴ αὐτὸς σχολάζων ἡδέως ἐκπέμπει. καὶ ἵπποις δὲ ὡσαύτως χρῶνται· ὁ γὰρ ἀσθενήσας ἢ δεηθεὶς ὀχήματος ἢ ταχύ ποι βουληθεὶς ἀφικέσθαι, ἤν που ἴδῃ ἵππον ὄντα, λαβὼν καὶ χρησάμενος καλῶς ἀποκαθίστησιν. [4] οὐ μὴν οὐδ᾽ ἐκεῖνό γε παρὰ τοῖς ἄλλοις εἰθισμένον ἐποίησεν ἐπιτηδεύεσθαι. ὅπου γὰρ ἂν ὑπὸ θήρας ὀψισθέντες δεηθῶσι τῶν ἐπιτηδείων, ἢν μὴ συνεσκευασμένοι τύχωσι, καὶ ἐνταῦθα ἔθηκε τοὺς μὲν πεπαυμένους 32 καταλείπειν τὰ πεποιημένα, τοὺς δὲ δεομένους ἀνοίξαντας τὰ σήμαντρα, λαβόντας ὅσων ἂν δέωνται σημηναμένους καταλιπεῖν. [5] τοιγαροῦν οὕτως μεταδιδόντες ἀλλήλοις καὶ οἱ τὰ μικρὰ ἔχοντες μετέχουσι πάντων τῶν ἐν τῇ χώρᾳ, ὁπόταν τινὸς δεηθῶσιν. Marchant, followed by Gray, reads τῶν (an emendation of Morus), but τὸν is in the best manuscript (and in Stobaeus) and since it is sensible I, following Jackson, have retained it. 32 Marchant, followed by Gray (and unusually Jackson), accepts an eighteenth-century emendation πεπαμένους, but Lipka retains the manuscript reading as above (as do Kuiper and Collins 2018: 364 n. 38), on the grounds that it makes sense as is. 31

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rations. And in this matter he does not seem to me to have been tripped up either. [9] One would not, therefore, easily find men either healthier or more useful with respect to their bodies than the Spartiates; for they exercise alike with their legs and with their arms and with their necks.

Section 6 [1] Further, he determined these following things also in opposition to most. For in the other poleis each man rules his own things, both children and slaves and property. Lycurgus, however, wishing to arrange things so that doing no harm the citizens might gain some good advantage from one another, brought it about that each man rule his own children and those of others in like manner. [2] Whenever someone knows that these men are fathers of the children whom he himself rules, it is necessary for him to rule in such a way as he would wish his own child also to be ruled. And if any child ever, upon receiving blows from another, denounces him to his father, it is shameful if the father does not lay further blows upon his son. In this way they trust each other not to order their children to do anything shameful. [3] He brought it about that even in respect of servants, if anyone should need them, they could use also other people’s. And he contracted the shared use also of hunting dogs, so that those who need them invite their owner on the hunt, but if the same man is not at leisure, he happily sends them along. In like manner also they make use of horses. For if anyone is sick or has need of a chariot or wishes to arrive somewhere quickly, if he sees that there is a horse anywhere, after taking and making use of it, he restores it in good condition. [4] Indeed, that further practice, not customary among the others, he brought about to be practised. For whenever men are kept out late by the hunt and need provisions, if they happen not to have prepared any for themselves, in this instance he laid down matters so that those who had finished should leave the things which had been prepared, while those who were in need opened the seals, took as much as they needed, and left them behind after resealing them. [5] Therefore, by giving a share in this way to one another, those who have little also partake of all the things in the country, whenever they are in need of anything.

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Section 7 [1] Ἐναντία γε μὴν καὶ τάδε τοῖς ἄλλοις Ἕλλησι κατέστησεν ὁ Λυκοῦργος ἐν τῇ Σπάρτῃ νόμιμα. ἐν μὲν γὰρ δήπου ταῖς ἄλλαις πόλεσι πάντες χρηματίζονται ὅσον δύνανται· ὁ μὲν γὰρ γεωργεῖ, ὁ δὲ ναυκληρεῖ, ὁ δ᾽ ἐμπορεύεται, οἱ δὲ καὶ ἀπὸ τεχνῶν τρέφονται· [2] ἐν δὲ τῇ Σπάρτῃ ὁ Λυκοῦργος τοῖς [μὲν] ἐλευθέροις τῶν μὲν ἀμφὶ χρηματισμὸν ἀπεῖπε μηδενὸς ἅπτεσθαι, ὅσα δὲ ἐλευθερίαν ταῖς πόλεσι παρασκευάζει, ταῦτα ἔταξε μόνα ἔργα αὑτῶν νομίζειν. [3] καὶ γὰρ δὴ τί πλοῦτος ἐκεῖ γε σπουδαστέος, ἔνθα ἴσα μὲν φέρειν εἰς τὰ ἐπιτήδεια, ὁμοίως δὲ διαιτᾶσθαι τάξας ἐποίησε μὴ ἡδυπαθείας ἕνεκα χρημάτων ὀρέγεσθαι; ἀλλὰ μὴν οὐδ᾽ ἱματίων γε ἕνεκα χρηματιστέον· οὐ γὰρ ἐσθῆτος πολυτελείᾳ ἀλλὰ σώματος εὐεξίᾳ κοσμοῦνται. [4] οὐδὲ μὴν τοῦ γε εἰς τοὺς συσκήνους ἕνεκα ἔχειν δαπανᾶν χρήματα ἁθροιστέον, ἐπεὶ τὸ τῷ σώματι πονοῦντα ὠφελεῖν τοὺς συνόντας εὐδοξότερον ἐποίησεν ἢ τὸ δαπανῶντα, ἐπιδείξας τὸ μὲν ψυχῆς, τὸ δὲ πλούτου ἔργον. [5] τό γε μὴν ἐξ ἀδίκων χρηματίζεσθαι καὶ ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις διεκώλυσε. πρῶτον μὲν γὰρ νόμισμα τοιοῦτον κατεστήσατο, ὃ δέκα μνῶν33 μόνον ἂν εἰς οἰκίαν εἰσελθὸν οὔποτε δεσπότας οὐδὲ οἰκέτας λάθοι· καὶ γὰρ χώρας μεγάλης καὶ ἁμάξης ἀγωγῆς δέοιτ᾽ ἄν. [6] χρυσίον γε μὴν καὶ ἀργύριον ἐρευνᾶται, καὶ ἄν τί που φανῇ, ὁ ἔχων ζημιοῦται. τί οὖν ἂν ἐκεῖ χρηματισμὸς σπουδάζοιτο, ἔνθα ἡ κτῆσις πλείους λύπας ἢ ἡ χρῆσις εὐφροσύνας παρέχει;

Section 8 [1] Ἀλλὰ γὰρ ὅτι μὲν ἐν Σπάρτῃ μάλιστα πείθονται ταῖς ἀρχαῖς τε καὶ τοῖς νόμοις, ἴσμεν ἅπαντες. ἐγὼ μέντοι οὐδ᾽ ἐγχειρῆσαι οἶμαι πρότερον τὸν Λυκοῦργον ταύτην τὴν εὐεξίαν34 καθιστάναι πρὶν ὁμογνώμονας Marchant, followed by Gray, prints Dindorf ’s emendation δεκάμνων, but there seems no good reason not to retain the manuscript reading as above (cf. Lipka also). 34 Marchant, followed by Gray, here prints εὐταξίαν, but this was an emendation proposed by Dindorf. The manuscript reading is εὐεξίαν and I have kept that above in line only with Jackson (but followed by Kuiper and Collins 2018). See further Chapter 4.4 n. 49 for the reasoning. 33

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Section 7 [1] Further, opposite to the other Greeks, Lycurgus also established the following things as customs in Sparta. For in the other poleis, of course, everyone makes as much money as possible. For one man is a farmer, another a ship owner, another a merchant, and others are actually maintained by crafts. [2] In Sparta, on the other hand, Lycurgus forbade free men from engaging in any of the matters concerning moneymaking, but all the sorts of things which bring freedom to the poleis, these tasks alone he ordered them to consider as their own. [3] And indeed why should wealth need to be zealously pursued there at any rate, where, by ordering them to bring equal amounts for their provisions and to live daily life in a like fashion, he brought it about that they do not yearn for money for luxuries? Well, in truth, one does not need to make money even for cloaks, for they adorn themselves not by extravagance of clothing but by the good physical condition of their bodies. [4] And certainly there is no need, at any rate, to collect money to be able to spend it on one’s messmates, since he made it more honourable to help those with him by toiling with the body than by spending money, pointing out that the former is the work of the soul, the latter the work of wealth. [5] Further, he hindered moneymaking by unjust means also in the following kinds of ways. For first, on the one hand, he established such a system of coinage that if even ten minae35 worth alone were to come into the house, it would never escape the notice of masters or their slaves; for it would need both great space and a chariot for carrying it. [6] Further, there are searches for gold and silver, and if any is brought to light anywhere, the one having it is penalised. Why, therefore, would moneymaking be a matter of zealous pursuit there, where possession yields more pains than use pleasures?

Section 8 [1] But as a matter of fact, that in Sparta especially they obey both the magistrates and the laws, we all know. I, however, think that Lycurgus did not attempt to establish this state of good condition before he had

A mina was both a weight and a unit of money; see further Chapter 4.3 n. 41.

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ἐποιήσατο τοὺς κρατίστους τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει. [2] τεκμαίρομαι δὲ ταῦτα, ὅτι ἐν μὲν ταῖς ἄλλαις πόλεσιν οἱ δυνατώτεροι οὐδὲ βούλονται δοκεῖν τὰς ἀρχὰς φοβεῖσθαι, ἀλλὰ νομίζουσι τοῦτο ἀνελεύθερον εἶναι· ἐν δὲ τῇ Σπάρτῃ οἱ κράτιστοι καὶ ὑπέρχονται μάλιστα τὰς ἀρχὰς καὶ τῷ ταπεινοὶ εἶναι μεγαλύνονται καὶ τῷ ὅταν καλῶνται τρέχοντες ἀλλὰ μὴ βαδίζοντες ὑπακούειν, νομίζοντες, ἢν αὐτοὶ κατάρχωσι τοῦ σφόδρα πείθεσθαι, ἕψεσθαι καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους· ὅπερ καὶ γεγένηται. [3] εἰκὸς δὲ καὶ τὴν τῆς ἐφορείας δύναμιν τοὺς αὐτοὺς τούτους συγκατασκευάσαι, ἐπείπερ ἔγνωσαν τὸ πείθεσθαι μέγιστον ἀγαθὸν εἶναι καὶ ἐν πόλει καὶ ἐν στρατιᾷ καὶ ἐν οἴκῳ· ὅσῳ γὰρ μείζω δύναμιν ἔχει ἡ ἀρχή, τοσούτῳ μᾶλλον ἂν ἡγήσαιο 36 αὐτὴν καὶ καταπλήξειν τοὺς πολίτας τὸ 37 ὑπακούειν. [4] ἔφοροι οὖν ἱκανοὶ μέν εἰσι ζημιοῦν ὃν ἂν βούλωνται, κύριοι δ᾽ ἐκπράττειν παραχρῆμα, κύριοι δὲ καὶ ἄρχοντας μεταξὺ καὶ38 καταπαῦσαι καὶ εἶρξαί γε καὶ περὶ τῆς ψυχῆς εἰς ἀγῶνα καταστῆσαι. τοσαύτην δὲ ἔχοντες δύναμιν οὐχ ὥσπερ αἱ ἄλλαι πόλεις ἐῶσι τοὺς αἱρεθέντας ἀεὶ ἄρχειν τὸ ἔτος ὅπως ἂν βούλωνται, ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ οἱ τύραννοι καὶ οἱ ἐν τοῖς γυμνικοῖς ἀγῶσιν ἐπιστάται, ἤν τινα αἰσθάνωνται παρανομοῦντά τι, εὐθὺς παραχρῆμα κολάζουσι. [5] πολλῶν δὲ καὶ ἄλλων ὄντων μηχανημάτων καλῶν τῷ Λυκούργῳ εἰς τὸ πείθεσθαι τοῖς νόμοις ἐθέλειν τοὺς πολίτας, ἐν τοῖς καλλίστοις καὶ τοῦτό μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι, ὅτι οὐ πρότερον ἀπέδωκε τῷ πλήθει τοὺς νόμους πρὶν ἐλθὼν σὺν τοῖς κρατίστοις εἰς Δελφοὺς ἐπήρετο τὸν θεὸν εἰ λῷον καὶ ἄμεινον εἴη τῇ Σπάρτῃ πειθομένῃ οἷς αὐτὸς ἔθηκε νόμοις. ἐπεῖ δὲ ἀνεῖλε τῷ παντὶ ἄμεινον εἶναι, τότε ἀπέδωκεν, οὐ μόνον ἄνομον ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀνόσιον θεὶς τὸ πυθοχρήστοις νόμοις μὴ πείθεσθαι.

The better manuscripts have ἡγήσατο, but most editors, including Marchant, Gray and Jackson, prefer to emend that to the plural ἡγήσαντο, which is in one of the lesser manuscripts. I prefer to follow Lipka, who follows Pierlioni in inferring an optative on the grounds that the scribe could easily have mistaken an iota for a tau; ἡγήσαιο ἂν can also be found at 13.5. 37 Marchant reads [τοῦ ὑπακούειν] following Schneider’s suggestion that the phrase, which is in the best manuscript, should be deleted. The ground for so doing is that a genitive is too unusual in this construction. Lipka’s solution, which I have adopted here, is to emend the article to the accusative and read the phrase as an accusative of respect. See further Chapter 4.4 n. 51. 38 Marchant places this καὶ in square brackets on the grounds that it does not appear in Stobaeus, but since it is in the manuscripts and is not awkward I, following Lipka and Jackson, have retained it. 36

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brought it about in his own interests that the strongest men in the polis were in agreement. [2] And I take as evidence of these things the fact that in the other poleis the more powerful do not wish even to seem to fear the magistrates but believe that this is servile. In Sparta, however, the strongest both defer most particularly to the magistrates and take pride in being submissive and in obeying at a run, not at a walk, whenever they are summoned, believing that if they are the originators of strict obedience, the others also will follow. And this has actually happened. [3] It is probable also that these same men helped in establishing the power of the ephorate, since, in truth, they determined that obedience was the greatest good both in the polis and in the army and in the household; for the greater the power this office has, the more you might believe that it would also terrify the citizens into obedience. [4] Ephors, therefore, have both sufficient competence to penalise whomever they wish, and the authority to accomplish this on the spot, and they even have the authority both to depose leaders in the middle of their terms and to imprison them and to put them on trial for their lives. Having such great power, however, they do not, as the other poleis do, allow those who have been elected for the whole year always to rule however they wish, but like tyrants and overseers at gymnastic contests, if they perceive that anyone is transgressing the law in any way, they punish him immediately on the spot. [5] And of the many other good contrivances Lycurgus had for getting the citizens to be willing to obey the laws, among the finest too seems to me to be this one, namely that he did not hand over the laws to the people before he had gone to Delphi with the strongest men and asked the god if it would be more desirable and better for Sparta if she obeyed the laws which he himself had laid down. And when the oracle responded that it was better in every way, then he handed them over, laying it down that it was not only illegal but also impious not to obey laws delivered by the Pythian god.

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Section 9 [1] Ἄξιον δὲ τοῦ Λυκούργου καὶ τόδε ἀγασθῆναι, τὸ κατεργάσασθαι ἐν τῇ πόλει αἱρετώτερον εἶναι τὸν καλὸν θάνατον ἀντὶ τοῦ αἰσχροῦ βίου· καὶ γὰρ δὴ ἐπισκοπῶν τις ἂν εὕροι μείους ἀποθνῄσκοντας τούτων τῶν ἐκ τοῦ φοβεροῦ ἀποχωρεῖν αἱρουμένων. [2] ὡς τἀληθὲς εἰπεῖν καὶ ἕπεται τῇ ἀρετῇ σῴζεσθαι εἰς τὸν πλείω χρόνον μᾶλλον ἢ τῇ κακίᾳ· καὶ γὰρ ῥᾴων καὶ ἡδίων καὶ εὐπορωτέρα καὶ ἰσχυροτέρα. δῆλον δὲ ὅτι καὶ εὔκλεια μάλιστα ἕπεται τῇ ἀρετῇ· καὶ γὰρ συμμαχεῖν πως πάντες τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς βούλονται. [3] ᾗ μέντοι ὥστε ταῦτα γίγνεσθαι ἐμηχανήσατο, καὶ τοῦτο καλὸν μὴ παραλιπεῖν. ἐκεῖνος τοίνυν σαφῶς παρεσκεύασε τοῖς μὲν ἀγαθοῖς εὐδαιμονίαν, τοῖς δὲ κακοῖς κακοδαιμονίαν. [4] ἐν μὲν γὰρ ταῖς ἄλλαις πόλεσιν, ὁπόταν τις κακὸς γένηται, ἐπίκλησιν μόνον ἔχει κακὸς εἶναι, ἀγοράζει δὲ ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ ὁ κακὸς τἀγαθῷ καὶ κάθηται καὶ γυμνάζεται, ἐὰν βούληται· ἐν δὲ τῇ Λακεδαίμονι πᾶς μὲν ἄν τις αἰσχυνθείη τὸν κακὸν σύσκηνον παραλαβεῖν, πᾶς δ᾽ ἂν ἐν παλαίσματι συγγυμναστήν. [5] πολλάκις δ᾽ ὁ τοιοῦτος καὶ διαιρουμένων τοὺς ἀντισφαιριοῦντας ἀχώριστος περιγίγνεται, καὶ ἐν χοροῖς δ᾽ εἰς τὰς ἐπονειδίστους χώρας ἀπελαύνεται, καὶ μὴν ἐν ὁδοῖς παραχωρητέον αὐτῷ καὶ ἐν θάκοις καὶ [ἐν] τοῖς νεωτέροις ὑπαναστατέον, καὶ τὰς μὲν προσηκούσας κόρας οἴκοι θρεπτέον, καὶ ταύταις τῆς ἀνανδρίας αἰτίαν ὑφεκτέον, γυναικὸς δὲ κενὴν ἑστίαν [οὐ] περιοπτέον καὶ ἅμα τούτου ζημίαν ἀποτειστέον, λιπαρὸν δὲ οὐ πλανητέον οὐδὲ μιμητέον τοὺς ἀνεγκλήτους, ἢ πληγὰς ὑπὸ τῶν ἀμεινόνων ληπτέον. [6] ἐγὼ μὲν δὴ τοιαύτης τοῖς κακοῖς ἀτιμίας ἐπικειμένης οὐδὲν θαυμάζω τὸ προαιρεῖσθαι ἐκεῖ θάνατον ἀντὶ τοῦ οὕτως ἀτίμου τε καὶ ἐπονειδίστου βίου.

Section 10 [1] Καλῶς δέ μοι δοκεῖ ὁ Λυκοῦργος νομοθετῆσαι καὶ ᾗ μέχρι γήρως ἀσκοῖτ᾽ ἂν ἀρετή. ἐπὶ γὰρ τῷ τέρματι τοῦ βίου τὴν κρίσιν τῆς γεροντίας

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Section 9 [1] Worthy to be marvelled at also is the following measure of Lycurgus, namely his bringing it about that in the polis a good death be chosen in preference to a shameful life. And indeed, upon consideration one would find that fewer of the former die than of those choosing to retreat because of fear. [2] To speak the truth, safety actually more of the time follows valour39 rather than cowardice; for indeed valour is both easier, more pleasant, more resourceful and stronger. And it is clear that glory also, above all, follows valour; indeed, all men want somehow to fight alongside brave men.40 [3] Again, by what means he contrived for this to happen, it is also good not to pass over. Well, he clearly procured happiness for the brave but unhappiness for cowards. [4] For in the other poleis when someone is cowardly, he only gets the reputation of being a coward, but the coward goes to the same market as the brave man and sits beside him and exercises with him, if he so wishes. In Lacedaemon, however, everyone would be ashamed to take a coward as a messmate, and everyone likewise to have him as a training partner in wrestling. [5] And often, such a man, even when sides are being determined for a ball game, is left without a place, and in choruses he is driven away to the disgraceful positions. And in fact, in the streets he must step out of the way, and at seated occasions he must give up his seat even to younger men. He must, on the one hand, support female relatives at home and they must put up with the consequences of the charge of unmanliness against him, and on the other he must endure having a hearth bereft of a wife and at the same time he must pay a penalty for this. He must not wander around with a radiant face nor imitate those who are without reproach or else he must submit to being beaten by his betters. [6] So I, then, when such dishonour is laid upon cowards, in no way wonder that death is preferable there to the life so full of dishonour and so disgraceful. Section 10 [1] And it seems to me that Lycurgus legislated well also how virtue might be practised until old age. For by placing near the end of life the Generally I have translated forms of ἀρετή throughout as ‘virtue’, but here though the general sense is not absent, the context clearly requires that ‘valour’ is the particular aspect of virtue under discussion. See further Chapter 4.5 and n. 68 there. 40 Likewise, I have generally translated forms of ἀγαθός throughout as ‘good’, but here, though again the general sense is not absent, the context clearly suggests that ‘brave’ is the specific aspect of goodness here implied. 39

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προσθεὶς ἐποίησε μηδὲ ἐν τῷ γήρᾳ ἀμελεῖσθαι τὴν καλοκἀγαθίαν. [2] ἀξιάγαστον δ᾽ αὐτοῦ καὶ τὸ ἐπικουρῆσαι τῷ τῶν ἀγαθῶν γήρᾳ· θεὶς γὰρ τοὺς γέροντας κυρίους τοῦ περὶ τῆς ψυχῆς ἀγῶνος διέπραξεν ἐντιμότερον εἶναι τὸ γῆρας τῆς τῶν ἀκμαζόντων ῥώμης. [3] εἰκότως δέ τοι καὶ σπουδάζεται οὗτος ὁ ἀγὼν μάλιστα τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων. καλοὶ μὲν γὰρ καὶ οἱ γυμνικοί· ἀλλ᾽ οὗτοι μὲν σωμάτων εἰσίν· ὁ δὲ περὶ τῆς γεροντίας ἀγὼν ψυχῶν ἀγαθῶν κρίσιν παρέχει. ὅσῳ οὖν κρείττων ψυχὴ σώματος, τοσούτῳ καὶ οἱ ἀγῶνες οἱ τῶν ψυχῶν ἢ οἱ τῶν σωμάτων ἀξιοσπουδαστότεροι. [4] Τόδε γε μὴν τοῦ Λυκούργου πῶς οὐ μεγάλως ἄξιον ἀγασθῆναι; ὃς ἐπειδὴ κατέμαθεν ὅτι ὅπου οἱ βουλόμενοι ἐπιμελοῦνται41 τῆς ἀρετῆς οὐχ ἱκανοί εἰσι τὰς πατρίδας αὔξειν, [ἐκεῖνος] ἐν τῇ Σπάρτῃ ἠνάγκασε δημοσίᾳ πάντας πάσας ἀσκεῖν τὰς ἀρετάς. ὥσπερ οὖν [οἱ ἰδιῶται] τῶν ἰδιωτῶν διαφέρουσιν ἀρετῇ οἱ ἀσκοῦντες τῶν ἀμελούντων, οὕτω καὶ ἡ Σπάρτη εἰκότως πασῶν τῶν πόλεων ἀρετῇ διαφέρει, μόνη δημοσίᾳ ἐπιτηδεύουσα τὴν καλοκἀγαθίαν. [5] οὐ γὰρ κἀκεῖνο καλόν, τὸ τῶν ἄλλων πόλεων κολαζουσῶν ἤν τίς τι ἕτερος ἕτερον ἀδικῇ, ἐκεῖνον ζημίας μὴ ἐλάττους ἐπιθεῖναι εἴ τις φανερὸς εἴη ἀμελῶν τοῦ ὡς βέλτιστος εἶναι; [6] ἐνόμιζε γάρ, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὑπὸ μὲν τῶν ἀνδραποδιζομένων τινὰς ἢ ἀποστερούντων τι ἢ κλεπτόντων τοὺς βλαπτομένους μόνον ἀδικεῖσθαι, ὑπὸ δὲ τῶν κακῶν καὶ ἀνάνδρων ὅλας τὰς πόλεις προδίδοσθαι. ὥστε εἰκότως ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ τούτοις μεγίστας ζημίας ἐπιθεῖναι. [7] ἐπέθηκε δὲ καὶ τὴν ἀνυπόστατον ἀνάγκην ἀσκεῖν ἅπασαν πολιτικὴν ἀρετήν. τοῖς μὲν γὰρ τὰ νόμιμα ἐκτελοῦσιν ὁμοίως ἅπασι τὴν πόλιν οἰκείαν ἐποίησε, καὶ οὐδὲν ὑπελογίσατο οὔτε σωμάτων οὔτε χρημάτων ἀσθένειαν· εἰ δέ τις ἀποδειλιάσειε τοῦ τὰ νόμιμα διαπονεῖσθαι, τοῦτον ἐκεῖ42 ἀπέδειξε μηδὲ νομίζεσθαι ἔτι τῶν ὁμοίων εἶναι. [8] ἀλλὰ γὰρ ὅτι μὲν παλαιότατοι οὗτοι οἱ νόμοι εἰσί, σαφές· ὁ γὰρ Λυκοῦργος κατὰ τοὺς Ἡρακλείδας λέγεται γενέσθαι· οὕτω δὲ παλαιοὶ ὄντες ἔτι καὶ νῦν τοῖς ἄλλοις καινότατοί εἰσι· καὶ γὰρ τὸ πάντων θαυμαστότατον ἐπαινοῦσι μὲν πάντες τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐπιτηδεύματα, μιμεῖσθαι δὲ αὐτὰ οὐδεμία πόλις ἐθέλει. This is Marchant’s reading (following the suggested emendation of Haase), but there is a bit of difficulty with the text here which is worth pointing out because some of the ways it has been dealt with affect the meaning. The manuscript reading is ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, which makes no sense with ὅπου. Lipka followed a proposal made by Erbse (1960) to keep the infinitive but to change ὅπου to ἰδίᾳ so that the sense would be ‘those willing to have a care for virtue in private are not sufficient to strengthen their native lands’. While I like the idea of a strengthened contrast between public and private, Erbse’s palaeographical explanation for such an emendation is weak. 42 Marchant, followed by Gray, prefers the emendation ἐκεῖνος made by Jacobs, but since the manuscript reading of ἐκεῖ is perfectly sensible, I have retained it (following Lipka and Jackson). 41

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judgement about the Council of Elders, he brought it about that not even in old age was kalokagathia43 neglected. [2] Worthy of marvel also is his provision of an ally for the old age of good men. For by giving the elders authority over capital trials, he caused old age to be more honoured than the strength of those at their peak. [3] It is with reason, you know, that this contest among those engaged in by men is also particularly zealously pursued. For athletic contests are also good, but these are about bodies, whereas the contest for the Council of Elders affords a judgement about good souls. Therefore, by the degree to which the soul is stronger than the body, to that degree also are the contests of souls more worthy of zealous pursuit than those of bodies. [4] Further, how is the following measure of Lycurgus not greatly worthy of marvel? When he had learnt that where those who are willing have a care for virtue, they are not sufficient to increase in power their native lands, in Sparta he compelled all to practise all the virtues in public. Just as, therefore, in respect of private individuals those who practise virtue are superior in it to those who neglect it, in this way also Sparta is reasonably superior to all poleis with respect to virtue, since she alone pursues the practice of kalokagathia in public. [5] For is this not also good, namely that while the other poleis punish anyone who harms another in any way, he imposed no lesser penalties on anyone manifestly neglecting being as good as possible? [6] For he believed, as it seems, that in the case of those who enslave people or defraud people of something or steal, it is only those harmed by them who are injured, but in the case of the coward and the unmanly it is whole poleis that are betrayed. Thus, reasonably – it seems to me at any rate – it was on these men that he imposed the greatest penalties. [7] He imposed also as an irresistible necessity the practice of complete political virtue. For to those who fulfilled the customs, to them all alike he made the polis their own, and in no way took into account weakness either of bodies or wealth; but if anyone flinched from practising diligently the customs, this one he ordained should not be considered any longer one of the homoioi44 there. [8] But in fact, that these laws are very ancient is clear – for Lycurgus is said to have lived in the time of the Heraclidae. But although they are so very old, even still now to others they are most novel. And indeed, the most wondrous thing of all is that all praise such practices, but no polis wishes to imitate them.

On how kalokagathia is to be understood here, see the discussion in Chapter 4.6. Literally ‘similars’, a term describing full citizens.

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Section 11 [1] Καὶ ταῦτα μὲν δὴ κοινὰ ἀγαθὰ καὶ ἐν εἰρήνῃ καὶ ἐν πολέμῳ· εἰ δέ τις βούλεται καταμαθεῖν ὅ τι καὶ εἰς τὰς στρατείας βέλτιον τῶν ἄλλων ἐμηχανήσατο, ἔξεστι καὶ τούτων ἀκούειν. [2] πρῶτον μὲν τοίνυν οἱ ἔφοροι προκηρύττουσι τὰ ἔτη εἰς ἃ δεῖ στρατεύεσθαι καὶ ἱππεῦσι καὶ ὁπλίταις, ἔπειτα δὲ καὶ τοῖς χειροτέχναις· ὥστε ὅσοισπερ ἐπὶ πόλεως χρῶνται ἄνθρωποι, πάντων τούτων καὶ ἐπὶ στρατιᾶς οἱ Λακεδαιμόνιοι εὐποροῦσι· καὶ ὅσων δὲ ὀργάνων ἡ στρατιὰ κοινῇ δεηθείη ἄν, ἅπαντα τὰ μὲν ἁμάξῃ προστέτακται παρέχειν, τὰ δὲ ὑποζυγίῳ· οὕτω γὰρ ἥκιστ᾽ ἂν τὸ ἐλλεῖπον διαλάθοι. [3] εἴς γε μὴν τὸν ἐν τοῖς ὅπλοις ἀγῶνα τοιάδ᾽ ἐμηχανήσατο, στολὴν μὲν ἔχειν φοινικίδα, ταύτην νομίζων ἥκιστα μὲν γυναικείᾳ κοινωνεῖν, πολεμικωτάτην δ᾽ εἶναι, καὶ χαλκῆν ἀσπίδα· καὶ γὰρ τάχιστα λαμπρύνεται καὶ σχολαιότατα ῥυπαίνεται. ἐφῆκε δὲ καὶ κομᾶν τοῖς ὑπὲρ τὴν ἡβητικὴν ἡλικίαν, νομίζων οὕτω καὶ μείζους ἂν καὶ ἐλευθεριωτέρους καὶ γοργοτέρους φαίνεσθαι. [4] οὕτω γε μὴν κατεσκευασμένων μόρας μὲν διεῖλεν ἓξ καὶ ἱππέων καὶ ὁπλιτῶν. ἑκάστη δὲ τῶν πολιτικῶν45 μορῶν ἔχει πολέμαρχον ἕνα, λοχαγοὺς τέτταρας, πεντηκοστῆρας46 ὀκτώ, ἐνωμοτάρχας47 ἑκκαίδεκα. ἐκ δὲ τούτων τῶν μορῶν διὰ παρεγγυήσεως καθίστανται τοτὲ μὲν εἰς . . . ἐνωμοτίας,48 τοτὲ δὲ εἰς τρεῖς, τοτὲ δὲ εἰς ἕξ. [5] ὃ δὲ οἱ πλεῖστοι οἴονται, πολυπλοκωτάτην εἶναι τὴν ἐν ὅπλοις Λακωνικὴν τάξιν, τὸ ἐναντιώτατον ὑπειλήφασι τοῦ ὄντος· εἰσὶ μὲν γὰρ ἐν τῇ Λακωνικῇ τάξει οἱ πρωτοστάται ἄρχοντες, καὶ ὁ στίχος ἕκαστος πάντ᾽ ἔχων ὅσα δεῖ παρέχεσθαι. [6] οὕτω δὲ ῥᾴδιον ταύτην τὴν τάξιν μαθεῖν ὡς ὅστις τοὺς ἀνθρώπους δύναται γιγνώσκειν οὐδεὶς ἂν ἁμάρτοι· τοῖς μὲν γὰρ ἡγεῖσθαι δέδοται, τοῖς δὲ ἕπεσθαι τέτακται. αἱ δὲ παραγωγαὶ ὥσπερ ὑπὸ κήρυκος ὑπὸ τοῦ ἐνωμοτάρχου λόγῳ δηλοῦνται ἀραιαί τε καὶ βαθύτεραι αἱ φάλαγγες γίγνονται· ὧν οὐδὲν οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν

Marchant, followed by Gray and Jackson, reads ὁπλιτικῶν here, following Stobaeus. I, following Lipka (though without agreeing with all his arguments; see Chapter 5.2 n. 18), have preserved the manuscript reading. 46 Marchant, followed by Gray, reads πεντηκοντῆρας here, following the best manuscript, though πεντηκοστῆρας also appears in the manuscript tradition. However, as Lipka points out, the manuscript tradition is unanimous at 13.4 on spelling the term with a sigma so both he and Jackson, and I, prefer that reading in both places. 47 Marchant, followed by Gray, reads ἐνωμοτάρχους, despite the reading above being that of the best manuscript. Lipka gives sufficient reasons why we should keep this reading. See also 11.8 and 13.4. 48 Marchant argues that there must be a lacuna here and this is reasonable. The τοτὲ μὲν . . . τοτὲ δὲ . . . τοτὲ δὲ indicate there are three sections to this arrangement. If the plural ἐνωμοτίας is correct, as it seems to be, the simplest emendation of the passage is to understand ‘two’ as suggested by Marchant in his apparatus; see further Chapter 5.2 n. 19. 45

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Section 11 [1] And so these are good things shared both in peace and in war. But if anyone wishes to learn how, with regard to campaigns, he also contrived things in a better way than the others, it is possible to hear about these things also. [2] Well then, in the first place, the ephors proclaim publicly the age groups which must serve in the army, both for cavalry and for hoplites, and then also for the craftsmen. The result is that precisely as many things as men make use of in the polis, the Lacedaemonians have plenty of all of these also on campaign. And as many implements as the army might need in common, all are ordered to be supplied, some on wagons, others on baggage animals. For in this way anything falling short is least likely to escape notice. [3] Further, for the contest in arms he contrived the following sort of things, namely the possession of a red cloak, since he believed this would have least in common with women’s clothing but would be most warlike, and also of a bronze shield. For it is also very quickly polished up and tarnishes very slowly. And he permitted those past the youthful time of life also to let their hair grow long, believing that in this way too they would appear taller and freer and fiercer. [4] Further, with the men thus equipped, he divided them into six morai both of cavalry and of hoplites. Each of the citizen morai has one polemarchos, four lochagoi, eight pentêkostêres, and sixteen enômotarchai.49 Out of these morai they are arrayed at the word of a command sometimes in [two] enômotiai, sometimes in three, sometimes in six. [5] But in respect of what the majority think, namely that the Laconian battle order under arms is most complex, they have supposed the very opposite of the truth. For in the Laconian battle order the men in the front rank are leaders, and each row has everything it needs to provide for itself. [6] And it is so easy to learn this battle order that no one who is able to tell men apart could make a mistake. For to some it has been assigned to lead, to others it has been ordered to follow. Deployments are made clear through speech by the enômotarchês as though by a herald, the lines of battle become both thin and deeper. Of these things none is, in

On these military positions and divisions, see further Lazenby 1985: 12–13 and Lipka 2002: 194 on 11.4.

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χαλεπὸν μαθεῖν. [7] τὸ μέντοι κἂν ταραχθῶσι μετὰ τοῦ παρατυχόντος ὁμοίως μάχεσθαι, ταύτην τὴν τάξιν οὐκέτι ῥᾴδιόν ἐστι μαθεῖν πλὴν τοῖς ὑπὸ τῶν τοῦ Λυκούργου νόμων πεπαιδευμένοις. [8] εὐπορώτατα δὲ καὶ ἐκεῖνα Λακεδαιμόνιοι ποιοῦσι τὰ τοῖς ὁπλομάχοις πάνυ δοκοῦντα χαλεπὰ εἶναι· ὅταν μὲν γὰρ ἐπὶ κέρως πορεύωνται, κατ᾽ οὐρὰν δήπου ἐνωμοτία50 ἕπεται· ἐὰν δ᾽ ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ ἐκ τοῦ ἐναντίου πολεμία φάλαγξ ἐπιφανῇ, τῷ ἐνωμοτάρχῃ51 παρεγγυᾶται εἰς μέτωπον παρ᾽ ἀσπίδα καθίστασθαι, καὶ διὰ παντὸς οὕτως, ἔστ᾽ ἂν ἡ φάλαγξ ἐναντία καταστῇ. ἤν γε μὴν οὕτως ἐχόντων ἐκ τοῦ ὄπισθεν οἱ πολέμιοι ἐπιφανῶσιν, ἐξελίττεται ἕκαστος ὁ στίχος, ἵνα οἱ κράτιστοι ἐναντίοι ἀεὶ τοῖς πολεμίοις ὦσιν. [9] ὅτι δὲ ὁ ἄρχων εὐώνυμος γίγνεται, οὐδ᾽ ἐν τούτῳ μειονεκτεῖν ἡγοῦνται, ἀλλ᾽ ἔστιν ὅτε καὶ πλεονεκτεῖν. εἰ γάρ τινες κυκλοῦσθαι ἐπιχειροῖεν, οὐκ ἂν κατὰ τὰ γυμνά, ἀλλὰ κατὰ τὰ ὡπλισμένα περιβάλλοιεν ἄν. ἢν δέ ποτε ἕνεκά τινος δοκῇ συμφέρειν τὸν ἡγεμόνα δεξιὸν κέρας ἔχειν, στρέψαντες τὸ ἄγημα ἐπὶ κέρας ἐξελίττουσι τὴν φάλαγγα, ἔστ᾽ ἂν ὁ μὲν ἡγεμὼν δεξιὸς ᾖ, ἡ δὲ οὐρὰ εὐώνυμος γένηται. [10] ἢν δ᾽ αὖ ἐκ τῶν δεξιῶν πολεμίων τάξις ἐπιφαίνηται ἐπὶ κέρως πορευομένων, οὐδὲν ἄλλο πραγματεύονται ἢ τὸν λόχον ἕκαστον ὥσπερ τριήρη ἀντίπρῳρον τοῖς ἐναντίοις στρέφουσι, καὶ οὕτως αὖ γίγνεται ὁ κατ᾽ οὐρὰν λόχος παρὰ δόρυ. ἤν γε μὴν κατὰ τὰ εὐώνυμα πολέμιοι προσίωσιν, οὐδὲ τοῦτ᾽ ἐῶσιν, ἀλλὰ προσιοῦσιν [ἢ] ἐναντίους [ἀντιπάλους]52 τοὺς λόχους στρέφουσι· καὶ οὕτως αὖ ὁ κατ᾽ οὐρὰν λόχος παρ᾽ ἀσπίδα καθίσταται.

Section 12 [1] Ἐρῶ δὲ καὶ ᾗ στρατοπεδεύεσθαι ἐνόμισε χρῆναι Λυκοῦργος. διὰ μὲν γὰρ τὸ τὰς γωνίας τοῦ τετραγώνου ἀχρήστους εἶναι κύκλον

Marchant includes here, an addition suggested by Dobree, but as Lipka points out this dative can easily be supplied from context. 51 Marchant notes that this is the manuscript reading but changes it to ἐνωμοτάρχῳ, following Dindorf. But the manuscript reading is not in doubt, as it is not in 11.4 or 13.4. 52 There is little agreement on the text here. Marchant, followed by Gray, has προθέουσιν ἢ [ἐναντίους] ἀντιπάλους, and Jackson has ἀπωθοῦσιν ἢ ἐναντίους ἀντιπάλους. I have followed Lipka’s conjecture. 50

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any way whatever, difficult to learn. [7] Nevertheless tο fight in the same way with whomever is next to them, even when in disorder, this battle order is no longer easy to learn except for those who have been trained under the laws of Lycurgus. [8] Most easily, too, do Lacedaemonians do those things which seem to hoplomachoi53 to be very difficult. For when they march in a column, one enômotia of course follows behind the other, but if in such a formation an enemy line of battle appears in front of them, the word is passed by the enômotarchês to deploy into line on the shield side, and along the whole column in this way, until the line of battle is arrayed facing the enemy. Further, if while they are thus arranged, the enemy appears from the rear, each row deploys so that the strongest always face the enemy. [9] And the fact that the leader is on the left, not even in this case do they consider a disadvantage, but sometimes even an advantage. For if someone should try to encircle them, they would surround them not on their unarmed side, but on their armed side. But if ever for any reason it seems expedient for the commander to hold the right wing, wheeling their troops they deploy the line of battle into a column, until the commander is on the right and the rear-guard is on the left. [10] But if, in turn, a battle-line of the enemy appears from the right while they are marching in a column, they do nothing other than wheel around each lochos like a trireme with its prow towards the enemy, and in this way, again, the lochos at the rear comes to be on the spear side. Further, if the enemy approaches on the left, they do not allow this either, but they wheel around their lochoi to face those approaching. And thus again the lochos in the rear is arrayed on the shield side.

Section 12 [1] I shall also speak about the way in which Lycurgus believed an encampment ought to be laid out. For because the corners of a square are

A term used to denote those who taught how to fight with heavy arms.

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ἐστρατοπεδεύσατο, εἰ μὴ ὄρος ἀσφαλὲς εἴη ἢ τεῖχος ἢ ποταμὸν ὄπισθεν ἔχοιεν. [2] φυλακάς γε μὴν ἐποίησε μεθημερινὰς τὰς μὲν παρὰ τὰ ὅπλα εἴσω βλεπούσας· οὐ γὰρ πολεμίων ἕνεκα ἀλλὰ φίλων αὗται καθίστανται· τούς γε μὴν πολεμίους ἱππεῖς φυλάττουσιν ἀπὸ χωρίων ὧν ἂν ἐκ πλείστου προορῷεν. [3] εἰ δέ τις προίοι νύκτωρ,54 ἔξω τῆς φάλαγγος ἐνόμισεν ὑπὸ Σκιριτῶν προφυλάττεσθαι· νῦν δ᾽ ἤδη καὶ ὑπὸ ξένων . . .55 αὐτῶν τινες συμπαρόντες. [4] τὸ δὲ ἔχοντας τὰ δόρατα ἀεὶ περιιέναι, εὖ καὶ τοῦτο δεῖ εἰδέναι, ὅτι τοῦ αὐτοῦ ἕνεκά ἐστιν οὗπερ καὶ τοὺς δούλους εἴργουσιν ἀπὸ τῶν ὅπλων, καὶ τοὺς ἐπὶ τὰ ἀναγκαῖα ἀπιόντας οὐ δεῖ θαυμάζειν ὅτι οὔτε ἀλλήλων οὔτε τῶν ὅπλων πλέον ἢ ὅσον μὴ λυπεῖν ἀλλήλους ἀπέρχονται· καὶ γὰρ ταῦτα ἀσφαλείας ἕνεκα ποιοῦσιν. [5] μεταστρατοπεδεύονταί γε μὴν πυκνὰ καὶ τοῦ σίνεσθαι τοὺς πολεμίους ἕνεκα καὶ τοῦ ὠφελεῖν τοὺς φίλους. καὶ γυμνάζεσθαι δὲ προαγορεύεται ὑπὸ τοῦ νόμου ἅπασι Λακεδαιμονίοις, ἕωσπερ ἂν στρατεύωνται. ὥστε μεγαλοπρεπεστέρους μὲν αὐτοὺς ἐφ᾽ ἑαυτοῖς γίγνεσθαι, ἐλευθεριωτέρους δὲ τῶν ἄλλων φαίνεσθαι. δεῖ δὲ οὔτε περίπατον οὔτε δρόμον μάσσω ποιεῖσθαι ἢ ὅσον ἂν ἡ μόρα ἐφήκῃ, ὅπως μηδεῖς τῶν αὑτοῦ ὅπλων πόρρω γίγνηται. [6] μετὰ δὲ τὰ γυμνάσια καθίζειν μὲν ὁ πρῶτος πολέμαρχος κηρύττει· ἔστι δὲ τοῦτο ὥσπερ ἐξέτασις· ἐκ τούτου δὲ ἀριστοποιεῖσθαι καὶ ταχὺ τὸν πρόσκοπον ἀπολύεσθαι· ἐκ τούτου δ᾽ αὖ διατριβαὶ καὶ ἀναπαύσεις πρὸ τῶν ἑσπερινῶν γυμνασίων. [7] μετά γε μὴν ταῦτα δειπνοποιεῖσθαι κηρύττεται, καὶ ἐπειδὰν ᾄσωσιν εἰς τοὺς θεοὺς οἷς ἂν κεκαλλιερηκότες ὦσιν, ἐπὶ τῶν ὅπλων ἀναπαύεσθαι. ὅτι δὲ πολλὰ γράφω οὐ δεῖ θαυμάζειν· ἥκιστα γὰρ Λακεδαιμονίοις εὕροι ἄν τις παραλελειμμένα ἐν τοῖς στρατιωτικοῖς ὅσα δεῖται ἐπιμελείας.

Marchant, followed by other editors more or less, has προορῷμεν εἰ [δέ] τις προσίοι. νύκτωρ , with προσίοι also being an emendation of the manuscript reading, which is προίοι. None of these changes are required if the punctuation is altered as above, and the sense is improved by so doing; cf. Marchant 1968: 176, which edition also happens to punctuate similarly. 55 There is a lacuna. Suggestions for filling it are as varied as numbers of editors. 54

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useless, he made them encamp in a circle, unless there was a safe mountain or they had a wall or river behind them. [2] Further, he created daytime guards who looked to the weapons within – for not on account of enemies are these appointed but on account of friends. Further, cavalry watch out for the enemy from places from which they can see from the greatest distance. [3] And if anyone should come forward at night, he made it customary for the Sciritae56 to keep guard in forward positions outside the camp; but now actually also for mercenaries . . . if any of them are present. [4] And with regard to them always going around holding their spears, it is necessary to know this well too, that it is for the very same reason for which they also keep the slaves away from the weapons. And concerning those who go off for necessary reasons, one should not wonder at the fact that they go away neither from each other nor from their weapons further than so as not to distress one another. For these things too they do for the sake of security. [5] Further, they change their campsites frequently both to harm their enemies and to assist their friends. Also it is declared publicly by law to all Lacedaemonians to keep up their gymnastic training for as long as they are campaigning, with the result that they become more magnificent in their own eyes and appear freer than other men. But it is necessary that neither walking space nor running track be made longer than the space the mora permits, so that no one may be far from his own weapons. [6] And after the exercises the chief polemarchos makes the proclamation to sit down – this is a kind of inspection – and after this then to have breakfast, and for the outpost to be relieved quickly. And after this, moreover, there are activities to pass the time and periods of repose before the evening exercises. [7] Further, after these things a proclamation is made to prepare dinner and, when they have sung a hymn to those gods to whom they have sacrificed with good omens, to rest near their weapons. And that I am writing a great deal, one should not wonder at, for anyone would discover that the least number of things of those requiring care have been overlooked by the Lacedaemonians in military matters.

Little is known about this group; for references, see Chapter 5.2 n. 38.

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Section 13 [1] Διηγήσομαι δὲ καὶ ἣν ἐπὶ στρατιᾶς ὁ Λυκοῦργος βασιλεῖ δύναμιν καὶ τιμὴν κατεσκεύασε. πρῶτον μὲν γὰρ ἐπὶ φρουρᾶς τρέφει ἡ πόλις βασιλέα καὶ τοὺς σὺν αὐτῷ· συσκηνοῦσι δὲ αὐτῷ οἱ πολέμαρχοι, ὅπως ἀεὶ συνόντες μᾶλλον καὶ κοινοβουλῶσιν, ἤν τι δέωνται· συσκηνοῦσι δὲ καὶ ἄλλοι τρεῖς ἄνδρες τῶν ὁμοίων· οὗτοι τούτοις ἐπιμελοῦνται πάντων τῶν ἐπιτηδείων, ὡς μηδεμία ἀσχολία ᾖ αὐτοῖς τῶν πολεμικῶν ἐπιμελεῖσθαι. [2] ἐπαναλήψομαι δὲ ὡς ἐξορμᾶται σὺν στρατιᾷ ὁ βασιλεύς. θύει μὲν γὰρ πρῶτον οἴκοι ὢν Διὶ Ἀγήτορι καὶ τοῖς σὺν αὐτῷ·57 ἢν δὲ ἐνταῦθα καλλιερήσῃ, λαβὼν ὁ πυρφόρος πῦρ ἀπὸ τοῦ βωμοῦ προηγεῖται ἐπὶ τὰ ὅρια τῆς χώρας· ὁ δὲ βασιλεὺς ἐκεῖ αὖ θύεται Διὶ καὶ Ἀθηνᾷ. [3] ὅταν δὲ ἀμφοῖν τούτοιν τοῖν θεοῖν καλλιερηθῇ, τότε διαβαίνει τὰ ὅρια τῆς χώρας· καὶ τὸ πῦρ μὲν ἀπὸ τούτων τῶν ἱερῶν προηγεῖται οὔποτε ἀποσβεννύμενον, σφάγια δὲ παντοῖα ἕπεται. ἀεὶ δὲ ὅταν θύηται, ἄρχεται μὲν τούτου τοῦ ἔργου ἔτι κνεφαῖος, προλαμβάνειν βουλόμενος τὴν τοῦ θεοῦ εὔνοιαν. [4] πάρεισι δὲ περὶ τὴν θυσίαν πολέμαρχοι, λοχαγοί, πεντηκοστῆρες,58 ξένων στρατίαρχοι, στρατοῦ σκευοφορικοῦ ἄρχοντες, καὶ τῶν ἀπὸ τῶν πόλεων δὲ στρατηγῶν ὁ βουλόμενος· [5] πάρεισι δὲ καὶ τῶν ἐφόρων δύο, οἳ πολυπραγμονοῦσι μὲν οὐδέν, ἢν μὴ ὁ βασιλεὺς προσκαλῇ· ὁρῶντες δὲ ὅ τι ποιεῖ ἕκαστος πάντας σωφρονίζουσιν, ὡς τὸ εἰκός. ὅταν δὲ τελεσθῇ τὰ ἱερά, ὁ βασιλεὺς προσκαλέσας πάντας παραγγέλλει τὰ ποιητέα. ὥστε ὁρῶν ταῦτα ἡγήσαιο ἂν τοὺς μὲν ἄλλους αὐτοσχεδιαστὰς εἶναι τῶν στρατιωτικῶν, Λακεδαιμονίους δὲ μόνους τῷ ὄντι τεχνίτας τῶν πολεμικῶν. [6] ἐπειδάν γε μὴν ἡγῆται βασιλεύς, ἢν μὲν μηδεὶς ἐναντίος φαίνηται, οὐδεὶς αὐτοῦ πρόσθεν πορεύεται, πλὴν Σκιρῖται καὶ οἱ προερευνώμενοι ἱππεῖς· ἢν δέ ποτε μάχην οἴωνται ἔσεσθαι, λαβὼν τὸ ἄγημα τῆς πρώτης μόρας ὁ βασιλεὺς ἄγει στρέψας ἐπὶ δόρυ, ἔστ᾽ ἂν γένηται ἐν μέσῳ δυοῖν μόραιν καὶ δυοῖν πολεμάρχοιν. [7] οὓς δὲ δεῖ ἐπὶ τούτοις τετάχθαι, ὁ πρεσβύτατος τῶν περὶ δαμοσίαν συντάττει· εἰσὶ δὲ οὗτοι ὅσοι ἂν σύσκηνοι ὦσι τῶν ὁμοίων, καὶ μάντεις καὶ ἰατροὶ καὶ αὐληταὶ59 οἱ τοῦ στρατοῦ ἄρχοντες, καὶ ἐθελούσιοι ἤν τινες παρῶσιν. ὥστε τῶν δεομένων γίγνεσθαι οὐδὲν ἀπορεῖται· οὐδὲν γὰρ ἀπρόσκεπτόν ἐστι. Marchant has τοῖς σιοῖν [αὐτῷ], but the manuscript reading which I have above, as Lipka notes, is perfectly comprehensible despite the tendency for editors to want to emend here. 58 Marchant has πεντηκοντῆρες, but I have retained the spelling for this term in the manuscripts, as I did also at 11.4. 59 Marchant and many other editors, including Lipka, favour Zeune’s addition of καὶ here, but it is not in the main manuscripts and the text makes sense without it, as it was standard for flute-bearers to lead out armies. 57

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Section 13 [1] I will also describe the power and honour Lycurgus arranged for a king on campaign. For first, while in the field60 the polis maintains a king and those with him. And there mess together with him the polemarchoi, so that by always being with him, they may also deliberate together more, if they need anything. There mess together with him also three other men from among the homoioi [i.e. full citizens]. These take care of all the provisions for these men, so that they have no other occupation than to take care of matters of war. [2] But I shall resume with how the king sets out with the army. For he sacrifices first while at home to Zeus Agetor and those associated with him. And if he obtains good omens there, the firebearer, taking fire from the altar, leads the way to the borders of the country. The king there again offers his own sacrifices to Zeus and Athena. [3] And when good omens have been obtained from both these gods, then he crosses the borders of the country. Also, the fire from these sacrifices leads the way and is never extinguished, while sacrificial animals of all kinds follow. But always whenever he offers his own sacrifices, he starts this task while it is still dark, wishing to receive the goodwill of the god in advance. [4] And present at the sacrifice are polemarchoi, lochagoi, pentêkostêres, stratiarchoi of mercenaries, leaders of the baggage train, and of the generals from the poleis anyone who wishes. [5] There are present also two of the ephors, who in no way interfere unless the king summons them, but by observing what each does, they chasten them all as is reasonable. And when the sacrifices have been accomplished, the king summons everyone and orders what must be done. Consequently, observing these things you might hold that whereas others are improvisers in military matters, the Lacedaemonians alone are craftsmen in matters of war. [6] Further, when a king leads, if no one opposing appears, no one marches in front of him, except Sciritae and the cavalry who are scouting ahead, but if ever they think that there will be a battle, taking the troops of the first mora the king leads it, having wheeled it around to the spear side until he comes to be in between two morai and two polemarchoi. [7] And those who need to be stationed in addition to these, the eldest of those in the king’s mess tent organises. These are as many of the homoioi as are messmates, plus seers and doctors and flute-players, who lead the army, and any volunteers who are present. Consequently, none of the needful things is left unprovided for; for nothing is unforeseen.

I adopt Lipka’s translation for this phrase here and at 13.11.

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[8] μάλα δὲ καὶ τάδε ὠφέλιμα, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, ἐμηχανήσατο Λυκοῦργος εἰς τὸν ἐν ὅπλοις ἀγῶνα. ὅταν γὰρ ὁρώντων ἤδη τῶν πολεμίων χίμαιρα σφαγιάζηται, αὐλεῖν τε πάντας τοὺς παρόντας αὐλητὰς νόμος καὶ μηδένα Λακεδαιμονίων ἀστεφάνωτον εἶναι· καὶ ὅπλα δὲ λαμπρύνεσθαι προαγορεύεται. [9] ἔξεστι δὲ τῷ νέῳ καὶ κεχριμένῳ εἰς μάχην συνιέναι καὶ φαιδρὸν εἶναι καὶ εὐδόκιμον. καὶ παρακελεύονται δὲ τῷ ἐνωμοτάρχῃ·61 οὐδ᾽ ἀκούεται γὰρ εἰς ἑκάστην πᾶσαν τὴν ἐνωμοτίαν ἀφ᾽ ἑκάστου ἐνωμοτάρχου ἔξω· ὅπως δὲ καλῶς γίγνηται πολεμάρχῳ δεῖ μέλειν. [10] ὅταν γε μὴν καιρὸς δοκῇ εἶναι στρατοπεδεύεσθαι, τούτου μὲν δὴ κύριος62 βασιλεὺς καὶ τοῦ δεῖξαί γε ὅπου δεῖ· τὸ μέντοι πρεσβείας ἀποπέμπεσθαι καὶ φιλίας καὶ πολεμίας, τοῦτ᾽ αὖ63 βασιλέως. καὶ ἄρχονται μὲν πάντες ἀπὸ βασιλέως, ὅταν βούλωνται πρᾶξαί τι. [11] ἢν δ᾽ οὖν δίκης δεόμενός τις ἔλθῃ, πρὸς ἑλλανοδίκας τοῦτον ὁ βασιλεὺς ἀποπέμπει, ἢν δὲ χρημάτων, πρὸς ταμίας, ἢν δὲ ληίδα ἄγων, πρὸς λαφυροπώλας. οὕτω δὲ πραττομένων βασιλεῖ οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἔργον καταλείπεται ἐπὶ φρουρᾶς ἢ ἱερεῖ μὲν τὰ πρὸς τοὺς θεοὺς εἶναι, στρατηγῷ δὲ τὰ πρὸς τοὺς ἀνθρώπους.

Section 14 [1] Εἰ δέ τίς με ἔροιτο εἰ καὶ νῦν ἔτι μοι δοκοῦσιν οἱ Λυκούργου νόμοι ἀκίνητοι διαμένειν, τοῦτο μὰ Δία οὐκ ἂν ἔτι θρασέως εἴποιμι. [2] οἶδα γὰρ πρότερον μὲν Λακεδαιμονίους αἱρουμένους οἴκοι τὰ μέτρια ἔχοντας ἀλλήλοις συνεῖναι μᾶλλον ἢ ἁρμόζοντας ἐν ταῖς πόλεσι καὶ κολακευομένους διαφθείρεσθαι. [3] καὶ πρόσθεν μὲν οἶδα αὐτοὺς φοβουμένους χρυσίον ἔχοντας φαίνεσθαι· νῦν δ᾽ ἔστιν οὓς καὶ καλλωπιζομένους ἐπὶ τῷ κεκτῆσθαι. [4] ἐπίσταμαι δὲ καὶ πρόσθεν τούτου ἕνεκα ξενηλασίας γιγνομένας καὶ ἀποδημεῖν οὐκ ἐξόν, ὅπως μὴ ῥᾳδιουργίας οἱ πολῖται ἀπὸ τῶν ξένων ἐμπίπλαιντο· νῦν δ᾽ ἐπίσταμαι Marchant has ἐνωμοτάρχῳ, but I have retained the spelling for this term in the manuscripts, as I did also at 11.4 and 11.8. 62 The main manuscripts have here λυκοῦργος, which simply cannot be correct. One minor manuscript does have κύριος and so most editors (including Jackson) accept Marchant’s emendation here of δὴ κύριος. 63 Marchant, followed by Lipka, reads οὐ, an emendation suggested by Weiske. The manuscript reading of αὖ is preferable. See Chapter 5.4, with nn. 70 and 71 there especially. 61

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[8] Also the following things, very useful, as it seems to me, Lycurgus contrived concerning the contest in arms. For when, while the enemy is already observing, a she-goat is sacrificed, it is the law that all flute-­players who are present play and none of the Lacedaemonians is to be without a garland. And it is declared publicly also that weapons be polished. [9] And young men are even allowed to go into battle anointed, and to be both of glad countenance and highly esteemed. They also pass on the order to the enômotarchês, for it is not heard across each whole enômotia from each enômotarchês outside. That it comes to pass rightly must be the object of care of the polemarchos. [10] Further, when it seems to be the right time to encamp, the king has authority over this and over showing where it needs to be done. Again, the sending out of embassies both friendly or hostile, this again belongs to the king. And everyone begins from the king, whenever they want to do anything. [11] And if, therefore, someone comes in need of justice, the king sends him off to the hellanodikai,64 if of money to the treasurers, and if bringing booty to the bootysellers. With things being done in this way, for the king no other task remains in the field than to be a priest with respect to things concerning the gods and to be a general with respect to things concerning men.

Section 14 [1] But if anyone should ask me, if even still now the laws of Lycurgus seem to me to remain unchanged, this, by Zeus, I would no longer assert confidently. [2] For I know that previously the Lacedaemonians chose to live together with one another at home with moderate possessions rather than to be harmosts in the poleis and be corrupted by flattery. [3] Also I know that previously they were afraid to be seen to have gold, but now there are some who actually pride themselves on its possession. [4] I know for certain also that previously for this reason there were expulsions of foreigners and going abroad was not allowed, so that the citizens might not be filled up with slackness by foreigners. Now, however, I

Little is known about these officers, but presumably they were judges of some capacity; see further Lipka 2002: 227 on 13.11[3].

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τοὺς δοκοῦντας πρώτους εἶναι ἐσπουδακότας ὡς μηδέποτε παύωνται ἁρμόζοντες ἐπὶ ξένης. [5] καὶ ἦν μὲν ὅτε ἐπεμελοῦντο ὅπως ἄξιοι εἶεν ἡγεῖσθαι· νῦν δὲ πολὺ μᾶλλον πραγματεύονται ὅπως ἄρξουσιν ἢ ὅπως ἄξιοι τούτου65 ἔσονται. [6] τοιγαροῦν οἱ Ἕλληνες πρότερον μὲν ἰόντες εἰς Λακεδαίμονα ἐδέοντο αὐτῶν ἡγεῖσθαι ἐπὶ τοὺς δοκοῦντας ἀδικεῖν· νῦν δὲ πολλοὶ παρακαλοῦσιν ἀλλήλους ἐπὶ τὸ διακωλύειν ἄρξαι πάλιν αὐτούς. [7] οὐδὲν μέντοι δεῖ θαυμάζειν τούτων τῶν ἐπιψόγων αὐτοῖς γιγνομένων, ἐπειδὴ φανεροί εἰσιν οὔτε τῷ θεῷ πειθόμενοι οὔτε τοῖς Λυκούργου νόμοις.

Section 15 [1] Βούλομαι δὲ καὶ ἃς βασιλεῖ πρὸς τὴν πόλιν συνθήκας ὁ Λυκοῦργος ἐποίησε διηγήσασθαι· μόνη γὰρ δὴ αὕτη ἀρχὴ διατελεῖ οἵαπερ ἐξ ἀρχῆς κατεστάθη· τὰς δὲ ἄλλας πολιτείας εὕροι ἄν τις μετακεκινημένας καὶ ἔτι καὶ νῦν μετακινουμένας. [2] ἔθηκε γὰρ θύειν μὲν βασιλέα πρὸ τῆς πόλεως τὰ δημόσια ἅπαντα, ὡς ἀπὸ τοῦ66 θεοῦ ὄντα, καὶ στρατιὰν ὅποι ἂν ἡ πόλις ἐκπέμπῃ ἡγεῖσθαι. [3] ἔδωκε δὲ καὶ γέρα ἀπὸ τῶν θυομένων λαμβάνειν, καὶ γῆν δὲ ἐν πολλαῖς τῶν περιοίκων πόλεων ἀπέδειξεν ἐξαίρετον τοσαύτην ὥστε μήτε δεῖσθαι67 τῶν μετρίων μήτε πλούτῳ ὑπερφέρειν. [4] ὅπως δὲ καὶ οἱ βασιλεῖς ἔξω σκηνοῖεν, σκηνὴν αὐτοῖς δημοσίαν ἀπέδειξε, καὶ διμοιρίᾳ γε ἐπὶ τῷ δείπνῳ ἐτίμησεν, οὐχ ἵνα διπλάσια καταφάγοιεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἵνα καὶ ἀπὸ τοῦδε τιμῆσαι ἔχοιεν εἴ τινα βούλοιντο. [5] ἔδωκε δ᾽ αὖ καὶ συσκήνους δύο ἑκατέρῳ προσελέσθαι, οἳ δὴ καὶ Πύθιοι καλοῦνται. ἔδωκε δὲ καὶ πασῶν τῶν συῶν ἀπὸ τόκου χοῖρον λαμβάνειν, ὡς μήποτε ἀπορήσαι βασιλεὺς ἱερῶν, ἤν τι δεηθῇ θεοῖς συμβουλεύσασθαι. [6] καὶ πρὸς τῇ οἰκίᾳ δὲ λίμνη ὕδατος 68 παρέχει· ὅτι δὲ καὶ τοῦτο πρὸς πολλὰ χρήσιμον, οἱ μὴ ἔχοντες αὐτὸ Following the main manuscript, Marchant, as well as Gray and Jackson, reads τούτων, on the grounds that leading and ruling are here two different things. The reading above, τούτου, is an emendation proposed in the sixteenth century by Stephanus which is followed also by Lipka. 66 Marchant, following Dindorf, wants to place τοῦ in square brackets, but it is not necessary as Lipka points out, since it is clear that Zeus is meant here. 67 Marchant, following Dindorf, prints μήτ᾽ ἐνδεῖσθαι, but the reading above follows the manuscripts and is perfectly intelligible, as Lipka points out. 68 Marchant prints ὕδατος , which is present in one manuscript. Gray accepts this reading; Lipka and Jackson do not. It is an attractive addition but not necessary for sense. 65

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know for certain that those reputed to be the foremost among them are zealously pursuing how never to stop being harmosts in a foreign land. [5] And there was a time when they took care that they might be worthy to lead, but now they exert themselves much more to become rulers rather than to be worthy of this. [6] For that very reason the Greeks previously came to Lacedaemon and begged them to lead against those reputed to be doing wrong, but now many call upon each other to try to prevent them from ruling again. [7] In no way, however, should one wonder at these men, the ones who are being held up to blame by them, since they are manifestly obeying neither the god nor the laws of Lycurgus.

Section 15 [1] I want also to describe the compacts Lycurgus created between the king and the polis. For indeed this office alone continues just as it was established from the beginning, whereas one would find the other politeiai to have changed and still even now to be changing. [2] For he laid down matters so that the king perform all public sacrifices on behalf of the polis because of his divine descent, and lead the army wherever the polis sends it. [3] And he allowed him also to receive the gifts of honour from the animals being sacrificed, and he also assigned him in many of the perioikic poleis such an amount of the choice land that he should neither lack modest resources nor surpass others in wealth. [4] But in order that the kings might also mess outside their homes, he assigned a public mess for them, and honoured them with a double share at the meal, not so that they might eat double the amount, but so that they might also from this have the means to honour anyone they wished. [5] He in turn allowed each of the two to choose two messmates also, who indeed are actually called Pythioi. And he allowed each also to receive a piglet from every sow after a litter had been born, so that a king should never be in want of sacrificial victims, if he needed to consult with the gods about anything. [6] Also near the house a lake provides water. That this too is useful for many things, those who do not have it know better. And all

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μᾶλλον γιγνώσκουσι. καὶ ἕδρας δὲ πάντες ὑπανίστανται βασιλεῖ, πλὴν οὐκ ἔφοροι ἀπὸ τῶν ἐφορικῶν δίφρων. [7] καὶ ὅρκους δὲ ἀλλήλοις κατὰ μῆνα ποιοῦνται, ἔφοροι μὲν ὑπὲρ τῆς πόλεως, βασιλεὺς δὲ ὑπὲρ ἑαυτοῦ. ὁ δὲ ὅρκος ἐστὶ τῷ μὲν βασιλεῖ κατὰ τοὺς τῆς πόλεως κειμένους νόμους βασιλεύσειν, τῇ δὲ πόλει ἐμπεδορκοῦντος ἐκείνου ἀστυφέλικτον τὴν βασιλείαν παρέξειν. [8] αὗται μὲν οὖν αἱ τιμαὶ οἴκοι ζῶντι βασιλεῖ δέδονται, οὐδέν τι πολὺ ὑπερφέρουσαι τῶν ἰδιωτικῶν· οὐ γὰρ ἐβουλήθη οὔτε τοῖς βασιλεῦσι τυραννικὸν φρόνημα παραστῆσαι οὔτε τοῖς πολίταις φθόνον ἐμποιῆσαι τῆς δυνάμεως. [9] αἳ δὲ τελευτήσαντι τιμαὶ βασιλεῖ δέδονται, τῇδε βούλονται δηλοῦν οἱ Λυκούργου νόμοι ὅτι οὐχ ὡς ἀνθρώπους ἀλλ᾽ ὡς ἥρωας τοὺς Λακεδαιμονίων βασιλεῖς προτετιμήκασι.

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also rise from their seats for the king, except ephors from their ephors’ chairs. [7] And they also exchange oaths with one another monthly: the ephors on behalf of the polis, the king on his own behalf. But the oath of the king is to reign according to the established laws of the polis, while that of the polis is to go on keeping the kingship unshaken as long as that man abides by his oath. [8] These honours, then, have been allowed to the king at home while he is alive, not very much surpassing those of private individuals. For he did not want either to arouse in the kings tyrannical pride nor to cause in the citizens envy of their power. [9] But in the honours which have been granted to the king at his death, it is here the laws of Lycurgus wish to demonstrate that it is not as men but as heroes that they have preferred the kings of the Lacedaemonians in honour.

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Index Locorum

Alcman F 64: 74 Andocides On the Mysteries 1.95–6: 48 Aristophanes Birds 1012–13: 190 1280–3: 162, 254 Clouds 961–1023: 270 Lysistrata 78–84: 64 1247–72: 65 1296–315: 65 Aristotle Metaphysics 982b10–15: 27 Nicomachean Ethics 1095a15–30: 90 1102a9–10: 78 Politics 1270b14–15: 257 1270b21–6: 78 1271a26–37: 160 1288b39–9a2: 254 1301b19–21: 245 1306b36–7a: 74 1336b1–36: 128 1338b24–9: 170 Rhetoric 1366a23–68a37: 231 1366b1–4: 232–3 1367a35–b8: 232 1367b33–8: 233 1368a11: 232 1368a21–30: 233 Athenaeus 504f–505a: 7

Aulus Gellius Attic Nights 14.3.2–4: 7 Critias Lacedaemoniôn Politeia D-K 88(81) B6: 130–3 D-K 88(81) B32: 64, 93–4 D-K 88(81) B33: 132 D-K 88(81) B36: 65 D-K 88(81) B37: 176–7 Diogenes Laertius 2.48–50: 10 2.51: xix, 20, 34 2.54: xix, 6, 34 2.55: 275 2.57: 7, 52–4 2.58: 20 3.34–6: 7 Euripides Andromache 595–601: 64 Herodotus 1.56–69: 70–1, 262 1.65.3: 251 1.65.4: 147 1.65.5: 260–1 1.65–6: 49, 70 2.166–7: 260 5.49: 138 6.56–8: 185 6.82.1: 179 7.104.4–5: 71 7.201–28: 71–2 7.205: 70 7.210–32: 151–2

356

Index Locorum 7.220.2: 90 9.28: 165–6 9.48.1: 72 Hesiod Works and Days 11–26: 117–19, 268 Isocrates Archidamus 6.59: 76, 278 6.61: 76 6.81: 76 6.91: 76 6.99–100: 76 6.108–9: 76 Areopagiticus 7.7: 76, 277 7.61: 76, 277 Busiris 11.4: 232, 233 11.7–8: 232 11.10–35: 231–2 11.18: 260 Evagoras 9.12–65: 234 9.71: 234 Nicocles 3.24: 76, 278 On the Peace 8.95: 75 8.95–103: 282–3 8.96: 266 8.142–4: 278 Panathenaicus 12.41: 162, 251 12.46: 260 12.109–11: 162 12.200–7: 279 12.200–63: 276 12.202: 163 12.209–14: 279–81 12.239–40: 276 Panegyricus 4.1: 84–5 Lycurgus Against Leocrates 105: 76 107–9: 76 128–30: 76–7 Lysias Olympic Oration 33.7: 75 Pausanias Description of Greece 1.3.4: 18

Plato Alcibiades 1 122d–23a: 265 Crito 52e: 77, 255 Epistle 7 7.324b–26a: 24 Hippias Major 282b–86a: 255 283e–84a: 77 285b: 77 Laws 1.633b: 274 1.637c–e: 64 3.691e: 251 3.694c–95b: 7 3.696a: 160 4.712d: 256 12.950a–3e: 190 Menexenus 234c–5a: 237 Phaedo 68d: 153 Protagoras 316b–17e: 254–5 342a–43c: 254–5 342b–d: 190 Republic 3.416e: 261 3.395c: 138 4.423e–4b: 87 5.452c–d: 251 8.544c: 251 8.544c–50c: 258–69 Symposium 194e4–7e8: 233 198d3–e2: 233 Theaetetus 155d: 27 Plutarch Agesilaus 1.1–3: 228 20.2: xix, 6, 135 Lycurgus 1: 49 5.3: 90 5.7–8: 154 17.3–18.1: 45 22.1: 167 25.4–5: 114, 121 26.1–3: 154–5 Lysander 2, 160 16–17: 47–52 24.2–26: 219, 245 30.3–4: 245–6

357

358 Polybius 10.21.8: 234 Pseudo-Aristotle Rhetorica ad Alexandrum 1425b36–26b22: 231 1425b36–40: 232 1440b29–41a11: 233 1441a27–32: 233 1441a39–b13: 233 Pseudo-Xenophon Athenaiôn Politeia 1.1: 88 1.8–9: 70 3.1: 88 Strabo 8.5.5: 245 Thucydides 1.6: 141 1.18.1–2: 72 1.21–2: 36 1.69.1: 138 1.77.6: 196–7 1.84: 267 1.84.3: 72–3 1.95: 193–4 1.128–35: 193–4 1.130: 244 1.131.2: 179 1.134.1: 179 1.144.2: 190 2.8.4: 139 2.39: 73, 267 2.39.1: 190 3.92–2: 194–5 3.100: 186 4.31–40: 73, 171–2 4.55.2: 174–5 4.132.3: 195–6 4.80: 186 5.3.3: 196 5.6–21: 196 5.15.1–2: 73 5.52.1: 195 5.63–83: 173 5.66.2–4: 171 5.105.4: 196–7 8.5: 186 8.8.2: 210 8.24.4: 90 8.61.1: 210, 211–12 8.62.1: 211–12 8.80.1–3: 210 Tyrtaeus F 1: 74

Index Locorum F 2.9–15: 74 F 4: 74 F 10–12: 74, 150–1 Xenophon Agesilaus 1.1: 221, 246 1.1–6.8: 234 1.5: 222–4 1.6–36: 229 1.15–17: 236 1.17–19: 143 1.36: 225 2.7: 166 2.20: 235–6 2.21–2: 230 2.22: 236 5.4–6: 107 7.4–5: 225–6 10.2–3: 235 11: 234 11.6: 155–6 Anabasis 1.1.9: 211 1.2.9: 211 1.2.21: 207 1.3.1–2: 239–40 1.4.2–3: 207 1.5.11–13: 239–40 1.8.12–13: 238 1.8.15: 11 2.2.5–6: 220 2.3.11–13: 239 2.4.15: 11 2.5.1–30: 212 2.5.28–34: 220 2.5.37–41: 11 2.6.2: 212 2.6.2–4: 210 2.6.4: 159, 238 2.6.9–14: 240 2.6.15: 238 3.1.4: 11 3.1.4–7: 10 3.1.10: 20 3.1.13–14: 12 3.1.26: 12 3.1.36: 145 3.2.37: 207 3.3.6–20: 13 4.2.10–21: 13 4.6.14–15: 44, 45–6, 281 5.1.3–4: 207, 219 5.3.5–13: 15–16, 209 5.3.7: xix 5.6.15–8.26: 14

Index Locorum 5.8.1–12: 13–14 6.1.16–17: 207, 219 6.1.26–9: 15, 207 6.1.32: 212, 219 6.2.15: 22 6.6.5: 207 6.6.9: 15, 207, 212 6.6.12–14: 15, 207 7.1.2: 212 7.1.4: 14 7.1.12–2.8: 219–20 7.1.25–31: 15, 207 7.1.38–40: 14 7.2.7: 212 7.2.8–9: 14 7.2.12: 212 7.5.8: 17 7.6.44: 22 7.8.24: xix, 209 7.8.55–7: 14 Cyropaedia 1.1.1–6: 83–4 1.1.3–5: 147–8 1.2.2–8: 102–5 1.2.5: 123 1.2.6: 44, 45–6: 281 1.2.9: 109–10 1.2.9–12: 111, 116–17 1.2.10: 123–4 1.2.10–11: 105 1.2.12: 119 1.2.13: 122–3 1.3.4–6: 192 1.3.10–11: 133 1.3.14: 192 1.3.16–17: 102, 104–5 1.4.4: 103, 111–12 1.4.11: 123 1.6.1–46: 29 1.6.20–1: 148 1.6.31–4: 45–6, 104 3.3.10: 119 3.3.53: 158 8.1.31: 112 8.2.10–12: 119 8.2.26–8: 119 8.8: 55–56: 57 8.8.2: 119 Hellenica 1.1.18: 152, 171 1.1.23: 65 1.1.35: 210, 211 1.5.1–7: 213, 214 1.5.10–15: 214 1.5.15: 217 1.6.2–18: 214–15

1.6.5–8: 213–14 1.6.32–3: 153, 213–14 1.6.33: 171 2.1.1–6: 239 2.1.18–28: 217 2.2.5: 211 2.2.23: 60, 139, 216 2.3.2–56: 67 2.3.6–7: 139 2.3.8–9: 48, 242–3 2.3.14: 212 2.3.34: 67, 88 2.4.8–9: 67 2.4.28–9: 120, 216 2.4.29–39: 216 2.4.43: 208 3.1.1–2: 207–8 3.1.2: 19 3.1.3: 15, 60, 139, 187, 208 3.1.4–5: 186, 208–9 3.1.6: 209 3.1.8: 159 3.1.8–2.20: 210 3.1.9: 238 3.1.9–10: 187 3.1.17–18: 228 3.2.6–9: 187 3.2.7: 18 3.3.1–4: 222–4 3.3.4–11: 159–60, 168, 224 3.3.5–7: 176 3.4.1–2: 224, 227 3.4.2: 186, 218, 223 3.4.3–4: 227, 230 3.4.5–7: 213 3.4.6: 210 3.4.7–10: 218–19, 243 3.4.8: 120, 184, 227–8 3.4.11–12: 236 3.4.11–5.1: 228–9 3.4.12: 227–8 3.4.16: 170 3.4.20: 18, 243 3.4.21–4: xx 3.4.27–9: 226–7 3.5.1: 227 3.5.6: 216 3.5.13: 139 3.5.6–19: 217 3.5.25: 226 4.1.17–21: 229 4.1.29–31: 243–4 4.1.41: 227 4.2.3: 145, 226 4.2.8: 227 4.3.1–2: 210, 229

359

360 Xenophon (cont.) 4.3.2: 210 4.3.10–12: 227 4.3.12: 152, 171 4.3.13–14: 17 4.4.10: 152 4.5.6: 230 4.5.10: 237 4.5.13–17: 171–2, 235 4.6.1–7.1: 235–6 4.8.3–5: 210 4.8.17: 159 4.8.32: 210, 212 4.8.32–9: 152 4.8.39: 171 5.1.13: 239 5.1.31: 140 5.1.33: 230 5.2.1: 254 5.2.24–36: xxii, 58 5.2.25: 213 5.2.28: 238 5.2.32: 181, 221–2, 230 5.3.5: 217 5.3.6: 152, 171 5.3.7: 153 5.3.24: 228 5.4.1: 221 5.4.13: 230, 238 5.4.20: 213 5.4.20–33: xxii, 58, 244 5.4.23: 238 5.4.24: 159 5.4.24–34: 106 5.4.25: 156–7 5.4.33: 153 5.4.34: 244 5.4.35–41: 230 5.4.44–5: 152 5.4.47–55: 230, 236 5.4.56–7: 236 6.2.18–19: 239 6.2.22: 171 6.3.9: 230 6.3.18–20: 59 6.4.2: 59 6.4.5–6: 237–8 6.4.11: 141 6.4.11–13: 174 6.4.16: 237 6.5.5: 228 6.5.17–19: 182 6.5.27: 50, 143 7.1.7: 238 Hiero 9.4–10: 119–20

Index Locorum Lacedaimoniôn Politeia 1.1: 69–78, 160, 163, 165 1.1–2: 83, 162, 164, 189 1.2: 151–2 1.3–10: 93–8 1.4: 63–4, 65 1.5: 129–30, 144–5, 158 1.5–9: 142–3, 154 1.7–9: 160 1.9: 62, 137, 141, 159, 189 2: 43–4, 98–108 2.1: 280 2.1–6: 64–6 2.2: 123, 127, 134–5, 144–5, 156, 158, 161, 189–90, 266–7 2.4: 189 2.6–7: 44, 45–7 2.6–9: 280–1 2.7: 120, 124, 191, 261, 263–4 2.8: 144–5, 158, 161, 267, 274–5 2.10: 134–5, 144–5, 161, 238, 267 2.10–11: 158 2.13: 144–5 3: 108–13 3.1–2: 31 3.3: 114, 134, 144–5, 158, 161, 267 3.5: 180 4: 214 4.1–6: 113–21, 195–6 4.2: 155 4.2–6: 268 4.3: 144–5 4.4: 110, 127, 134, 144–5, 156, 158, 189–90, 263–4 4.6: 127, 133, 140, 144–5, 161, 170, 215, 220–1, 228, 267 4.6–7: 65 4.7: 121–4, 133, 140, 170, 281 5: 126 5.1: 163 5.2: 144–5, 156, 158, 165, 189–90, 261 5.3: 62, 141, 159, 189 5.4–7: 142–3 5.5: 145 5.6: 150 5.7: 144–5, 161 5.8–9: 65, 140, 170, 261 5.9: 165 6: 134–7 6.1–2: 142–3, 153 6.2: 144–5, 161, 267 6.3: 62, 141, 159, 189 7: 43–4, 62, 137–44, 189, 242–3 7.1–2: 165, 259–60 7.3: 273 7.3–6: 265, 274

Index Locorum 7.4: 170 7.5: 49–50 7.6: 47–52, 144–5, 161, 267, 272–3 8: 144–8 8.1: 159 8.3–4: 270 8.4: 179, 200, 255–7, 267 8.5: 159, 161 9: 89, 148–54, 171, 262–3, 268 9.3: 91 9.4: 65 9.4–5: 145, 161, 237, 267 9.5: 42, 65 10.1–3: 154–7 10.2: 259, 270 10.4: 155 10.4–6: 274 10.4–7: 191 10.4–8: 157–62, 263–4 10.5: 267 10.6: 267 10.6–7: 145 10.7: 62, 96, 189 10.8: 48–9, 66, 163, 251 11–13: 261, 262–3 11.1: 163–4 11.2: 182 11.2–6: 177 11.2–10: 165–75 11.3: 177 12: 175–8 12.1: 182 12.2: 174 12.5: 65, 165 12.7: 65, 165, 182, 262–3 13: 178–88, 246 13.1: 259 13.5: 165, 262–3 13.6: 174 13.8: 165 13.11: 62 14: xxiii, 38, 42, 52–61, 188–99, 242–3, 246, 265–6, 283 14.2: 165 14.2–4: 58–9, 210, 241 14.3: 265 14.4: 156 14.6: 58–9 15: 54–7, 197–201, 246 15.8: 259

15.9: 165 Memorabilia 1.1.1: 85 1.1.4: 22 1.1.16: 25, 156 1.2.12: 88 1.2.12–39: 67 1.2.13–16: 21 1.2.40–6: 10 1.3.1: 23 1.3.8–13: 9–11 1.5.1–6: 25 1.5.4: 163–4 1.6.1–10: 91–2 1.6.15: 25 2.1.1–34: 25 3.1.1: 23: 30 3.1–7: 25, 29–30 3.5.21: 180 3.7.1–9: 161 4.1.1: 23 4.1.2–5: 21 4.1.3: 29 4.1.3–4: 31, 109 4.2.1–40: 10, 21 4.2.30–1: 28 4.2.40: 32 4.3.1–18: 25 4.4.15: 90 4.8.11: 23 Oeconomicus 2.17–18: 27 4.2–3: 138 21.11–12: 104 On Hunting 1.1–18: 31 2.1: 123 12.1–9: 32, 100 12.2–5: 124 12.7: 124 12.9: 110 12.10–22: 32 13.7: 32 Poroi 1.1–2: 85 4.39: 31 6.2: 31 Symposium 8.27: 107 8.35: 130

361

General Index

Note that references to those features of Spartan life which are central to the discussion of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia can be found indexed under that work. Features of Spartan life which are important for the discussion but which are found primarily in sources other than the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia are indexed generally under Sparta. Also Xenophon's works all have their own individual entries, as do Plato's Republic and Symposium. Agesilaus (Spartan king), see also Agesilaus (Xenophon); Xenophon, and Agesilaus and Agamemnon, compared, 224, 227, 230 and Lysander, compared, 242–6 austerity, performed, 243–4 campaigns in Asia Minor, 228–9 character type, 241 competing accounts of his accession, 222–4 defence of Phoebidas, 181 encampment error, 182 examples of capable generalship, 235–7 follows own agenda abroad, 238–9 hatred of Thebes, 227, 230 implicated in acquittal of Sphodrias, 238–9, 244 inauspicious start to reign, 224 obedience to authorities, performed, 145, 186, 225–7, 243 patronage of, 156–7, 211, 218–19, 238, 243 quick to anger, 184, 218, 227–8 resists manipulation of Tissaphernes, 213 rivalry with Lysander, 184, 218–19, 220–1 training troops in Asia Minor, 170 Agesilaus (Xenophon) Agesilaus’ enkrateia, 107 Agesilaus’ philhellenism, 225–6 generic features of, xxiii, 35, 36–7, 221–2, 229, 231–5 leadership theme in, 25 portrait in compared with the Hellenica, xxiv, 36–7, 221–37 precedence as a source, xxiv, 37, 57, 242 Agis (Spartan king), 173, 210 father of Leotychidas, alleged, 222–3

aidôs, see also Cyropaedia (Xenophon), Persian education in; Lacedaemoniôn Politeia (Xenophon) defined, 94 Aidôs goddess in Sparta, 130 Alcetas (Spartan commander) negligent, 236 Alcibiades (Athenian commander), see also Xenophon, and Alcibiades, compared and Socrates, 32–3 Alcman on Spartan eunomia and obedience, 74 Anabasis (Xenophon) date of, 209 purpose of, 19–23, 32–3, 206 Sparta(ns) in, 34–5, 206–14, 219–21, 238–41 Spartan thieving in, 44–6, 62, 281 Anaxibius (Spartan commander) career abroad, 211–12 character type, 241 easily manipulated, 212 erratic behaviour of, 219–20 fighting to the death, 152, 171 follows own agenda, 238–9 rivalry with Aristarchus, 214 role in Anabasis, 207 Archidamus (Spartan king) father of Agesilaus, 222 on Sparta in Thucydides, 72, 267 Aristarchus (Spartan commander) character type, 241 easily manipulated, 212, 220 rivalry with Anaxibius, 214

362

General Index Aristophanes attacks laconophiles, 162 Aristotle on eudaimonia, 78, 90 on how to write encomia, 231–3 on Spartan power and renown, 78 on tyrannical ephors, 257 Artemis Orthia altar of, 101 Athenaeus on Xenophon’s supposed rivalry with Plato, 7 Athênaiôn Politeia (pseudo-Xenophon) question of authorship, 52–3 Athens compared with Sparta, 70–1, 72, 77, 138–9, 209, 254 Aulus Gellius on Xenophon’s supposed rivalry with Plato, 7 biographical writing, ancient reliability of, 6–8, 54 Brasidas (Spartan commander) early example of harmost-type leader, 186, 195 patronage of, 196 Callibius (Spartan commander) easily flattered, 212 Callicratidas (Spartan commander) character type, 240–1 fighting to the death, 152–3, 171 quick to anger, 215 rivalry with Lysander, 213–16, 220–1 Cartledge, P., 106–7, 219, 244 Cheirisophus (Spartan commander) character type, 241 dealings with Anaxibius, 219 on Spartan thieving, 44–6, 281 role in the Anabasis, 206–7 Cinadon (hypomeion) conspiracy of, 159–60, 168, 176, 224 Cleander (Spartan commander) easily manipulated, 212 role in Anabasis, 207 Clearchus (Spartan commander) career abroad, 210–12 death of, 11 easily manipulated, 212 exiled for disobedience, 159, 238, 241 privy to Cyrus’ plans, 20 rivalry with Menon, 220, 240 role in Anabasis, 206–7 use of force by, 239–40 Clearidas (Spartan commander) under patronage of Brasidas, 196 Cleombrotus (Spartan king), and affair of Sphodrias, 156–7, 244 leads army against Thebes, 230, 237–8

363

Cnidus, battle of (394 BCE), 17, 152, 226–7 Coronea, battle of (394 BCE) contestation of Spartan hegemony, 59 Xenophon on Spartan side, xix, 16–17, 21–2 Critias and Socrates, 32–3 Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, 67, 86, 93, 130–3 laconophilia of, 88, 254, 275 Xenophon’s negative portrait of, 67, 87–9, 162 Critobulus (companion of Socrates) interlocutor in Oeconomicus, 27, 138 Xenophon’s portrayal of, 9 Cyropaedia (Xenophon) compositional problems, alleged, 55–6 compulsion, Cyrus’ use of, 147–8 hunting, benefits of, 123–4 leadership theme in, 25 Persian education in aidôs, consequence of, 103–4, 111–12 enkrateia taught, 102–5 hunting, benefits of, 105, 111 justice taught, 102–3, 104–5 obedience taught, 102–3 positive pedagogical techniques, 102–3, 103–5, 111 sôphrosynê taught, 102–3, 111 thieving, condemnation of, 44–7, 62, 102, 105 philonikia, ambiguous nature of, 119 philosophical wonder in, 27–8, 83–4 use of dialectic in, 28–9 Dercylidas (Spartan commander) and patronage of Agesilaus, 211, 229, 238 career abroad, 210–12, 213 character type, 241 follows own agenda abroad, 187, 238–9 punished for indiscipline, 187 Dexippus (perioikos), 212 Diogenes Laertius biography of Xenophon, 6 on authorship of Xenophon’s works, 52–3 on Xenophon’s exile, 20 on Xenophon’s son Gryllus, 275 on Xenophon’s supposed rivalry with Plato, 7 Ducat, J., 46–7, 60, 271–2, 280–1 encomiastic writing generic features of, xxiii, 36–7, 222, 231–5 Rhetorica ad Alexandrum (pseudo-Aristotle), 231–3 enkrateia (‘self-restraint’), see also Cyropaedia (Xenophon), Persian education in; Lacedaemoniôn Politeia (Xenophon); Memorabilia (Xenophon) defined, 103

364

General Index

Eteonicus (Spartan commander) career abroad, 211 use of force by, 239 Eurylochus (Spartan commander) early example of harmost-type leader, 186 Euthydemus (companion of Socrates) Xenophon’s portrayal of, 10, 21, 25, 32 Gera, D., 119–20 Gray, V., 42, 45–6 Gryllus (son of Xenophon), 275 Hellenica (Xenophon) concentration on Sparta in, reason for, 42 date and composition of, 4–5, 53–4 purpose of, 35–6 Sparta(ns) in, xix–xxiii, 152–3, 207–21, 242–5 Herippidas (Spartan commander) in Asia Minor with Agesilaus, 229, 243 Herodotus narrative strategies of, 19 on origin of laws of Lycurgus, 147 on Spartan avoidance of banausic activity, 260 on Spartan eudaimonia, 90, 151 on Spartan kings, 185–6, 200 on Spartan power and renown, 70–2, 262 on Spartans as liberators, 138 on Thermopylae, 71–2, 151–2 Hesiod, 117–19, 268 hetaireiai, 128 Hiero (Xenophon) against tyranny, 25, 68 use of dialectic in, 28 Higgins, W. E., xvii–xviii, 68, 95, 108 Hodkinson, S., xxi, 51–2, 64, 96, 141–2 hoplomachoi, 172 Isocrates, see also Xenophon, and Isocrates encomiastic writing of, 231–5 generic experimentation of, 3 laconophiles, critical of, 162 laconophilia (supposed), 276–8 mixed response to Sparta, 276–84 on Spartan education, 279–82 on Spartan power and renown, 75–6 on Spartan prohibition on banausic activity, 260 rhetorical use of wonder, 84–5 King’s Peace (387 BCE) Spartan hegemonic excesses after, 57–8, 75, 140, 230, 254 Lacedaimoniôn Politeia (Xenophon) aidôs, see also Cyropaedia (Xenophon), Persian education in aim of upbringing, 98, 101–2, 107–8, 109–11

as regulator of behaviour, 94–5, 112–13, 128–30, 149–50, 153–4, 191 distinguished from sôphrosynê, 112 enforced by fear of punishment, 98, 108 aspects of composition audience, 38–9, 62, 248–9, 269–75, 278–84 dating, xxiii, 4–5, 57–60 direct questions, use of, 29, 93, 100–1, 127–8, 140–4, 157–8, 161 imaginary interlocutor, use of, 29, 86, 93, 96–7, 100–1, 107, 110–11, 127–8, 140–4, 180 intertextual engagement, 93–4 with Critias, 130–3 with Herodotus, 150–2, 185–6, 200–1 with Hesiod, 133 with Tyrtaeus, 150–1 narrative patterning, 64–6, 92–3, 94, 95–6, 98–9, 120–1, 129, 135, 142–3, 145–6, 153–4, 164, 180 penultimate section, interpretative problems, xxiii, 40–2, 52–62 philosophical wonder in, 27–8, 83–5 purpose (disputed), xxiv, 40–69 purpose (philosophical and critical), 83–9 bravery enforced by fear of punishment, 148–50 collapse brought about by disobedience to the laws, 189, 190–2 open pursuit of wealth, 189 common messes, 126–33 established to eliminate slacking, 126–7, 260–1 kings’ participation in, 199 youths’ participation in, 109 competition in for boys, 101 for women, 94 for young men, 113, 118–21, 192 in common messes, 141–2 up to old age, 154, 192 constant supervision of adult males, 126–7, 133–4 of boys, 101–2, 108, 112, 134–5 of young men, 115, 192 of youths, 109–10, 112 Council of Elders, 154–8, 192, 259, 264, 270 diet of adult males, 127–8, 133–4 of boys, 98–100 of boys compared to Persian system, 105 of women, 63–5 education by force not persuasion, 98, 101–5, 115, 191, 266–7 eirên substitute paidonomos, 101–2

General Index enkrateia, see also Agesilaus, Agesilaus’ enkrateia; Cyropaedia (Xenophon), Persian education in aim of upbringing, 102, 107–8 as regulator of behaviour, 107 distinguished from sôphrosynê, 103 enforced by fear of punishment, 108 envy, engendered, 120, 123, 141–2, 184–5, 200 ephors characterised as tyrannical, 145–7, 179, 200, 255–7 relationship with kings, 178–80, 183, 184–6, 192, 200 role of, 113–15, 145–6, 157, 161, 165 eudaimonia as a reward for bravery, 149–50 contingent upon obedience to laws, 90–1 hellanodikai, 183–4 hippagretai, 113–14 hunting for fitness, 122 kalokagathia, practice of, 154–8, 192 kings and embassies, 182–3 compact with the polis, 199–200 dispensing justice on campaign, 183–4 responsible for encampment, 182 responsible for sacrificing, 178–80, 199 supervision of, 179–80 limited sharing of goods, 135–7 women, 95–6 Lycurgus (Spartan lawgiver) all legislation attributed to, 48–9 assigned to age of Heraclids, 161–2 secured eudaimonia, 89–90, 94 source of laws, 146–7 military matters cavalry, 168, 174–5 encampment procedures, 175–6 guarding against friends, 175–8 importance of obedience, 169–71 levies and provisioning, 165–6 strict hierarchy, 168–9 obedience aim of upbringing, 98, 101–2, 107–8 enforced by fear of punishment, 98, 108, 110, 126–7, 129, 134–5, 145–7, 150, 160–1, 266-7 lack of leads to collapse, 189, 190–2 paidonomos, role of, 98, 101–2, 135, 190 Persian education compared with Spartan education, 102–5, 109–10, 111–12, 116–17, 122–3, 133, 192 philonikia, encouraged, 113–20, 238–9, 268 public practice of virtue

365

central to Lycurgan practices, 157–61, 191–2 slacking (rhadiourgia) attempted elimination of, 113–14, 126–7, 155–6, 261 leads to collapse, 189–91 thieving, role of, 99–101, 279–81 scholarly disagreement about, 44–6, 101 wealth banausic activity forbidden, 137–8, 259–60 concern for, 62, 95–6, 140–3, 189 desire for not eliminated, 140–3, 189, 193–4, 260 hoarding gold and silver in secret, 43–4, 47–52, 142–3, 265, 273 inequalities in, 136–7, 136–7, 158–60, 199–200 open pursuit of leads to collapse, 188–9, 265–6 socio-economic masking of, 136–7, 140–2, 166–8, 177 whip-bearers assigned to paidonomos, 98, 116, 135 women regulations for, 63–6, 93–7, 100 xenêlasia, 190–2 laconophilia types of, 254 Leuctra, battle of (371 BCE) Spartan reaction to, 237–8 Xenophon’s alleged disillusionment after, xxiii–xxiii, 5, 57–8 Lipka, M., 106, 138, 183, 245 arguing for Xenophon as laconophile, 41–2, 88–9, 91–2 on the composition of Xenophon’s Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, 56, 92, 163–4 Luppino Manes, E., 41, 57, 169 Lycurgus (Athenian orator) on Spartan power and renown, 76–7 Lycurgus (Spartan lawgiver), see under Lacedaimoniôn Politeia (Xenophon) Lysander (Spartan commander) alleged attempt to abolish Spartan kingship, 245–6 and Agesilaus, compared, 242–6 behaviour at end of Peloponnesian War, 47–8, 52 career abroad, 211–13 character type, 241 decarchies of, 139–40, 227 fighting to the death, 217 follows own agenda abroad, 238–9 obedience to authorities, performed, 242–3 patronage of, 211 rivalry with Agesilaus, 184, 218–19, 220–1 rivalry with Callicratidas, 214–16, 220–1 rivalry with King Pausanias, 216–17, 220–1 role in Agesilaus’ accession, 222–4

366

General Index

Lysias (Athenian orator) on Spartan power and renown, 75 rhetorical use of wonder, 84 Memorabilia (Xenophon) active learning in, 32 discussions tailored to each interlocutor, 29–30 enkrateia in, 25, 91–2, 163–4 eudaimonia in, 90–2 leadership theme in, 25, 29–30 negative portrait of Critias in, 88 philosophical wonder in, 27–8, 84–5 positive educational techniques in, 6, 125 use of dialectic in, 28–9 Xenophon’s self-portrait in, 8–10, 21–2 Mindarus (Spartan commander) fighting to the death, 152, 171 Mnasippus (Spartan commander) character type, 241 poor leader, 171, 239 Oeconomicus (Xenophon) defence of Socrates, 23 leadership theme in, 25 on forbidding banausic activity, 138 philosophical wonder in, 27 Ollier, F., 41, 43–8, 51, 62, 143, 169 On Hunting (Xenophon) audience, tailoring to, 31–2 benefits of hunting, 32, 123–4 leadership theme in, 24–5 positive educational techniques in, 6 Parke, H.W., 186, 194 Pasimachus (Spartan commander) fighting to the death, 152 Pausanias (Spartan king) in exile, 226 pamphlet of, 245–6 quick to anger, 216 rivalry with Lysander, 216–17, 220–1 Pausanias (Spartan regent), 72, 179, 193–4, 243–4 Peisander (Spartan, brother-in-law of Agesilaus) defeat at Cnidus, 17 fighting to the death, 152, 171 poor judgement of, 226–7 Phoebidas (Spartan commander) fighting to the death, 152 seizure of Theban citadel (382 BCE) Agesilaus’ support of, xxii–xxiii, 181, 230 alleged source of Xenophon’s disillusionment with Sparta, xxii– xxiii, 4–5, 58 susceptible to flattery, 213 Plato, see also Republic (Plato); Symposium (Plato); Xenophon, and Plato

and philosophical wonder, 27, 84–5 dating of works, 253–4 encomiastic writing of, 233 generic experimentation of, 3, 86 laconophilia of (supposed), 77, 254–5 literary techniques of, xxvii, 19, 28–9 on Sparta, 251–5 on Spartan education, 264, 267, 271–2, 274–5 on Spartan power and renown, 77–8 on tyrannical ephors, 255–7, 274 Plutarch on Lysander and the kingship, 245–6 on Spartan long hair, 167 on the choosing of the 300, 121 on the Council of Elders, xxi, 154–5, 157 on Xenophon’s authorship of the Lacedaimoniôn Politeia, 54 preferred on Sparta to Xenophon, xx–xxi, 47–52 politeia literature defined with examples, 85–8 rhetorical features of, 86, 93 Poroi (Xenophon) audience of, 30–1, 275 philosophical wonder in, 27–8 Proxenus of Boeotia friend of Xenophon, 10–12 Rebenich, S., 41 Republic (Plato) as politeia literature, 86, 250 timocracy in collapses when wealth openly pursued, 264, 272 education by force not persuasion, 264–5, 272 hoarding gold and silver in secret, 264–5, 272–3 military matters, focus upon, 261–2 money-making, ban on, 259–60, 271 Sparta, example of, 78, 251, 258–69 Socrates, see also Xenophon, and Socrates as potential source of Socratics’ views on Sparta, 269–70, 275, 284 difficulty reconstructing historically, 252 laconophilia (supposed), 77 pedagogical techniques of, 26–32, 125, 269–70 Xenophon’s imitation of, 23–33 Socratics interested in Sparta, 87, 275 politically active, 26 use of dialectic, 248 view that Xenophon is inferior to, 249 Xenophon’s target audience, 248, 250–1, 284

General Index Sophaenetus of Stymphalus author of an Anabasis, alleged, 19 in Xenophon’s Anabasis, 11 sôphrosynê, see also Cyropaedia (Xenophon), Persian education in; Spartans, reputation for defined, 103 Sparta and Crete, linked, 77–8, 147, 251, 254–5, 258, 272 and Egypt, compared, 260 and Persia, compared in Herodotus, 200–1 as prostatês, 74, 89 collapse, reasons for, 201 Isocrates’ view, 282–3 Plato’s view, 264–5 Xenophon’s view, 188–97, 265–7 hegemony of, 14–15 contested, 58–9, 70–1 Isocrates on, 276, 282–3 lost under Agesilaus, 224 Lysias on, 75 Xenophon’s interest in, 34–9, 205–9, 254 helots, 160, 166, 167, 176, 186, 263 hypomeiones, 176, 263 conspiracy of Cinadon, 160, 176 mothakes, 263 neodamodeis (‘freed helots’), 167, 176, 263 conspiracy of Cinadon, 160, 176 in Spartan army, 166, 186, 192, 208 nothoi, 176, 263 oliganthrôpia, 70–4, 96, 159, 160, 195–7 patronage, role in, 156–7, 159, 187, 196, 211, 218–19, 238, 243 perioikic villages, 199 perioikoi, 167, 176, 263 as Spartan colonists, 194–5 conspiracy of Cinadon, 160, 176 in Spartan army, 165–6, 172, 192 Spartans anger, motivated by, 115, 153, 184, 215–18, 220–1, 227–8, 240, 242 as harmosts, 58–9, 139–40, 183, 186–8, 192–3, 207–13, 219–20, 283 behaving badly abroad, 188–93, 193–7, 209– 21, 237–41, 266, 282–3 competitiveness, destructive, 156, 214–21 envy, motivated by, 214–21, 242, 243 reputation for bravery in battle, 71–7, 173 eunomia, 70–7, 89–90 fighting to the death, 71–7, 89, 148–54, 171–2, 237–8, 278 liberating other Greeks, 138–40 obedience to the laws, 71–8, 89–90, 127, 144–5

367

political stability, 70–5, 77–8, 198–9, 254, 282–3 possessing sôphrosynê, xxi, 90, 130–3 susceptibility to flattery and bribery, 144, 193–4, 209–10, 212–13 use of mercenaries, 152, 166, 171, 175, 192 Sphacteria, battle of (425 BCE), 73, 150, 172, 174–5 Sphodrias (Spartan commander) attack on Attica (378 BCE) Agesilaus’ support of, xxii–xxiii alleged source of Xenophon’s disillusionment with Sparta, xxii– xxiii, 4–5, 58–9 susceptible to bribery, 213 trial of, 156–7 unjust acquittal of, 159, 238–9, 244 Strauss, L., xvii–xviii, xxv–xxvi, 61–9 Symposium (Plato) chaste pederasty in, 106 encomium of Eros, 233 Symposium (Xenophon) chaste pederasty in, 106 leadership theme in, 25 Teleutias (Spartan, brother of Agesilaus) fighting to the death, 152–3, 171 motivated by anger, 152–3 Themistogenes of Syracuse Xenophon’s pseudonym, 18–19, 207–8 Thermopylae, battle of (480 BCE) and Spartan eudaimonia, 90 evidence for oliganthrôpia, 70 evidence of Spartan bravery and obedience, 71–2, 76 paradigmatic instance of fighting to the death, 73, 76, 151–2 perioikic troops at, 165–6 Thibron (Spartan commander) exiled for treating allies badly, 159 follows own agenda abroad, 187 links Anabasis and Hellenica, 207–9 Thucydides on Spartan cavalry, 174 on Spartan education, 267 on Spartan eudaimonia, 90 on Spartan harmosts, 186–7 on Spartan power and renown, 73 on Spartan xenêlasia, 190 on Spartans as liberators, 138 on Spartans behaving badly abroad, 193–7 Tuplin, C., 16, 35–7, 202, 216, 221, 224, 244 Tyrtaeus on avoiding shameful flight in battle, 150–1 on Spartan power and renown, 74, 89

368

General Index

Xenophon and Agesilaus, 16–18, 36–7, 273 and Alcibiades, compared, 10, 14, 17–18, 21 and Isocrates, in conversation, 4, 275–84 and Plato agreement on cause of Spartan collapse, 264–7, 269 in conversation, 4, 7–8, 249–75 and Socrates, 9–11, 17–18, 21–2, 32–3, 252 campaigning with the Spartans, xix, 16–17, 273 laconophiles, critical of, 162 laconophilia, supposed

implications of and problems with, xviii–xxiv, 4–5, 6, 20, 37–8, 40–7, 49, 78–9, 88–9, 92–3, 252–3 problematic for interpreting Lac. 14, 52–61 literary project of generic experimentation in, 3–4, 85–6 leadership theme in, 4, 24–6 purpose, 4, 23–4, 32–3, 35–9, 248 Socratic elements in, 26–33 self-portrait, 8–22, 32–3 Spartan patronage of Scillus, estate at, xix, xxiii, 15–18, 34