Xenophon’s Socratic Works (Routledge Monographs in Classical Studies) [1 ed.] 9780367472047, 9780367765811, 9781003036630, 036747204X

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Xenophon’s Socratic Works

Xenophon’s Socratic Works demonstrates that Xenophon, a student of Socrates, military man, and man of letters, is an indispensable source for our understanding of the life and philosophy of Socrates. David M. Johnson restores Xenophon’s most ambitious Socratic work, the Memorabilia (Socratic Recollections), to its original literary context, enabling readers to experience it as Xenophon’s original audience would have, rather than as a pale imitation of Platonic dialogue. He shows that the Memorabilia, together with Xenophon’s Apology, provides us with our best evidence for the trial of Socrates, and a comprehensive and convincing refutation of the historical charges against Socrates. Johnson’s account of Socrates’ moral psychology shows how Xenophon’s emphasis on control of the passions can be reconciled with the intellectualism normally attributed to Socrates. Chapters on Xenophon’s Symposium and Oeconomicus (Estate Manager) reveal how Xenophon used all the literary tools of Socratic dialogue to defend Socratic sexual morality (Symposium) and debate the merits and limits of conventional elite values (Oeconomicus). Throughout the book, Johnson argues that Xenophon’s portrait of Socrates is rich and coherent, and largely compatible with the better-known portrait of Socrates in Plato. Xenophon aimed not to provide a rival portrait of Socrates, Johnson shows, but to supplement and clarify what others had said about Socrates. Xenophon’s Socratic Works, thus, provides readers with a far firmer basis for reconstruction of the trial of Socrates, a key moment in the history of Athenian democracy, and for our understanding of Socrates’ seminal impact on Greek philosophy. This volume introduces Xenophon’s Socratic works to a wide range of readers, from undergraduate students encountering Socrates or ancient philosophy for the first time to scholars with interests in Socrates or ancient philosophy more broadly. It is also an important resource for readers interested in Socratic dialogue as a literary form, the trial of Socrates, Greek sexual morality (the central topic of Xenophon’s Symposium), or Greek social history (for which the Oeconomicus is a key text). David M. Johnson is an Associate Professor of Classics at Southern Illinois University Carbondale, USA. He is the author of Socrates and Alcibiades: Four Texts and Socrates and Athens; coeditor of Plato and Xenophon: Comparative Studies; and author of numerous articles on Xenophon’s Socrates.

Routledge Monographs in Classical Studies

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Xenophon’s Socratic Works

David M. Johnson

First published 2021 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2021 David M. Johnson The right of David M. Johnson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilzsed in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Johnson, David M. (David Marvin), 1966- author. Title: Xenophon’s Socratic works / David M. Johnson. Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2021. | Series: Routledge monographs in classical studies | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2020051434 (print) | LCCN 2020051435 (ebook) | ISBN 9780367472047 (hardback) | ISBN 9780367765811 (paperback) | ISBN 9781003036630 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Xenophon‐‐Criticism and interpretation. | Socrates‐‐Influence. | Socrates‐‐Criticism and interpretation‐‐Early works to 1800. | Questioning. | Philosophy, Ancient. | Athens (Greece)‐‐Intellectual life. Classification: LCC PA4497 .J64 2021 (print) | LCC PA4497 (ebook) | DDC 183/.2‐‐dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/ 2020051434LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/ 2020051435 ISBN: 978-0-367-47204-7 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-367-76581-1 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-03663-0 (ebk) Typeset in Sabon by MPS Limited, Dehradun

For Leslie and Niko

Contents

List of Tables List of Abbreviations Introduction

xi xii 1

From Xenophon or Plato to Xenophon and Plato 1 An intertextual Socrates 7 The life of Xenophon 13 Preview 19 1

Approaching the Memorabilia Building for variety and range 28 The literary context for the Memorabilia 30 Courtroom oratory 30 Ion of Chios 31 Aesop 32 Wisdom literature 33 Developments within the Socratic circle 36 Isocrates’ Antidosis 38 Old and new 39 Xenophon’s narrator 40 Xenophon’s narrators and other narrators 40 Xenophon’s half-credible narrator 42 Putting the narrator to work 48 The structure of the Memorabilia 50 From defense to recollection 51 Not just repetition, but amplification 54 Outlining the Memorabilia 57 Conclusion 57

27

viii

Contents

2

Defending Socrates Starting with Xenophon 60 Starting with the Memorabilia 61 Xenophon’s wonder at the charges (Mem. 1.1.1) 63 Impiety (Mem. 1.1.2–20) 63 Socratic orthopraxy (Mem. 1.1.2) 63 The daimonion (Mem. 1.1.2–1.1.5) 64 Divination and human knowledge (Mem. 1.1.6–9) 66 The public man (Mem. 1.1.10) 67 Presocratic madness (Mem. 1.1.11–16) 67 Open evidence about Socrates’ piety (Mem. 1.1.17–19) 69 Corruption (Mem. 1.2) 71 Character as a defense against corruption (Mem. 1.2.1–8) 71 Xenophon vs. Plato on corruption 71 Socrates’ way of life (Mem. 1.2.4–8) 74 Polycrates and Xenophon’s accuser 74 Reconstructing Polycrates 75 From rhetorical accusers to the historical Meletus 81 Condemning the laws and the lot (Mem. 1.2.9–11) 84 Alcibiades and Critias (Mem. 1.2.12–48) 86 Pairing off Alcibiades and Critias 88 What Alcibiades and Critias wanted and what they got 89 Socrates’ success and its limits 90 Teaching skill in speech 92 Critias, lust, and the art of words (Mem. 1.2.29–39) 93 Alcibiades, Pericles, and the legitimacy of law (Mem. 1.2.39–47) 95 Socrates’ true associates (Mem. 1.2.48) 98 Mad relatives, and the value of expertise (Mem. 1.2.49–55) 99 Poetry and the common man (Mem. 1.2.56–61) 101 Concluding the defense (Mem. 1.2.62) 103

3

Xenophon’s Apology Reading Xenophon’s Apology 111 From suicide by jury to martyrdom 111

60

110

Contents ix What Socrates avoids 115 What Socrates gains 118 Apology and Memorabilia 120 Memorabilia 4.8 and the Apology 120 Memorabilia 1.1.-2 and the Apology 122 Xenophon and Plato 124 Targeting Plato 124 Religious orthopraxy and the daimonion 127 The oracle stories and Socrates’ mission 128 The historical oracle 132 The interrogation of Meletus 133 The penalty phase 138 Five comparative claims 140 The historical trial 141 4

The moral psychology of Xenophon’s Socrates Enkrateia as a guarantee against wrongdoing (Mem. 1.2.1–8) 148 Hunger is the best sauce (Mem. 1.3.5–8) 149 Enkrateia, the foundation of virtue (Mem. 1.5) 150 The greatest pleasures (Mem. 1.6) 151 Aristippus at the crossroads (Mem. 2.1) 152 The return of Aristippus (Mem. 3.8) 155 Akrasia, sophrosunē, and wisdom (Mem. 3.9) 161 Enkrateia, akrasia, and dialectic (Mem. 4.5) 163 Enkrateia and freedom 163 Weakness of will? 164 Dialectic to the rescue 167 Aristotle on Socrates and weakness of will 170 Enkrateia, sophrosunē, and wisdom 172 Socrates, moderate hedonist? 176 Xenophon’s Socrates on moral psychology: conclusion 178 Xenophon and Plato 179 Non-rational desires 179 The role of knowledge 181

147

5

Xenophon’s Symposium Character, sexual morality, and irony 188 Outline 191 Socrates vs. Antisthenes 193 Xenophon’s sympotic defense of Socrates 198

187

x Contents Socrates vs. the Syracusan 198 Socrates vs. Lycon 204 Eros 207 Callias and Autolycus 207 Symposium 8 210 From Pausanias to Callias 210 Socratic erotics in Symposium 8 216 Sex and Socrates 217 The irony of Xenophon’s Symposium 225 6

Xenophon’s Oeconomicus Approaching the Oeconomicus 232 From oikonomia to the Socratic secret to success (Oec. 1–3) 235 Socrates on farming (Oec. 4–5) 242 Introducing Ischomachus (Oec. 6 and 7) 247 Ischomachus and wife (Oec. 7–10) 250 Aspasia and Ischomachus 254 Socrates and Ischomachus (Oec. 11) 258 The overseer (Oec. 12–14) 260 Farming (Oec. 15–20) 262 Divine leadership (Oec. 21) 266 History and the Oeconomicus 267 Ischomachus and Chrysilla: the historical evidence 269 The historical evidence and the dialogue 270 Reading as Critobulus 274

231

Conclusion

279

Xenophon and Plato 279 Reading Xenophon 284 Xenophon at Scillus 286

Bibliography Indices

292 307

Tables

1.1 1.2 1.3 1.4 1.5 4.1 5.1 6.1

Basic structure of the Memorabilia Defense and response in the Memorabilia Piety and enkrateia Recollections not obviously connected to the charges Full outline of the Memorabilia Memorabilia 4.5.6 Sympotic points of pride Characters and motivations

51 52 52 54 55 164 199 262

List of abbreviations

Works of Xenophon There is some inconsistency in how Xenophon’s works are titled and how those titles are translated and abbreviated. The titles in bold are those I will employ in the text. Ages. Agesilaus Anab. Anabasis (Expedition of Cyrus) Apol. Apology (Defense of Socrates) Cyn. Cynegeticus (On Hunting) Cyr. Cyropaedia (The Education of Cyrus) Eq. De re equestri (On Horsemanship) Hell. Hellenica (Greek Affairs) Hier. Hiero Hipp. Hipparchicus (On the Cavalry Commander) Lac. Pol. Lacedaemonion Politeia (Constitution of the Spartans) Mem. Memorabilia (Recollections of Socrates) Oec. Oeconomicus (Household Management) Por. Poroi (Ways and Means) Smp. Symposium

Miscellaneous CGCG

D.L. LSJ SSR

Evert van Emde Boas, Albert Rijksbaron, Luuk Huitink and Mathieu de Bakker. 2019. The Cambridge Grammar of Classical Greek. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Diogenes Laertius, Lives of the Philosophers. Liddell, H. G. and R. Scott. 1996. Greek-English Lexicon: With a Revised Supplement. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Giannantoni, Gabriele. 1990. Socratis et Socraticorum Reliquiae [SSR]. 4 vols. Naples: Bibliopolis.

Introduction

From Xenophon or Plato to Xenophon and Plato This book is an introduction to Xenophon’s Socratic works, but an introduction with a thesis. My central claim can be put quite simply: to understand Socrates, you must understand Xenophon’s Socratic works. Xenophon is essential if we are going to investigate the life and views of the historical Socrates or to understand what Socrates’ followers made of him in the decades after his death. Xenophon wrote four works on Socrates, each of which makes an essential addition to our understanding of Socrates. Xenophon’s Apology is the only text to explain why Socrates, famous for his skill in speech, chose not to convince an Athenian jury of his innocence. Xenophon’s Memorabilia then explains far more clearly than any other work why Socrates was in fact innocent, and then broadens out to show how his teaching and advice allowed him to benefit everyone he dealt with. Xenophon’s Symposium gives the best defense of Socratic sexual morality—something we commonly term Platonic love. And Xenophon’s Oeconomicus shows us Socrates engaged with an exemplar of conventional values, the gentleman farmer Ischomachus, revealing what Socrates found of value in conventional ideas, and how his own ideas transcended them. These works are based both on Xenophon’s first-hand experience with Socrates and his wide reading in the writings of other Socratics, including not only Plato but the so-called “Minor Socratics,” whose works are largely lost to us now. So Xenophon is valuable as an independent source who had direct access to Socrates; as our best single remaining source for important Socratic authors who were themselves direct witnesses and who helped shape Socrates’ legacy; and as a near contemporary of Socrates whose account of Socrates will at least be devoid of the sorts of anachronism to which later authors are liable. Xenophon’s Socratic works also played a major role in shaping the subsequent reception of Socrates.1 So Xenophon is a vital source for Socrates, himself one of the most important figures in the western intellectual tradition. How, then, are we to explain the relative neglect of Xenophon for most of the last century? The most obvious cause is the undeniable philosophical and literary brilliance of

2 Introduction Plato’s account of Socrates.2 Plato’s Socratic dialogues cast Xenophon’s Socratic works into shadow rather as Thucydides overshadowed Xenophon’s historical writing. And every generation during the last century or so has added its own reasons for neglecting Xenophon. Disillusionment with Xenophon’s bona fides as a historian was a major factor earlier in the century (cf. Dorion 2011c, 2013, 1–49). A growing fascination with irony and the rise of philosophy as a discipline dominated by analytical approaches that focused on the kinds of argumentation more common in Plato than Xenophon were major factors during the last third of the century (Johnson forthcoming A). There were important exceptions to the tendency to neglect Xenophon; the most prominent among them were Leo Strauss (1899–1973) and his followers.3 Strauss’s close readings of texts, including many by Xenophon, have proven of immense influence and provide one major intellectual framework for contemporary conservatives. This has provided Xenophon with select readers in places of power and influence. But Strauss’s idiosyncrasies and the decidedly conservative cast of most Straussians have often reduced interest in Xenophon amongst other scholars.4 In recent years, Xenophon’s fortunes have thankfully taken a turn for the better, and this book will benefit tremendously from recent work on Xenophon.5 But there is still much work to be done, particularly on Xenophon’s Socratic works; a search in the Philosopher’s Index for results from 2000–2020 reveals 175 hits for titles with Socrates and Plato, but only 20 hits for titles with Socrates and Xenophon. There are at least three reasons for the most recent phase of Xenophon’s neglect. One is the belief that there is very little of philosophical interest in Xenophon’s Socratic works. A second is the belief that the Socratic Question, the quest to recover the views of the historical Socrates and to understand the major events in his life, above all his trial, is a dead end. The third is the belief that Xenophon’s Socrates reflects Xenophon’s own effort to produce a free-standing, distinct, and separate version of Socrates, a Socrates who is of interest primarily if one is interested in Xenophon, and who can hence be ignored if one is interested in Socrates. The first of these beliefs is the easiest to knock down. The most striking example of philosophical substance in Xenophon may be the two passages in the Memorabilia (1.4, 4.3) that make the argument for design. This is the first extant version of this argument, yet these passages are surprisingly little known, largely because they do not match people’s expectations for Socrates or Xenophon.6 But much of Xenophon’s account of Socrates is of philosophical interest. This particularly clear if one grants that philosophy need not be defined in narrowly analytical terms, and hence grants that advice and moral exhortation count as philosophical.7 I will argue that much of the philosophical value of Xenophon’s Socrates lies in the intersection of his views with those of Plato. The most important example in this book will be Xenophon’s account of Socrates’ moral

Introduction 3 psychology, the topic of chapter four. This account is of more philosophical interest if it can be coupled with the intellectualism of Plato, rather than viewed on its own, as a rival account of moral psychology, for this allows us to see how Xenophon provides a foundation for Platonic intellectualism. I would submit that the same is true for the moral psychology of the early Socratic dialogues of Plato, as an intellectualism untethered to a broader moral psychology provides an incomplete picture of human motivation and decision making—though a book on Xenophon is not the place to demonstrate claims about Plato. As with the philosophy of Socrates, so with historical questions about Socrates, above all the questions surrounding his trial: we can learn far more about Socrates if we read Plato and Xenophon together than if we read them apart. The most important reason for abandoning the Socratic Question—the search for the historical Socrates—is the belief that what Xenophon tells us about Socrates is incompatible with what Plato tells us.8 So long as one holds this belief, any effort to speak of the historical Socrates boils down to a choice between Xenophon and Plato. And, despite the undeniable fact that Xenophon was more interested in history than Plato was, few scholars are willing to jettison Plato’s account of the trial for Xenophon’s. Those who want to reimagine the trial of Socrates solely through Plato’s Apology are buttressed by a widespread but poorly supported belief that Xenophon was mainly discussing the after-trial controversy ginned up by the Athenian sophist Polycrates, not the trial itself. As a result, the most influential English-language scholarship on Socrates’ trial is officially agnostic about the historicity of our sources but in practice accepts Plato’s account.9 As we shall see in chapters two and three, however, there is no good reason to conclude that Xenophon was mainly interested in the post-trial debate, nor are the differences between Xenophon and Plato such as to make historical reconstruction of the trial impossible. Indeed, our sources for the trial of Socrates are very rich by ancient standards, at least if we recognize that Xenophon is in fact our best source for the trial. The third belief I consider responsible for the relative neglect of Xenophon is, ironically enough (at least to my way of thinking), held by the most influential scholar working on Xenophon’s Socrates today, Louis-André Dorion. Dorion argues that Xenophon’s Socrates is profoundly different from Plato’s, and regularly introduces Xenophon’s Socrates by listing differences between Xenophon’s Socrates and Plato’s (Dorion 2006, 95–96; 2013, XIV–XVIII). Dorion himself, to be clear, has not neglected Xenophon’s Socrates: on the contrary, he has vastly improved our understanding of Xenophon by arguing that Xenophon’s “Other Socrates”10 is a coherent figure in his own right, rather than a failed effort to duplicate Plato’s Socrates. Dorion’s effort to draw clear contrasts between Xenophon’s Socrates and Plato’s Socrates certainly provides a fruitful approach for appreciating what is distinctive about each figure. Emphasizing the differences between the two

4 Introduction portraits is also in keeping with the ancient tradition about Xenophon and Plato, in which the two were often though not always seen as rivals.11 This approach is valuable in its own right, because Xenophon’s Socrates is of interest in his own right, but it renders Xenophon’s Socrates a somewhat marginal figure, one who can be largely ignored by readers who find enough of interest in studying Plato’s Socrates in isolation. The only reason to read Xenophon, if you are interested in Plato’s Socrates, is to understand Plato’s Socrates by contrast with Xenophon’s. This is all the more true if one regards pursuit of the Socratic question as chimerical, as Dorion does (Dorion 2011c, 2013, 27–49). Now the fact that Dorion’s approach makes Xenophon’s Socrates of less interest to students of Plato’s Socrates does not show that Dorion is wrong. But Dorion’s “separatist” approach is not the only way of studying what Xenophon and Plato say about Socrates. I will here take what could be called a “compatibilist” approach. Xenophon does not, I maintain, present us with a free-standing, rival portrait of Socrates, but rather aims to add to his readers’ knowledge of Socrates. He does not reject what others have said about Socrates, but shows Socrates discussing different things, or at least taking a different approach to shared topics, sometimes by correcting or critiquing what others had said. And often, I will argue, those corrections are more a matter of emphasis and presentation than substance. This introduction to Xenophon’s Socrates will therefore attempt both to understand Xenophon’s Socratic texts in their own right and study their relationship to our other most important source for Socrates, the early dialogues of Plato. While there is a wealth of new scholarship on the wider Socratic movement,12 it is Plato’s Socratic texts that contain the vast majority of our non-Xenophontic evidence for Socrates. And situating Xenophon amidst the other major Socratics (Aeschines, Antisthenes, and Aristippus) would require a book of its own. So these other major Socratics will not be leading figures in this book. Nor will I devote much time to the non-Socratic sources for Socrates, above all Aristophanes, or attempt to uncover the deeper political context for Socrates’ trial. A better understanding of the relationship between Xenophon and Plato may also help us recover the historical truth about the life and views of Socrates. But those topics would also require books of their own, books that make use of our evidence outside Xenophon. I do follow the consensus view that Xenophon’s Socratic works were completed after Plato’s early dialogues, and show Xenophon’s knowledge of Plato and engagement with Plato, rather than the reverse. We have no objective evidence for the dates of Xenophon’s Socratic works,13 and the chronology of Plato’s works is also disputed, particular their absolute chronology. But, as we shall see, there are clear references in Xenophon to Plato, though more complex mutual exchange cannot be ruled out. Even those who argue that Plato responded to Xenophon do not doubt that the reverse is also true, and the most likely Platonic responses to Xenophon are

Introduction 5 14

in Plato’s later works. Intertextual influence probably flowed from the other first-generation Socratics to Xenophon as well, rather than the reverse, though their fragmentary nature makes this difficult to judge.15 The fact that Xenophon used other sources for Socrates need not, however, mean that Xenophon was solely or largely reacting to these other sources, or that he was primarily a contributor to a literary debate about Socrates that had little to do with the historical Socrates.16 Xenophon was also making use of his own first-hand knowledge of Socrates, a point he frequently stresses, as we shall see when considering the role of his first-person narrator in chapter one. At any rate, it is rather odd to deny Xenophon’s importance as a source for Socrates by saying that he made use of sources in addition to his own memory when writing about Socrates—particularly given that he often provides our only access to those sources. This is a case where a “contaminated” source may complicate our task, but where the contamination, coming as it did from other first-hand sources, is itself of historical value. Even when Xenophon is reacting to others’ accounts of Socrates, he routinely adds to them. And it is Xenophon’s penchant for adding to what we know of Socrates elsewhere that makes him so essential for any full understanding of Socrates. Had Xenophon presented a rival, independent portrait of Socrates, readers would instead need to choose between Xenophon and Plato, and the choice would clearly lie with Plato, at least for the vast majority of those whose interest in Socrates is dominantly philosophical, as it was Plato who, more than any other individual thinker, has shaped what we mean by philosophy. Once that choice is made, Xenophon can be safely ignored. But Xenophon’s rare but important remarks on his relationship with other Socratics show that he did not expect us to make any such choice. I will attempt to demonstrate this point in the next section of this introduction. But even if I am right to argue that Xenophon intended his Socrates to be read as a complement to rather than replacement for other versions of Socrates, it remains possible that Xenophon was wrong about this. I will thus briefly discuss why some common claims that Xenophon’s Socrates is incompatible with Plato’s are worth reconsidering. We can distinguish two main types of differences between Xenophon’s and Plato’s Socratic works. One type of difference is in the content of Socrates’ conversations. This type includes two sub-species. One type of difference is when the two Socrates talk about different sorts of things. Xenophon’s Socrates says rather more about practical, mundane matters ranging from how to plant an olive tree (Oec. 19.1–14) to how armor should fit (Mem. 3.10.9–15), whereas Plato’s Socrates sticks more closely to the sorts of topics widely considered philosophical today. The second difference in content is rarer but more important: Xenophon and Plato sometimes have Socrates discuss the same matters but give different views about them.

6 Introduction Another type of difference lies in what Socrates is attempting to accomplish in discussing a given topic. We can call this the pragmatic function of a Socratic conversation. The largest difference here is that Xenophon’s Socrates is much more often depicted giving advice, while Plato’s Socrates, in the early dialogues, is more often engaged in question-based inquiry. Pragmatic function and discursive content are related, of course. Practical advice tends not to be topically philosophical, though it may be based on philosophical principles, and philosophy certainly need not be practical, though it has practical ramifications. So it is no surprise that the Socrates who is more likely to be dispensing advice—Xenophon’s—is also more likely to be discussing mundane, non-philosophical subject matter. Some of these differences raise greater issues for my compatibilist position than others. Direct contradictions in content are clearly problematic, but they are relatively rare. Dorion has identified seventeen “main differences” between Xenophon’s Socrates and Plato’s Socrates.17 I would classify only three of Dorion’s differences as contradictions about content. Of these one is a difference in how Socrates treats the greatest Athenian statesmen of the 4th century (Dorion #6), Themistocles and Pericles. Xenophon’s treatment is normally considered positive where Plato’s is negative, but it has recently been argued that Xenophon is rather more critical of both figures (Tamiolaki 2016, 18–35). Another (Dorion #4) concerns the architectonic role of moral knowledge; I will argue in chapter four that Dorion exaggerates the difference between Plato and Xenophon here. The last (Dorion #12) is an important disagreement about whether the virtuous man will harm his enemies, something Plato’s Socrates denies (Crito 49c–d); but it has recently been argued that this divide is not as great as it seems (Jones and Sharma 2019). Dorion regards the single most important difference between the two figures to be the role and importance of enkrateia, self-mastery, a matter he regards as too central to be included in his list (Dorion 2013, xix–xxix; cf. Dorion 2013, 93–122); chapter four will attempt to show that Xenophon’s views are largely compatible with Plato’s on this topic. Some of the pragmatic differences are also striking. Of these the most important, to my mind, is the fact that Xenophon’s Socrates does not claim to have a divine mission to do philosophy (Dorion #17), an issue we will revisit in chapter two. Relatedly, Xenophon rarely characterizes Socrates as a philosopher.18 I would argue that Xenophon does not routinely call Socrates a philosopher because Xenophon’s Socrates is not only a philosopher. But this doesn’t mean that Xenophon’s Socrates is incompatible with Plato’s. The same Socrates could discuss both philosophy and more practical matters, and the same Socrates could both engage in inquiry and provide advice. Xenophon recognizes the importance Socrates attributed to philosophical pursuits like the definitions of the virtues and related terms (cf. Mem. 1.1.16, 4.6.1), but he also maintains that Socrates was a most helpful advisor to his friends, including on practical questions like how to

Introduction 7 turn a profit on one’s farm (Oeconomicus) or, in Xenophon’s own case, whether it was wise to accompany a Persian prince on his march up country (Anab. 3.1.4–7). So Xenophon’s Socrates is both an inquirer and an advisor. Philosophers can give advice, even good advice. Xenophon’s Socrates certainly has a broader range of interests than Plato’s, then, and he does not view philosophy as his sole calling. This is an important difference, but it does not mean that when Xenophon’s Socrates does philosophy he is doing something fundamentally different than what Plato’s Socrates does.

An intertextual Socrates19 Let this much suffice, for now, to address arguments purporting to show fundamental differences between Xenophon’s Socrates and Plato’s. It is now time to try to make a more positive case for the alternative view. It has long been recognized that Xenophon’s and Plato’s Socratic works are “intertextual,” in at least some sense of that multivalent term. Intertextuality is the approach to texts that privileges their interconnectedness. Rivalry, emulation, and influence are all aspects of intertextuality that have been recognized as long as literature has been read. Xenophon’s Socratic works were not the only books his readers knew, and their prior reading and prior conversations, including reading and talk about Socrates, naturally provided the context for their understanding of what Xenophon wrote about Socrates. What’s new about intertextuality is the concept that texts do not only speak to one another, but that meaning is to be found in this conversation, rather than in any individual text, just as no individual sound is meaningful unless it is part of the phonemic system of a language. This is hardly the place to debate the general value of this approach; what I will suggest is that it is a particularly valuable insight for helping us to understand the figure of Socrates in Xenophon.20 Intertextuality is oft coupled with the notion of the death of the author (Barthes 1967). But authors can be conscious of how their texts relate to other texts. And while there may be rich connections that lie beyond any individual author’s consciousness, an author’s overt remarks are at least one guide for what to look for. So let us start with the passages in which Xenophon explicitly refers to other accounts of Socrates. Socrates, I think, is also worth remembering for how, when he had been charged, he deliberated about his defense and the end of his life. Now others have also written about this, and all of them captured his boasting, which makes it clear that this is how Socrates really spoke. But they did not make it clear that he believed that death was preferable to life for him at this point, and as a result his boasting appears quite foolish. (Apol. 1.1)21 And if certain people believe, as22 some write and say about him on the basis of conjecture, that he was the best at turning people towards virtue,

8 Introduction but was not capable of leading them to it, let them consider not only what he said to those who thought they knew everything when, for the sake of correcting them, he refuted them by questioning, but also what he said all day long with those who spent their time with him. And let them then judge whether he was capable of making those with him better. (Mem. 1.4.1) Now he did not rush to see his companions become skilled speakers, capable of getting things done, and resourceful, but thought that they must first acquire moderation (sophrosunē).23 For those who were capable of doing these things but were not moderate he considered to be more unjust and more capable of doing wrong. First off, then, he attempted to make his companions moderate concerning the gods. Others have related conversations he had with people about this; I for my part was present when he had the following conversation with Euthydemus. (Mem. 4.3.1–2) There are several other passages in Xenophon that directly allude to Plato or Aristophanes. Socrates’ attack on Pausanias’ lax view on sex amongst soldiers in Xenophon’s Symposium (8.32–35) alludes to what Phaedrus says in Plato’s Symposium (178e–179a), as we’ll see in chapter five. The Syracusan impresario of Xenophon’s Symposium (6.6) asks Socrates to provide him with a measurement in the “flea-feet” of the Clouds (144–145, 830–831). And Socrates alludes to his Aristophanic reputation at Oeconomicus 11.3 (cf. Clouds 225, 1485, 1503). But the three explicit references to other Socratics translated above are particularly valuable because in them Xenophon characterizes his relationship with other sources. Each, moreover, plays an important programmatic role. The first passage introduces Xenophon’s Apology. The second helps to characterize the bulk of the Memorabilia, all that follows the direct defense of Socrates in the first two chapters of that work and precedes the education of Euthydemus in the fourth book. And the third passage introduces the first phase in the positive education of Euthydemus, the central topic of the fourth book of the Memorabilia. All three passages give us some indication of the content to come: Socrates’ motivation at his trial, Socrates’ positive methodology, and the Socratic curriculum. So what these three direct references lack in quantity they make up for in their role in shaping readers’ expectations of what Xenophon is doing. The rhetorical structure of each of these passages is similar. Xenophon is going to improve on other accounts about Socrates, but he does so not by rejecting them but by adding to them. Others have noted that Socrates was arrogant: Xenophon agrees, but will explain why Socrates was arrogant. Readers will be aware of how Socrates refuted know-it-alls; Xenophon does not deny that Socrates did this, and in fact shows Socrates refuting know-it-alls on occasion (Antiphon in Mem. 1.6, Aristippus in 2.1 and 3.8

Introduction 9 24

and Hippias in 4.4). But he calls readers’ attention to another, more explicitly productive sort of conversation, which features far more prominently in his own work. Others have given accounts of how Socrates made his interlocutors moderate concerning the gods; Xenophon will take up another such case, that of Euthydemus, and do so in the course of a coherent educational program. In all three passages, what Xenophon is doing is adding to his readers’ knowledge of Socrates; he is not starting with a tabula rasa. What did Xenophon’s readers know about Socrates? They will not have known all of what we know or think we know about Socrates, which mainly consists in Plato’s early dialogues, as that group is defined and interpreted today. The so-called “Minor Socratics” were not minor in Xenophon’s day; Xenophon treats Antisthenes as a close ally of Socrates and Aristippus as an important rival—while he presents himself as a callow youth (in Memorabilia 1.3.10–14) and barely mentions Plato. I will, where our evidence allows, bring these Socratics into the conversation. But, as I noted above, for the most part I will concentrate on Plato. This is in some part simply because Plato’s texts survive, in some part because they will be better known to most readers of this volume than the fragments of the other Socratics. But I will also argue that we have adequate evidence to conclude that Plato was at least one important interlocutor for Xenophon, if generally an implicit rather than explicit target. Thus, in the first of the passages above, Xenophon must at least include Plato’s Apology among works on Socrates’ trial, as I will argue in chapter three. In the second passage, the criticism of Socrates is that raised in the Clitophon, though the Xenophon passage is not necessarily an allusion to the Clitophon itself, and the Clitophon is not certainly Platonic.25 On most readings of this passage, Xenophon is addressing criticism of Socrates for relying too much on the elenchus.26 Plato himself seems to have shared this criticism later in his career (Republic 7.537d–539e). The Socratic conversations Xenophon alludes to in the third passage are probably lost.27 Part of the problem here is that it is not clear what Xenophon means by making people moderate concerning the gods (περὶ τοῦς θεοὺς… σώφρονας 4.3.2).28 If it is equivalent to making them pious, the first Platonic parallel to come to mind is the Euthyphro, but it is not a very close match, as Euthyphro was not a companion of Socrates, and Socrates’ avowed intention in that dialogue is not to make Euthyphro more moderate about the gods but to learn from him about piety (Dorion 2011b, 120n6). It is easier to identify relevant discussions of the more general charge that Socrates made students skilled speakers without ensuring they made ethical use of that skill. This goes back at least to Aristophanes’ Clouds, where Pheidippides puts his Socratic skill to conspicuously unethical ends. We see a similar charge raised against rhetoricians early in Plato’s Gorgias. There Plato indirectly defends Socrates by having Socrates charge Gorgias of doing precisely what others thought Socrates did. We will see Xenophon employing similar tactics in defense of Socrates. But while we cannot identify the Socratic conversations Xenophon alludes to in this

10 Introduction passage, he does not distance his account of Socrates from those conversations. He merely says that he was present at a conversation others presumably did not witness. In the first chapter, we’ll discuss how to interpret this claim to first-hand knowledge, but whatever else it is, it is not a claim to be presenting a Socrates different from the Socrates Xenophon’s readers knew from other texts. Thus, these three passages characterize Xenophon’s role as adding to what can be found in other sources about Socrates, and include Plato as one of those other sources. More evidence for the conversation between Xenophon and Plato comes in a few passages in which Xenophon seems, at least at first glance, to have forgotten that he is writing about his Socrates rather than Plato’s. In the first, Xenophon says that Socrates did not talk about the nature of everything (περὶ τῶν πάντων φύσεως Mem. 1.1.11) in the same way that other thinkers did. This passage was the inspiration for Cicero’s famous claim that Socrates transformed philosophy from the study of nature to the study of ethics and politics (Long 2011, 358). But for our purposes what is most important is not what Xenophon denies to Socrates, but what he says Socrates did do. But he himself was always discussing human things, investigating what is pious, what impious, what noble and what base, what just and what unjust, what sophrosunē is, what madness, courage, and cowardice are, what a city is, what a statesman, what rule of men is, what a capable ruler is, and anything else which he believed makes those who understand it noble and good and which, if one is ignorant of it, justly leads one to be called slavish. (Mem. 1.1.16) It has often been remarked that this pursuit of definitions—pursuit of the “what is x” question—is far more characteristic of Plato’s Socrates than Xenophon’s.29 But Xenophon’s Socrates does define all of the items in this passage somewhere in the Memorabilia.30 Xenophon’s Oeconomicus also begins with a very substantial effort to define the household (oikos) and property (chremata). And it is certainly fair to say that Xenophon’s Socrates routinely discusses human matters, rather than the typical subject matter of the Presocratics. But definitions take up only about five of the Memorabilia’s 39 chapters (Mem. 3.8, 3.9, 4.2, 4.4, 4.6). It is therefore odd to see Xenophon saying that Socrates was always doing what Plato’s Socrates often does, but his own Socrates does so rarely. Xenophon’ claim about Socrates’ habitual activity would not be credible if our only evidence for Socrates were Xenophon’s writings. Xenophon must have meant readers to understand something more by “Socrates” than what he tells us about Socrates. We have, in other words, a textbook case of intertextuality, where Xenophon’s text is not fully intelligible outside the wider universe of Socratic conversations. We encounter a similar case when Socrates confronts Critias and Charicles about their law forbidding teaching the “art of words.”31

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Socrates asks them to clarify their law, and Charicles tries to make things simple (and avoid revealing the real intent of the law) by telling Socrates not to speak with the young at all. When Socrates asks if he can ask a young merchant how much something costs, Charicles responds as follows. “Yes, you may ask that sort of thing,” said Charicles. “But you, Socrates, have a habit of asking questions mainly about things you already understand. So don’t ask that sort of question.” (Mem. 1.2.36) Critias clarifies further a bit later on. “But you will have to keep away from people like these,” he said, “cobblers, builders, and smiths. For I think they have already been talked to death by all your chatter.” “Well,” said Socrates, “am I also to keep away from what follows upon those questions, justice and piety and other things of that sort?” (Mem. 1.2.37) This too sounds more like Plato than Xenophon.32 Xenophon’s Socrates rarely professes ignorance at all, so can hardly make a habit of ironically pretending not to know things he actually understands. But in this very passage Socrates pretends not to understand that Critias and Charicles have passed an ad hominem law against him, and asks innocent seeming questions to force them to reveal as much. And in Memorabilia 4.2 Socrates will effectively use questions about justice and other topics to show how little Euthydemus knows, demonstrating that he knows enough about justice to refute him. Far more often, though, Xenophon’s questions aren’t ironically humble but openly rhetorical. Xenophon’s Socrates does make analogies to craftsmen (as at Mem. 4.2.22, 4.4.5), but this is hardly as prominent as in Plato (see in particular Gorgias, 490e–491a, Symposium 221e). Socrates’ interest in “justice and piety and things of that sort” looks rather like the list of definitions we just discussed. Once again Xenophon’s Socrates is said to do things habitually that Xenophon only shows him doing occasionally. The sophist Hippias makes a related point. Socrates has just claimed to be eager to have Hippias reveal his understanding of justice. Hippias instead vents at Socrates: “No, by Zeus,” he said, “you won’t hear it, not until you yourself reveal what you think is just. You’re content with laughing at others, questioning and refuting all of them, while being unwilling provide your own account or opinion about anything.” (Mem. 4.4.9)

12 Introduction Hippias’ complaint is essentially the same complaint Thrasymachus makes about Plato’s Socrates, who will not give his own account of justice in the first book of the Republic (1.336b). Robin Waterfield (2004, 109) says that “this a blatant borrowing from Plato, because it is such an inappropriate complaint to bring against the Xenophontic Socrates, who rarely withholds his opinion.” Xenophon in fact introduces Memorabilia 4.4 with the comment that Socrates did not hide his view about justice. Yet here too the seeming oddity of a Platonic intrusion into Xenophon is lessened once we look more closely at Xenophon’s Socrates and consider the possibility that he was not meant to be an entirely autonomous figure. Xenophon’s Socrates does at least once refuse to answer questions. In Memorabilia 3.8.3, when Aristippus asks Socrates to name something good, Socrates says he “neither knows nor wants to know” what the good is, or what is fine, unless it is something good or fine for one purpose or another.33 At Memorabilia 4.2.40, following an aporetic discussion with Euthydemus, Xenophon tells us that once Socrates realized that Euthydemus was committed to following him despite being shown to be utterly ignorant, he no longer confused Euthydemus but revealed his own views clearly. Note that even in Mem. 4.4, Socrates’ first response to Hippias is not to deny that he prefers refuting others to revealing his own views, but to try to satisfy Hippias with an account of his just deeds. It is only after Hippias continues to push that Socrates gives his own definition of justice. Once again, then, we see that Xenophon’s Socrates has two sides. Sometimes he withholds his own views and questions and confuses his interlocutor, in a way familiar to readers of early Plato; but he also reveals his own views. Xenophon certainly emphasizes the latter, more transparent side of Socrates, but he does not insist that this is all there was to Socrates. These passages present us with two options, it seems to me. We may conclude that Xenophon has ineptly mistaken his Socrates for the Socrates we see in early Plato, presumably because he has taken over a description of Socrates from Plato without altering it to fit its context.34 Or we can more charitably assume that Xenophon knew what he was doing, and that what he was doing was not presenting an entirely separate, rival version of Socrates, but writing about the same Socrates that Plato and the other Socratics were writing about—an intertextual Socrates. While Xenophon’s Socrates does not pursue definitions, ask leading questions, or withhold his own views as a matter of course, he does do these things, and not just in the three passages considered above. So these activities are not entirely foreign to Socrates as we see him in Xenophon: Xenophon hasn’t simply nodded and starting talking about the wrong Socrates. It is rather the claim that Socrates did such things habitually that requires us to consider Xenophon’s depiction of Socrates as part of a larger conversation about Socrates. So my claim is that Xenophon was attempting to reshape the view of Socrates held by his contemporaries, rather than presenting them with an all or nothing choice between his Socrates and rival versions. The rivalry

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between the Socratics was not one that required that radical a choice. Their Socrates is therefore an intertextual Socrates, the character who consists of the amalgam of different images of Socrates projected by the Socratics. “Xenophon’s Socrates” is not the Socrates who appears in Xenophon and only in Xenophon, but rather Socrates as he is reshaped by Xenophon. If, when Xenophon says “Socrates,” he means not “my Socrates” but “our Socrates,” this should change how we approach Xenophon’s Socratic works. Silence in Xenophon about something Plato attributes to Socrates will not justify the conclusion that Xenophon rejected that aspect of Socrates. Neither can we, of course, assume that Xenophon accepted it, for there is a risk that our reading of Plato will contaminate our reading of Xenophon, that we will read Plato into Xenophon. We also cannot be certain that Xenophon read Plato as we do, even in the very limited sense of saying that he took the same Platonic dialogues to be Socratic that we do. And Xenophon had access to a vast store of Socratic literature now lost to us, literature which also informed his portrait of Socrates. But the fact that Xenophon’s Socrates sounds much more like the character of early Plato than the figure from middle Plato provides some confirmation of the view that the early Platonic Socrates is more “Socratic” than his namesake in middle and late Plato.35 We can, moreover, rely on the help of scholars like Dorion to point us to differences between Plato and Xenophon and help us avoid sloppy assumptions of similarity. The least that can be said is that the danger of contaminating Xenophon’s Socrates with Plato’s Socrates is no greater than the danger of maiming him by isolating him from our other sources for Socrates.

The life of Xenophon Xenophon’s works have often been judged based on what we know or imagine we know about his life and personality. While biographical criticism is a dangerous business, there is a certain justification for indulging in it when reading Xenophon. Certainly, it is far more sensible than it would be for Plato. Unless any of the letters attributed to him is authentic, Plato systematically obscured his own personality in his writings, save for a certain coy prominence he gave to family members (his brothers Glaucon and Adeimantus, uncle Charmides, and mother’s cousin Critias). Plato mentions himself in the dialogues only as one of Socrates’ uncorrupted associates at hand and willing to help pay a fine for Socrates (Apology 34a, 38b) or to note his absence, due to illness, at the death scene in the Phaedo (59b). Xenophon, by contrast, inserts himself, or at least some version of himself, into his works in at least three different ways. This all but forces readers to think of the author as we read his texts. First, Xenophon becomes the central character, in the third person, in the Anabasis. In the Socratic works, we see a small version of this when Xenophon gives himself

14 Introduction a bit part in the third person in the Memorabilia (1.3.8–13), where the young Xenophon resists Socrates’ advice to stay away from the kisses of beautiful young men. Second, Xenophon’s works feature an active, firstperson narrator that readers will naturally associate with Xenophon himself. In the Socratic works, this narrator is most active in the Memorabilia and Apology, where he introduces and characterizes Socratic conversations, presents chunks of conversation in indirect discourse, summarizes Socrates’ thought in his own words, and presents supporting arguments of his own. The narrator also claims to have been present at many of the conversations in the Memorabilia and for the conversations of the Symposium and Oeconomicus. We will consider this narrator at more length in chapter one; for now it suffices to say that the active narrator of the Memorabilia and Apology, at any rate, continually reminds the reader of the presence of the author. Third, all of Xenophon’s works, despite their great variety in subject matter, style, and genre, contain topics, arguments, and modes of thought that are characteristic of Xenophon as an author. This makes each work appear part of a greater whole, requiring us to read across the corpus. The Socratic works thus contain numerous passages that closely resemble passages from his non-Socratic works, and topics that seem far more Xenophontic than Socratic, including warfare, hunting, and Persian history and administration. The presence of these common themes naturally leads us to ask about the figure behind all these different texts. Xenophon is capable of tremendous range: but he does not hide or transform himself so much as present different facets of the same personality (cf. Azoulay 2018, 8–10). Whence the motivation to explain Xenophon’s writings, including Xenophon’s Socratic writings, through biographical criticism. There are certainly risks to doing this. Our evidence for Xenophon’s life is essentially Xenophon’s works, so there is a clear risk of circularity in reading those works to determine Xenophon’s biography, then using that biography to read the works. But as biographical criticism is not only deeply rooted in Xenophontic scholarship but inspired by the nature of his works themselves, we had better at least sketch what we know of his life and how it may affect our reading of his texts. In what follows, I will for the most part assume that Xenophon’s account of his life in his works is not heavily fictionalized; this is the only way to attempt to write a biography of Xenophon in any event.36 Xenophon’s life led him far from Athens and Socrates, and when he describes his interactions with Socrates, he shows himself ignoring Socrates’ advice. But on a closer reading, these scenes are clearly examples of Xenophontic modesty: his point is to show Socrates’ wisdom and his own youthful foolishness. Xenophon’s life story thus reveals the deep influence of Socrates. Xenophon came to maturity and presumably fought for Athens during the final years of the Peloponnesian War (431–404). As he tells us in the Anabasis (3.1.4–7), in 401 Xenophon ignored Socrates’ advice and joined

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the Persian prince Cyrus for what turned out to be an attempt to seize the throne of Persia from Cyrus’ elder brother, Artaxerxes. Thanks to the efforts of the Greek mercenaries with whom Xenophon served, Cyrus’ army was victorious at the battle of Cunaxa. But Cyrus died in a rash attack on his brother, and the Persians, after dilatory negotiations, murdered the ten generals who had commanded Cyrus’ 10,000 Greek mercenaries. At this moment of crisis, Xenophon took on a crucial role in extricating the Greeks from the heart of the Persian empire. Xenophon implies that he was under 30 at this point in time (Anab. 3.1.14, 25; cf. 2.6.20); this would put his birth no earlier than 430 BC. The bulk of the Greek force managed to reach the Black Sea at the Greek city of Trapezus in the spring of 400, and then had various misadventures on the southern coast of the Black Sea and in Thrace before joining the Spartan army fighting Persia in Asia Minor in 399. Xenophon’s leadership of the 10,000 was successful, but he spends much of the later part of the Anabasis defending his leadership against attacks from his own men, and it was only in the incident he narrates in the closing chapter of the Anabasis that Xenophon managed to secure enough booty, with the help of the gods, to reward his closest followers and eventually return home to Greece with a moderate fortune. At some point after the Spartan king Agesilaus took command of the Spartan army in Asia Minor in 396, he became Xenophon’s patron. Xenophon returned to Greece with Agesilaus in 394, when the Spartans were challenged by their Greek rivals, including Athens. Agesilaus’ army of Spartans and their allies won a narrow victory against the coalition of cities allied against her at the battle of Coronea. Xenophon, who had apparently been serving as some sort of military advisor or commander in the meantime, presumably fought at that battle, against Athens. At this point, if not sometime before, Athens exiled him. Ancient sources provide two different explanations for his exile: either it was due to his service with Cyrus (who had provided the Spartans with crucial assistance during the last years of the Peloponnesian War) or it was a reaction to his service for Sparta under Agesilaus. Some modern scholars have suggested that Xenophon’s association with Socrates, or with the Thirty Tyrants, may rather have been to blame. The tendency now seems to be to think that the case against him may have been cumulative: first Socrates and/or Cyrus, then the final straw with Coronea and Sparta.37 Agesilaus set up the exiled Xenophon with an estate at Scillus, a small polis bordering Elis and not far from Olympia. There Xenophon purchased land for Artemis out of his share of the booty from his Persian expedition; he describes Artemis’ land and the festival held in her honor in nostalgic terms in his Anabasis (5.3.7–13). As Xenophon’s description of his life at Scillus has reminded many readers of his account of the gentleman-farmer Ischomachus in the Oeconomicus, so I will revisit that passage in the conclusion, after discussing the Oeconomicus. What is important to note now is that Scillus, while a small town, was hardly isolated: Xenophon’s

16 Introduction proximity to Olympia meant that he would have had ample opportunity to interact with the thousands of Greeks who visited that sanctuary, which featured not only religious and athletic festivals but cultural displays. Aeschines tells a story in which the future Socratic Aristippus learned about Socrates at Olympia, and raced to Athens to meet the man.38 The Anabasis passage about Scillus is the last chunk of direct evidence for Xenophon’s life we get in Xenophon’s own work. The rest of his biography must be pieced together from other sources, the most important of which is the biography written in the third century AD by Diogenes Laertius (Lives of the Philosophers 2.48–59). Xenophon’s stay at Scillus lasted some twenty years, but when Sparta lost her dominant position in Greece at the battle of Leuctra, in 371, the Eleans, who had longstanding claims to the territory of Scillus and were no friends to the Spartans, took over Scillus and presumably ejected Xenophon from his estate. We are told that Xenophon spent time in Corinth, and that he died there (D.L. 2.56); but there is an alternative tradition that he was eventually reconciled with Scillus and was buried there (Pausanias 5.6.6). His sons, we are told, were educated at Sparta but then fought for Athens, by now allied with Sparta, at the battle of Mantinea in 362. One of them, Gryllus, died at the battle, and poems and speeches were written in honor of Gryllus’ death, largely to honor his father. A famous painting showing Gryllus at that battle decorated the Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios in Athens—the very stoa where Xenophon has Socrates meet Ischomachus in the Oeconomicus. Several of Xenophon’s writings show a striking interest in Athens, particularly the Poroi (Ways and Means), a set of proposals to reconfigure Athenian finances to allow her to prosper without empire, and the Hipparchicus (On The Cavalry Commander), which provides advice on how to command the Athenian cavalry. This makes it likely that Xenophon’s exile was revoked and he was reconciled with Athens, though he may not have lived there on a permanent basis (Lee 2017, 34; Tuplin 2017, 339). The last event mentioned in Xenophon’s works took place in 355 (Por. 4.40, 5.12). We do not know the publication dates of Xenophon’s works, but what we can gather suggests that he wrote most of them late in life. Efforts to date Xenophon’s writings through changes in style or thought are largely fruitless, as there are no systematic changes in Xenophon’s style. The relatively few useful allusions to contemporary events show that Xenophon was still at work on many works late in his life: Cyropaedia (Education of Cyrus) must have been completed after 362, Agesilaus after 360, Hellenica (Greek Affairs) after 357, and Poroi after 355, all of which demonstrates that Xenophon was writing in his old age.39 And none of Xenophon’s works contains a clear terminus ante quem that would pin down an early date. Xenophon’s Socratic works lack any clear chronological markers, in my view, but I will argue that they respond to Plato’s early works, so it seems most likely that they too were also composed or at least completed late in Xenophon’s life.40

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The most important recent development regarding Xenophon’s life lies in a re-evaluation of Xenophon’s relationships with the most important political entities during his life: Athens, Sparta, and Persia. Each plays an important role in the world of Xenophon’s Socratic works, Athens as the ever-present setting for Socrates’ conversations, and scene of his trial, Sparta and Persia as possible alternative ideals (Sparta including at Mem. 3.5.15–17, 4.4.15; Smp. 8.35; Persia in Oeconomicus 4.4–25). Xenophon devoted entire works to proposals for how to improve Athens (Hipparchicus and Poroi); these proposals, particularly those of the Poroi, rest on an analysis of Athenian deficiencies not unlike that we sometimes see in the Socratic works (as in Mem. 3.6). Xenophon was long regarded as an ardent Laconophile, but recent scholarship has emphasized his abiding connections with Athens and criticism of Sparta.41 Xenophon’s willingness to criticize Sparta, often rather subtly, shows both that he can be subtle and that we should not assume Sparta is his ideal.42 Xenophon’s attitude toward Persia, the scene of the most striking events in his life, and setting for his most ambitious work, the Cyropaedia, is also complex.43 Xenophon could be stridently anti-Persian, as in Agesilaus chapter nine and Cyropaedia 8.8, but could also find much to admire in Persia (as in much of the rest of the Cyropaedia). In the Socratic works, above all in Oeconomicus, Persian themes will play an important role; the range of uses to which Xenophon puts Persian material will complicate our reading of that work. Does this foray into biography allow us to draw any specific conclusions about the nature of Xenophon’s relationship with Socrates? We know that Xenophon missed the last three years of Socrates’ life, as he left Athens in late 402 or early 401 to join the expedition of Cyrus; he tells us that he relied on Socrates’ companion Hermogenes to fill him in on Socrates’ trial and the events surrounding it (Apol. 2; Mem. 4.8.4). We have no way of knowing when Xenophon’s acquaintance with Socrates began. He was probably born a few years before Plato (who was most likely born in 424: Nails 2002, 245–246). This means that despite Xenophon’s absence from Athens during the last few years of Socrates’ life, he could well have spent just as much time with Socrates as Plato did (Dorion 2000, XX–XXX). Nor do we have any external evidence for just how close Xenophon was to Socrates during these years. Plato’s failure to mention Xenophon tells us little, given that Plato says almost nothing about other Socratic writers; Xenophon all but returns the favor by mentioning Plato only once (Mem. 3.6.1). Xenophon does, however, play a fairly prominent role in Aeschines’ Aspasia (SSR VIA.70), as we will see in chapter six. Xenophon twice depicts himself interacting with Socrates. In the Memorabilia (1.3.8–13), Socrates tries to teach him of the dangers of kissing young beauties, but the youthful Xenophon resists. We will consider that scene in chapter one. Xenophon’s other encounter with Socrates comes at a key moment in the Anabasis (3.1.4–7). Though he briefly mentions

18 Introduction himself four times earlier in the work, Xenophon formally introduces himself and tells how he came to take part in the expedition only two books into the Anabasis, near the beginning of one of the most riveting scenes in Greek literature. The night after their generals, including Xenophon’s friend Proxenus, were murdered by the Persians, the Greeks, cut off deep within Persian territory, could not even manage to eat, light fires, or post guards; they got what rest they could, filled with thoughts of the homes and families they feared they would never see again. Enter Xenophon: But in the army there was a man named Xenophon, an Athenian, who accompanied them neither as a general nor a commander nor a soldier, but had been summoned from home by his old friend Proxenus. Proxenus promised that if he came, he would make him a friend of Cyrus, whom Proxenus himself considered more important to him than his own fatherland was. Xenophon, when he read Proxenus’ letter, consulted with Socrates the Athenian about the journey. Socrates suspected that becoming friendly with Cyrus would be something suspect to the city, because Cyrus was thought to have vigorously waged war with the Spartans against Athens. So he advised Xenophon to go to Delphi and consult with the god about the journey. Xenophon went there and asked Apollo what god he should sacrifice and pray to in order to make the journey he had in mind in the best and noblest way and to emerge safely after having acquitted himself well. And Apollo told him which gods he must sacrifice to. When Xenophon got back, he told Socrates what the oracle had said. Socrates, when he heard this, blamed him for not first asking whether it was better for him to go or to remain, and instead deciding by himself that he must go and then asking how best to make the journey. “But since you asked this question,” he said, “you must do what the god bid you.” (Anab. 3.1.4–7) Xenophon chooses to tell this story at the lowest point in the expedition, when it is clear that his choice to join Proxenus, a man who made Cyrus more important than his own homeland, had been a dangerous mistake. Most of the rest of the Anabasis will consist of Xenophon’s efforts to return home, first back to Greek territory and then to Athens. While the Greeks famously reach the sea and the Greek city of Trapezus midway through the Anabasis, neither they nor Xenophon reach their homes on the Greek mainland during the course of the Anabasis. Like the passage in the Memorabilia, then, where the young Xenophon resists Socrates’ warning about the danger of kissing young beauties, this passage shows a foolish young Xenophon failing to follow Socrates’ wise advice (cf. Gray 1998,

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98–99). But it also shows that the first thing Xenophon did when he received Proxenus’ invitation was to consult with Socrates. Socrates is Xenophon’s first and, for all Xenophon tells us, only human advisor about this decision, and Socrates was right that the expedition would result in Xenophon being suspect at Athens. Yet Xenophon ignored him. Xenophon tells us that he went along with Cyrus “neither as general nor captain nor soldier” (Anab. 3.1.4). This raises the question of just what Xenophon was doing on this ill-fated expedition in the first place. He had joined it at the urging of his friend Proxenus, a student of Gorgias, who believed that his study with Gorgias, for which he had paid good money, made him capable of leading troops (Anab. 2.6.17). Vivienne Gray suggests that we ask not only why Xenophon joined Cyrus but why Cyrus welcomed Xenophon, and concludes that Xenophon’s most plausible qualification would be his association with Socrates (Gray 2010, 11–12). This education, as it turns out, seems to have prepared him rather better for the rigors of command than Proxenus’ education with Gorgias—as Proxenus, even by the verdict of his friend Xenophon, was not a very good general (Anab. 2.6.19–20). Of course, Xenophon may downplay his prior military experience in order to highlight his great success as a general in the Anabasis. But if we take his text at face value, we would conclude that he joined the expedition as a civilian observer who was most likely welcomed thanks to his one known distinction, his friendship with Socrates. That friendship was probably responsible for making Xenophon the leader he was—just as Gorgias’ instruction was responsible for Proxenus’ shortcomings. Socrates emerges with a great deal of credit: he not only foresaw Xenophon’s exile, and tried to prevent it, but provided Xenophon with the education that allowed him to succeed even if he was foolish enough to reject Socrates’ advice. Thus, while Xenophon twice portrays himself as too stubborn to take Socrates’ advice, he does so in order to teach readers a Socratic lesson: the anecdotes about Xenophon’s kisses and his consultation at Delphi tell us as much about the wise older Xenophon as they do about Xenophon’s youthful folly. They do not show that he was a poor student of Socrates but that he became a good one.

Preview A preview of coming attractions is perhaps in order. Some chapters that follow are more free-standing than others. Many readers will indeed want to start at the beginning, with chapter one, the introduction to the Memorabilia, as it also introduces some features common to all of Xenophon’s Socratic works. Those interested in the trial of Socrates will want to read both chapter two (on the defense in the Memorabilia) and chapter three (on the Apology); my decision to present Xenophon’s Apology only after his defense of Socrates in the Memorabilia means my Apology chapter is best read after chapter two, on which it relies. Readers

20 Introduction most interested in the philosophy of Xenophon’s Socrates may choose to skip to chapter four, on enkrateia. Chapters five and six, on the Symposium and Oeconomicus, are essentially free-standing, though the account of sexual morality in chapter five builds on the account of enkrateia in chapter four. Chapter one introduces the Memorabilia by attempting to restore it to its original literary context. The Memorabilia is unique among Socratic works known to us. It presents a comprehensive defense of Socrates, showing not only that he was innocent of the charges against him but that he benefitted a great number of people in many different ways. To meet these goals, Xenophon did not write a unitary Socratic dramatic dialogue, but included a number of shorter Socratic conversations within a argumentative framework provided by his narrator. In doing so, he drew on multiple literary genres (forensic oratory, the storytelling of Ion of Chios, Aesopic fable, and wisdom literature) to build on the tradition of stories told about Socrates within the Socratic circle. Xenophon used different tools to help him show the great variety of ways in which Socrates benefitted others. The structure of the Memorabilia is thus ideally designed to meet Xenophon’s aims. Chapters two and three are devoted to the trial of Socrates. The trial has of course been a subject of perennial interest, and thus of endless scholarly discussion. But Xenophon’s two different contributions to the trial controversy, his Apology and the defense of Socrates in the first two chapters of the Memorabilia, have played little role in the scholarly discussion of the trial in recent decades. Xenophon’s evidence has been cast into shadow by the brilliance of Plato’s Apology, the prevalent view that Xenophon’s Memorabilia reacted not so much to the trial as to the post-trial pamphlet by the sophist Polycrates, and a belittling reading of Xenophon’s Apology that makes it out to be unworthy of Socrates. In chapter two, I argue that the beginning of Xenophon’s Memorabilia (1.1–2) presents us with a skillful forensic defense of Socrates that provides us with our best evidence for the trial of Socrates. Xenophon addresses not only the formal charges of the indictment of 399, but the wider controversy about Socrates. There is, however, no reason to believe that Xenophon is engaging primarily with the post-trial controversy generated by Polycrates’ Accusation of Socrates. When he addresses a singular accuser of Socrates, Xenophon is referring to Meletus, the lead prosecutor of Socrates in 399, not to Polycrates, whose Accusation was likely a playful bit of rhetorical fluff that was never intended to contribute to serious debate about Socrates. Because Xenophon aims to provide a better defense of Socrates than Socrates himself does in either Xenophon’s or Plato’s Apology, Xenophon must more directly address the charges against Socrates, providing us with our best access to those charges. Xenophon’s defense is forensically effective, but is no whitewash. He grants that certain charges have a basis in fact, but denies they carry anything like the weight Socrates’ opponents attributed to them. While acting as Socrates’ advocate, in the first two chapters of

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the Memorabilia, Xenophon sometimes leaves difficult aspects of the charges against Socrates unaddressed, but he returns to these questions in his positive account of Socrates in the rest of the Memorabilia. It is thus the Memorabilia, rather than either Apology, that is our most essential text for understanding why the Athenians put Socrates to death in 399, or how a leading Socratic would defend Socrates against his accusers. In chapter three, I argue that Xenophon’s Apology is far more than an effort to show Socrates committing “suicide by jury.” It instead aims to show that Socrates’ death was an exemplary way to end his exemplary life. Socrates’ boasting at his trial was designed not only to inflame the jury but to force them to think through his claims to excellence. Xenophon therefore highlights Socratic arrogance in the Apology where he emphasizes Socrates’ innocence in the Memorabilia; differences between the two works reflect this change in literary agenda rather than any change in Xenophon’s views about the trial. I turn then to read Xenophon’s Apology as a commentary on Plato’s Apology. Striking differences between the two Apologies, as in the oracle stories and the interrogation of Meletus, show Xenophon’s efforts to improve on Plato’s account given Xenophon’s different goals. Xenophon foregrounds and explains Socrates’ arrogance where Plato, while revealing the arrogance, does not justify it. Yet Xenophon and Plato were, I argue, in fundamental agreement about Socrates’ intentions at his trial: Socrates was not interested in defending himself against the legal charges against him, but in defending his life and legacy. I chapter four, I analyze Socrates’ moral psychology as Xenophon presents it. The central theme here is Xenophon’s discussion of enkrateia (selfmastery), but study of that trait will lead us to consider how Xenophon’s Socrates integrates the management of pleasures, desires, and pains with the acquisition and application of wisdom. Enkrateia ultimately maximizes pleasure, and I will argue that it is necessary not only for the acquisition of wisdom but for the successful use of wisdom in the face of competing desires. Plato’s Socrates displays self-mastery, but does not discuss it in the early dialogues, and his intellectualism would seem at odds with Xenophon’s emphasis on control over desire. But recent work on Plato’s Socrates has suggested that he too recognized that irrational desires play some role in motivating action, and I will argue that we can uncover a coherent moral psychology that spans the two authors. The resulting intertextual doctrine continues to regard weakness of will—the phenomenon Aristotle calls akrasia—as an impossibility, and thus upholds the supremacy of wisdom. Virtue is wisdom, for both Xenophon’s Socrates and Plato’s, but Xenophon adds that virtue requires a foundation, enkrateia, that is necessary both to gain wisdom and to apply wisdom in the face of the temptation to do otherwise. In chapter five, we turn to Xenophon’s Symposium. I argue that the dialogue is not just a charming account of a drinking party, but a coherent dramatic whole with a substantive goal. That goal is clear enough: to

22 Introduction articulate Socratic sexual morality, the theme of Socrates’ long speech in Symposium 8, the longest and most substantive argument in the dialogue. What has often been missed is how the rest of the Symposium prepares us for this speech by showing Socrates a master of delivering difficult lessons in the most charming possible manner. I argue that Xenophon’s strategy is similar to that he employs in his Apology. Just as Plato’s Apology failed to clearly explain why Socrates did not offer a successful forensic defense at his trial, in the Symposium Plato failed to explain why Socrates did not have sex with Alcibiades. I then turn to passages from the Memorabilia that appear to be at odds with Socrates’ teaching in the Symposium, and argue that we can recover a coherent teaching on sexual morality once we recognize that different standards apply to different lovers. Socrates, with his sterling self-mastery, can safely enjoy flirtation with young beauties that would imperil his less controlled companions, like the young Xenophon. Moreover, Socrates’ teaching on eros is not only negative, but culminates in the claim that the right sort of eros motivates lovers to improve themselves. The Symposium itself is, however, marked by a strong ironic strand: the dialogue ends not with Socrates’ praise of chaste love but with a sexually stimulating pantomime. Nor did the direct recipient of his advice on love, the rich host of the party, Callias, take that advice, at least if the comic invective about him and his beloved Autolycus had any basis in reality. Chapter six presents a reading of the Oeconomicus. In the eyes of many readers, the Oeconomicus is no Socratic work at all, but rather Xenophon’s strange effort to legitimate his own reflections on farming with a Socratic mark of approval. But the Oeconomicus begins with one of the more philosophically substantive arguments in Xenophon, and it includes reflections on the contrast between Socrates’ lifestyle and that of the rich farmer Ischomachus, whom Socrates introduces as a possible model to his improvident young companion, Critobulus. The key to understanding the work, I argue, is to read Socrates’ conversation with Ischomachus as a lesson for Critobulus. Socrates introduces Ischomachus to teach Critobulus lessons he is either unable or unwilling to receive from Socrates himself. Ischomachus’ conversation with Socrates thus emphasizes lessons Critobulus’ needs, above all the importance of enkrateia and epimeleia (diligence). But there is also a disconnect between what Critobulus really needs and what Ischomachus has to offer. Ischomachus offers only a limited version of kalokagathia, the combination of what is noble (kalon) and good (agathon) that was embodied, in Xenophon’s eyes, not only by the better sort of aristocrat but by Socrates himself.44 Two important external sources, the Aspasia of Aeschines of Sphettus and the historical scandal surrounding Ischomachus and his wife, further undermine Ischomachus’ standing as a model. Ischomachus’ limits as a model kalokagathos thus turn us back to Socrates, the best guide to kalokagathia, for whom oikonomia is not solely a matter of increasing the profitability of one’s farm but the key to a

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self-sufficient life. The Oeconomicus is not a paean to the conventional life of a gentleman farmer, but a complex Socratic examination of conventional values. Finally, in a brief conclusion I offer some comparisons between Xenophon’s and Plato’s accounts of Socrates, make some remarks on reading Xenophon, and reconsider what we know of Xenophon’s years as a writer, arguing that Xenophon was not as different from Socrates as he is so often thought to be.

Notes 1 Recent overviews of the reception of Socrates include Trapp (2007a, 2000b) and Moore (ed.) (2019). Discussions of Xenophon’s role in that reception include Long (1988), DeFilippo and Mitsis (1994), and Johnson (2019, forthcoming A). 2 In this book, I will often speak of “Plato’s account of Socrates,” “Plato’s Socrates,” and “Plato’s early/Socratic dialogues.” I thus adopt the developmentalist paradigm championed by Gregory Vlastos (1991) and those working under his influence. In this approach, dialogues believed to be written early in Plato’s career (on the basis of stylistic criteria) are regarded as “early dialogues” which give a largely accurate of the views of the historical Socrates. These dialogues include the Apology, Crito, Charmides, Euthyphro, Hippias Major, Hippias Minor, Ion, Laches, Lysis, and Protagoras. Cratylus, Euthydemus, Gorgias, Menexenus, and Meno are considered “transitional” between Plato’s early phase and his middle (and less Socratic) phase; book I of the Republic is also often considered early. For a clear introduction to this approach, see Brickhouse and Smith (2000), and for a recent defense of the approach, see Brickhouse and Smith (2010, 11–42). Once dominant in the Anglo-American world, this approach is more often treated skeptically in recent scholarship (Morrison 2013, 409; important critiques include Beversluis 1993, Rowe 2007, and Peterson 2011). But Vlastos’ paradigm has not been replaced by any new orthodoxy, and it still provides the clearest target for comparison with Xenophon. 3 Strauss’ major contributions include Strauss (1939, 1970, 1972, 1989, 2000, with his 1939 article being the most revelatory). Two recent books (2018, 2020) by Strauss’s student Thomas Pangle are the most important examples of recent Straussian work on Xenophon’s Socrates. They have appeared too recently for me to fully integrate them here, though I review Pangle (2018) in Johnson (2018c). Zuckert and Zuckert (2006) provide an excellent general introduction to Strauss; Burns (2015) introduces his work on classical authors. 4 For criticism of Strauss, see Burnyeat (1985) and Burnyeat et al (1985), and Dorion (2013, 51–92). Johnson (2012) advocates for a more moderate stance. 5 Higgins (1977) was something of a voice in the wilderness; Morrison (1987, 1994) and Vander Waerdt (1993, 1994) marked the beginning of a lasting revival, continued in more recent years by scholars including Louis-André Dorion and Gabriel Danzig. A wider revival of interest in Xenophon is also under way, as signaled by collections like Tuplin (2004), Hobden and Tuplin (2012), and Flower (2017), and in important monographs including Gray (2011) and Azoulay (2018). 6 On this argument, see McPherran (1996, 272–291), Sedley (2007, 75–92; 2008), Powers (2009), and Johnson (2017).

24 Introduction 7 Thus, Dorion (2006, 93–94) rightly notes that Xenophon’s Socrates is quite philosophical as philosophy is understood by Pierre Hadot (1995) or Nietzsche. 8 It is also often said that the greatest obstacle to historical reconstruction is the fictional nature of the Socratic dialogues of both Plato and Xenophon, a point that dates back at least to Karl Joël (1893–1901); cf. Dorion (2011c). The category “fictional” is, however, a rather amorphous one, and is too often broadened to include everything that would not fit a narrowly positivistic understanding of what counts as “historical.” Much of what we read in ancient historians, particularly their speeches, the most obvious analogue for Socratic dialogues, would not count as historical by this measure, but most students of ancient history consider those speeches vital sources for historical reconstruction, even if they are far from being transcripts. 9 Brickhouse and Smith (1989, 2–10) and Reeve (1989, xiii). 10 My draft title for the project that eventually became this book was “The Other Socrates,” something known to my friend Louis-André. By this I meant “the neglected Socrates.” But when Louis-André was ready to publish his 2013 collection of essays on Socrates, he asked me if I would mind him calling it L’autre Socrate. I could only agree, given that Dorion’s Socrates is far more “other” than mine (Dorion 2013, XIIIn1). 11 As Altman (2018) notes, Diogenes Laertius (esp. 2.57, 3.34) and Athenaeus (11.112–114) portray the two as rivals, but Aulus Gellius is more nuanced (14.3). 12 In addition to the source books SSR and Boys-Stones and Rowe (2013), see the collections of essays in Vander Waerdt (1994), Rossetti and Stavru (2008), Rossetti and Stavru (2010), de Luise and Stavru (2013), and Stavru and Moore (2018). 13 See note 40 below for the apparent reference to the battle of Leuctra (371 BC) at Memorabilia 3.5.2.4. 14 Danzig (2018a) argues for the possibility of considerable give and take between Plato and Xenophon; others positing considerable Xenophontic influence on Plato include Altman (2018), Humble (2018a), and Tuplin (2018, 601–609). 15 The most common influence is generally thought to be Antisthenes, though see Cooper (1999) for salutary skepticism about the extent of this influence. 16 Contrast, Cooper (1999), who argues for Xenophon’s reliance on his own sense of who Socrates was, with Danzig (2010), who emphasizes the literary content of the debate among the Socratics. 17 Dorion (2013, XII–XVIII); cf. the slightly shorter list in Dorion (2006, 95–96). I do not count Dorion’s number 9, as the only evidence he cites for this is the Alcibiades, which may be non-Platonic, or his 13, 19, and 20, as his only Platonic evidence for these comes in the Republic outside of book one, which is not usually taken to be Socratic. 18 Moore (2018b) argues that Xenophon never clearly characterizes Socrates this way. I would differ from Moore (152–155) in holding that at Oeconomicus 16.9 Socrates does pretty clearly call himself a philosopher, but Moore is right about the general pattern. On the origins of the concept of philosophy in Greece, see now Moore (2019). 19 This section is a substantially revised version of one part of Johnson (2018a). 20 For one introduction to intertextuality, see Allen (2011). 21 Translation in this volume is my own, unless noted otherwise. Unless otherwise noted, I translate the Greek texts of text of Dorion and Bandini (Memorabilia) and Marchant (Apology, Oeconomicus, Symposium). 22 I follow the manuscript ὡς rather than the emendation οἶς. 23 Sophrosunē is notoriously difficult to translate. Moore and Raymond (2019, xxxiv–xxvii) argue vigorously for “discipline.” I employ “moderation” mainly

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25 26 27 28 29

30

31 32

33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40

25

because it is the most common contemporary translation, but will simply transliterate the noun wherever possible. I will use “moderate” to translate the adjectival and verbal forms related to sophrosunē. Mem. 3.8.1 characterizes 2.1 as a refutation, though some doubt this (see note 15 to chapter 4); on 3.8 see pages 155-161. Socrates blocks Antiphon’s attacks on him in 1.6, and in Mem. 4.4 Socrates’ positive presentation of his teaching on justice serves as a refutation of Hippias’ legal relativism (Johnson 2003). Slings (1999, 216) argues that the Memorabilia “very likely” refers to the Clitophon, and that the Clitophon is probably authentic. Most readings include Johnson (2005, 41–43) and Dorion (2000, CXLIV); contrast Slings (1999, 77–82). A reader for the press noted this likelihood. Rossetti (2011, 23–53) argues that hundreds of Socratic dialogues, most now lost, were written in the thirty years after the death of Socrates. For an effort to gloss σωφροσύνη in this context, see Moore (2018a, 501–507). So Dorion (2000, 63n45; cf. 2011b, 187n13), though he also notes that Xenophon’s Socrates does a fair amount of defining. The pursuit of definitions is also central to Aristotle’s account of Socrates, but Plato was the most important source for Aristotle’s account of Socrates, if not his only source (cf. Smith 2017, 617–618). Antisthenes, despite his famous disavowal of the possibility of definition (SSR VA.150), is another plausible source for Socrates’ interest in definitions. The fourth volume (τόμος) of his works may have been devoted to the pursuit of definitions (Prince 2015, 139–143). But these would have made up a small proportion of Antisthenes’ works. Thus, it hardly seems rash to think that readers of Xenophon would have thought of Plato when hearing of Socrates’ interest in definitions. Definitions or some attempt at a definition can be found as follows: piety at 4.6.2–4; the noble/fine (kalon) at 3.8.4–7 and 4.6.9; justice at 3.9.5, 4.2.12–20, 4.4, and 4.6.5–6; moderation at 3.9.4; courage at 3.9.1–3 and 4.6.10–11. Different forms of government are discussed at 3.9.10–13 and 4.6.12. For more on this conversation, see chapter two, pages 94-95. Dorion (2000, 102n19). Aeschines’ Socrates also seems to have professed ignorance, at least in the case of not knowing how to help Alcibiades (SSR VIA.53); but it is not clear that this was a habitual feature of Socrates in Aeschines. On 3.8, see Johnson (2009) and chapter four. Thus, Bevilacqua (2010, 136) describes Memorabilia 1.2.36 and 4.4.9 as examples of an “oversight” (svista) on the part of Xenophon, who mistakenly alluded to the Platonic Socrates, who she argues is historical. To this extent, the thesis of Vlastos (1991) seems undeniable; the fact that Xenophon viewed the early Platonic Socrates as more Socratic does not in itself show that this Socrates is historical, however. Lee (2017) provides a good introduction to Xenophon’s life and times. The best book-length introduction to Xenophon remains Higgins (1977). Those arguing for a late date include Badian (2004), Lee (2017, 30), and Tuplin (1987; 2017, 338–339). SSR IVA.2 = Plutarch On Being a Busybody 516c; cf. D.L. 2.65. On this passage, see chapter six, pages 269, 271-272. For these dates, see Lee (2017, 33). One passage from the Memorabilia is often taken to reflect conditions after the battle of Leuctra in 371. In Memorabilia 3.5.2–4, Xenophon reports that Socrates and the younger Pericles (the son of Pericles) discussed how the Athenians, who had once dominated the Boeotians, were now afraid that the

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41 42 43 44

Boeotians would invade. This is generally but mistakenly taken to be an anachronistic reference to the situation after 371, when the Boeotians became the dominant power in Greece thanks to their victory over the Spartans at the battle of Leuctra (Lee 2017, 33–34; cf. Bevilacqua 2010, 25–26; Dorion 2011a, 294–295). But this chapter is devoted to Socrates’ argument that Pericles can make Athens great again. To support his argument, Socrates proposes the example of a people the Athenians once dominated but now fear. The Boeotians were the natural choice for this role, for the Athenians had dominated Boeotia from 457–447, but were decisively defeated by the Boeotians at Delium, just within Boeotian territory, in 424—in a battle in which Socrates took part. The Athenians also won a battle against a predominantly Boeotian cavalry force just outside Athens in 406 (Diodorus Siculus 13.72—a reference I owe to Will Altman). The Athenians are not naturally inferior to the Boeotians, Socrates argues, perhaps banking on the traditional Athenian contempt for their supposedly swinish neighbors (Pindar, Olympian 6.89–90). So the Boeotians were a very apt comparison, rivals the Athenians had once dominated but now feared. Sparta was indeed Athens’ greatest rival at the dramatic date of this conversation, but the Athenians had never dominated Sparta, so it would have been nonsense for Socrates to use Sparta as his example. There is therefore no anachronism in the passage, and no reason to assume it was written after 371. Tuplin (2017) provides a good synthesis of Xenophon’s relationship with Athens (a theme already prominent in Higgins 1977); recent overviews of Xenophon and Sparta include Christesen (2017) and Humble (2018a). For subtle criticism of Sparta in the Constitution of the Spartans, see Humble (2021). Recent syntheses include Vlassopoulos (2017) and Tuplin (2018). Xenophon uses the compound form kalokagathia (καλοκἀγαθία), “nobility/ beauty and goodness” as an abstract noun, but uses a somewhat less condensed combination kalos kagathos (or kalos te kagathos) “noble and good” as the adjectival equivalent; the shorter Greek form kalokagathos is post-Classical. When speaking of the individual who exemplifies kalokagathia, I will often use kalokagathos as a substantive, which is a sort of halfway house between English and classical Greek. This allows for convenient reference to the Greek idea without use of a tendentious translation like “gentleman.” But it is important to note that the expression is not used as a substantive in Greek, and that a Greek speaker would have heard not only the compound but its two distinct components (kalos and agathos), both “noble/beautiful” and “good.” For Greek attitudes on kalokagathia, see Dover (1974, 41–45); for the usage in Xenophon, see Huss (1999a, 62–64).

1

Approaching the Memorabilia

Xenophon was a tremendously gifted literary artist. He not only wrote in many different genres but blithely crossed genre boundaries, even if those norms were less firm in his day than ours, and developed new genres. His Cyropaedia is often regarded as the first historical novel, or the first example of “mirror of princes” literature (Gray 2011). His Agesilaus is a rather strange sort of encomium (Dillery 2017, 203–206). His more historical works, the Anabasis and Hellenica, nevertheless broke with their precedents in important ways, the first in its kinship to a war memoir or microhistory (Flower 2012, 40–59) and the second in its focus on the failings of Spartan imperialism (Tuplin 1993). His Constitution of the Spartans is an early example of politeia literature, but is reshaped into a more philosophical form of inquiry (Humble 2021, 82–83). Xenophon’s so-called technical works on horsemanship (On the Cavalry Commander and On Horsemanship) and hunting (On Hunting) all contain important reflections on wider themes. And his Ways and Means, a “pamphlet” calling for reform of the Athenian economy, is sui generis (Whitehead 2019, 17–21). Xenophon was no less of an innovator in his Socratic works. His Symposium and Apology may resemble their Platonic counterparts, and are in large part intended to respond to their Platonic counterparts, as I shall argue. But Xenophon’s Apology, unlike Plato’s, couples a very selective account of Socrates’ defense speech with remarks about what happened before and after the trial. Xenophon’s Oeconomicus is a decidedly curious work that appears to embed a manual on farming within a Socratic dialogue. And all of Xenophon’s Socratic works are introduced by a firstperson external narrator, a feature found in no other Socratic dialogue known to us. All of Xenophon’s Socratic writings, save the Memorabilia, begin with connectives that imply that they are part of some larger whole of Socratic works. Each could be taken, then, to be supplements to the Memorabilia, which is by far the longest and more complex of the lot. So the Memorabilia is the natural place to start our encounter with Xenophon’s Socratic works, and our first order of business will be to attempt to pin down just what type of work it is, as it is nothing like any other extant work on Socrates.

28 Approaching the Memorabilia

Building for variety and range Xenophon is not coy about his goals in writing the Memorabilia. He provides clear programmatic passages at major inflection points during the work: at the beginning and end of his direct defense of Socrates (A); as he introduces and then reintroduces his account of Socrates benefits to others (B); when he introduces how Socrates benefitted different sorts of gifted students (C); and at the conclusion of the work (D). A. Xenophon’s defense of Socrates A1 I have often wondered what arguments those who prosecuted Socrates used to persuade the Athenians that he deserved to die. (Mem. 1.1.1) A2 In my view Socrates was the sort of man who deserved honor from the city rather than the death penalty. Anyone considering matters from the perspective of the laws would also conclude as much… (Mem. 1.2.62). B. Socrates’ benefits to family, friends, and others B1 I will also write up all I remember of how, in my view, he benefitted his associates, both by showing through his deeds what sort of man he was, and also through his conversations. (Mem. 1.3.1) B2 And if certain people believe, as some write and say about him on the basis of conjecture, that he was the best at turning people towards virtue, but was not capable of leading them to it, let them consider not only what he said to those who thought they knew everything when, for the sake of correcting them, he refuted them by questioning, but also what he said all day long with those who spent their time with him. And let them then judge whether he was capable of making those with him better. (Mem. 1.4.1) B3 And Socrates was so useful in every matter and every way, that it would be obvious to anyone considering this, even if he is only of average perception, that there was nothing more useful than to associate with and spend time with Socrates, wherever he was and whatever he was doing. For even remembering him in his absence provided no little help to those who were accustomed to spend time with him and follow him. (Mem. 4.1.1) C. Socrates benefits as teacher C1 He was just as profitable to those who spent time with him when he was joking as when he was serious. For he would often say that he was in love with someone, but his desire was obviously not for those with youthful beauty, but those with souls naturally inclined to virtue. (Mem. 4.1.1–2) C2 [He used varied approaches to win over gifted young men who prided themselves on their natural talent, wealth, or education; and

Approaching the Memorabilia 29 once he had won over such men he would “most simply and clearly explain what he thought one needs to know and what he thought were the best things for one to do.”] (Summary of 4.1.3–4.2.39; quotation from end of 4.2.) D. Conclusion (Mem.4.8) D1 All those who know what sort of man Socrates was and seek after virtue even now continue to miss him more than anyone, believing him to be most beneficial to them for their pursuit of virtue. (4.8.11) Note Xenophon’s interest in the variety of ways in which Socrates is noteworthy, something he makes most emphatic at B3 above. Socrates benefits a variety of interlocutors and students. Those he benefits include know-italls and followers (B2); family, friends, fellow Athenians (book 2); those with political ambitions, artists, a hetaera, and wealthy whiners (book 3); those of no more than average perception (B3); and different sorts of gifted students (C2). They include not only those who spoke with Socrates, but those how overheard his conversations,1 and those who remember him after his death (D1). These different people naturally have a variety of problems, including familial discord and problems about friends, economic woes, questions of how to win and succeed in a leadership post, how to practice an art, how best to train one’s body, and how to overcome obstacles to accepting Socrates as a teacher. While some of the topics Socrates helps on are eminently practical, others are more philosophical: Socrates makes men better (B2), and is attracted to those whose souls are suited to virtue (C1). Socrates also benefits using a variety of methods: by his words or his example (B1), through refutation or more positive conversation (B2), in person or in memory (B3), and when joking or serious (C1). This variety demonstrates how thoroughly embedded Socrates was in Athenian life, and gives the lie to the old charge that he was an idle babbler of no practical help to anyone. The Memorabilia is thus an ambitious and comprehensive work on Socrates. Indeed, it is the most comprehensive extant work on Socrates, and may always have been the most comprehensive work on Socrates.2 Plato’s Socrates may also aim to benefit his fellow citizens, above all via his divine mission (Plato, Apology 29d–30a; 36b–37a), something Plato also mentions while defending Socrates. But while the benefits provided by Plato’s Socrates may be profound and real, they appear to be limited in scope and effectiveness. His central claim is that the soul is far more important than money, honor, or glory, a lesson Socrates teaches by refuting those who falsely lay claim to virtue. No wonder that his fellow citizens found him as beneficial as a horse fly (Plato, Apology 30e). In other dialogues, Plato’s Socrates routinely fails to win over interlocutors (even if he wins every argument) or find the definitions he is looking for. Not so Xenophon’s Socrates. Xenophon’s Socrates does not only exhort his fellow Athenians

30 Approaching the Memorabilia toward virtue and demonstrate how far they are falling short of that goal: he provides a tremendous variety of helpful teaching and advice. To demonstrate the range of Socrates’ usefulness, Xenophon wrote a book different in form from the Socratic dialogues familiar to us from Plato and from Xenophon’s own Symposium and Oeconomicus. The Memorabilia combines arguments by a narrator with the narrator’s report of a multitude of Socratic speeches and conversations. Most of the reported conversations have little in the way of characterization, scene setting, or dramatic development, and resemble nothing in Socratic literature so much as the spurious dialogues in the Platonic corpus, which has not benefitted Xenophon’s reputation. The absence of such literary features, and the apparent incoherence of a work that aims to demonstrate variety and range rather than to develop a single argument, has often led readers to underestimate the Memorabilia.3 But Xenophon wasn’t trying and failing to write one long Socratic dialogue, or a series of Socratic dialogues. To understand what he was trying to do, we need to look to literary antecedents, including influences outside the Socratic circle. I will argue that Xenophon took a pre-existing form, the collection of anecdotes, selected a topic to frame his work, the defense of Socrates, and within that frame provided a comprehensive guide to the ways Socrates benefitted his followers and can still benefit all those who call his example to mind. The 5th-century author Ion of Chios had set a formal precedent through his anecdotal memoir, the Epidemiai (Visits), and other Socratics wrote short Socratic dialogues, some of which may have been gathered together into single volumes like the books of the Memorabilia. Those Socratic dialogues were themselves probably rooted in the Socratics’ habit of oral recitation of Socrates’ conversations. The related traditions of the sayings of wise men and Aesopic fable provide other parallels. Finally, use of the trial as a point of departure for an overall account of a philosopher’s value to his community is paralleled by Isocrates’ Antidosis, an autobiographical work almost certainly written after the Memorabilia but illustrative of the rhetorical tools available to Xenophon. With this literary context in place, we can turn to internal indications as to how to approach the Memorabilia, including the difficult question of what to make of Xenophon’s narrator and his claims to have witnessed the conversations he reports. I will turn then to some apparent flaws in the organization of the Memorabilia, before closing with an outline of the work that is informed by its literary context and the guides to structure within it.

The literary context for the Memorabilia Courtroom oratory Courtroom oratory naturally provides a major model for the Memorabilia, as it begins Xenophon’s effort to rebut the charges against Socrates, and returns to the trial at the end of the work. The vast majority of the

Approaching the Memorabilia 31 Memorabilia, however, falls between Xenophon’s defense (1.1–2) and the final chapter (4.8). But there are parallels in courtroom oratory for the type of material introduced in the bulk of the Memorabilia. As Harmut Erbse argued in 1961, it was common for Athenian courtroom speeches to couple refutation of the charges at issue with a defense of the life of the defendant. The combination of refutation of legal charges with a general defense of one’s character was widespread in Attic oratory, as there was no judge in the modern sense to rule on the admissibility of evidence, and character evidence was far more common than in most contemporary legal systems. Adriaan Lanni (2005, 121–123) notes that speakers say they employ such evidence for two reasons: to argue for their innocence or their rival’s guilt based on probability or to show a defendant deserving of a penalty or pardon. Xenophon similarly defends Socrates by arguing that his sterling character shows he would not have corrupted others (Mem. 1.2.1); he also argues that Socrates was unworthy of punishment (Mem. 1.2.62–64). Moreover, benefaction was itself a proof of good character and thus of innocence, as in this passage from Demosthenes, here defending Phormio against an accusation by Apollodorus. By Zeus, Gentlemen, I for my part consider that everything that provides evidence about Phormio’s character and his justice and goodwill is also relevant to mention to you. For someone altogether unjust could well have wronged this man [Apollodorus]. But if someone has never done any injustice to anyone, but has willingly treated many well, how likely is it that he would have wronged this man [Apollodorus] alone? (Demosthenes 36.55, cited by Lanni 2005, 122). Xenophon will say in the peroration to the Memorabilia that Socrates was “so just that he never did anyone the least harm at all, but did the most benefit to those who dealt with him” (4.8.11). Thus, the bulk of the Memorabilia which is devoted to Socrates’ benefits to others provides an extended character defense with ample parallels in Greek oratory. The Memorabilia is not, of course, delivered by Socrates as defendant, but it does in many ways resemble a speech given by a friend of the accused on the defendant’s behalf (a synegoros)—like the Demosthenic speech quoted just above. Xenophon (though not Plato) tells us that such speeches were given at Socrates’ trial (Apol. 22). The Memorabilia is, however, far longer than any realistic courtroom speech would be; it is twice as long as Isocrates’ lengthy Antidosis, the fictitious defense speech we will consider below. So the forensic model only takes us so far. Ion of Chios K. J. Dover (1988) argued that the Epidemiai (Visits or perhaps Spells of Residence) of Ion of Chios was an important forerunner of the

32 Approaching the Memorabilia Sokratikos logos (writing about Socrates). While Dover was mainly interested in Ion’s influence on Plato, his case is actually much stronger for the Memorabilia. Ion’s work evidently consisted of a number of relatively brief accounts of conversations featuring famous men of his day, conversations Ion was privy to either when the famous men were staying on Chios, Ion was staying at Athens, or both were found in some other locale. We have only a few fragments of Ion’s work left, the largest of which recounts clever bits of sympotic repartee on the part of Sophocles and Cimon (Athenaeus 13.603e–604d = FGrHist 392F6). That fragment introduces Sophocles as a wit, retells his flirtatious remarks to a serving boy during a symposium, and concludes that while witty, he was not particularly political. The basic structure resembles many a passage in the Memorabilia: a narrator reports he was present at a conversation, introduces it with a characterization of what is to come, and closes with another brief comment on what the conversation reveals about the characters. Another fragment from the Epidemiai reveals that Ion discussed Socrates. Ion of Chios that when he (Socrates) was young he travelled to Samos with Archelaus (D.L. 2.23 = FGrHist 392F9). This remark contradicts what Plato has the personified Laws say in the Crito (52b; cf. Phaedrus 230c–d): that Socrates never left Athens, save for one trip to the Isthmus, or when on military campaign. Socrates’ trip to Samos with Archelaus was probably a journey to visit the philosopher Melissus,4 rather than Socrates merely happening to go on the same military expedition as Archelaus, as scholars have argued to preserve Plato’s credibility. In this event, Ion likely preserves a bit of evidence for the Presocratic phase in Socrates’ life, probably our earliest evidence for Socrates, given that Ion is usually thought to have died around 422. Ion’s interest in Socrates would perhaps have made his work attractive to the Socratic writers, and the Epidemiai provides a clear model for many of the distinctive features of the Memorabilia.5 Aesop Leslie Kurke (2011, 241–300) has recently argued that the Aesop tradition had a major influence on the Socratics. The influence comes in two broad forms. The first is the presence of fables in Socratic works, usually via appropriation of moralistic or political use of the fables by sophists. But fables are rather rare in Xenophon’s Socratic works, being limited essentially to the tale of Herakles at the crossroads in Memorabilia 2.1.21-33, and the story of the sheepdog in Memorabilia 2.7.13–14. The second and potentially more important influence comes via the example of Aesop, a slave, who, as a decidedly strange sort of wise man, was a precursor to the humble Socrates, the son (we are told) of a mason and a midwife.

Approaching the Memorabilia 33 Kurke also argues that the Sokratikos logos had affinities with low-status prose, and indeed that prose was often a low-status medium into the 4th century. She notes that this relatively lowly status helps explain the connection between Sokratikoi logoi and the often raunchy mimes of Sophron, with which Aristotle famously pairs them (Poetics 1.1447a28–b13). Otherwise, the kinship between Sophron and the Sokratikos logos may not be particularly deep, save for the use of a dramatic setting for a work in prose, unless we have lost early examples of more broadly comedic Socratic dialogues.6 Certainly Socrates’ fondness for homely examples from the crafts, in both Plato and Xenophon, was considered odd by his aristocratic peers. Analogies to crafts are not particularly Aesopic in inspiration, but Kurke notes that Aristotle classified Socratic analogy (parabolē, Rhetoric 2.20.1393a23–1394a18) alongside animal fables as a type of invented example that could be useful to orators. Thus, even if we should not press the comparison with Sophron’s mimes too far, the presence of everyday topics in a work on Socrates may not have been surprising to Xenophon’s readers as it is to some readers today. Wisdom literature Vivienne Gray’s 1998 book, The Framing of Socrates: The Literary Interpretation of Xenophon’s Memorabilia, is the most important study of the literary form of the Memorabilia to date. Gray in fact provides us with not one but two separate ways of reading the Memorabilia. The first reads the Memorabilia as what Gray terms “a work of plain rhetoric which takes its inspiration from the courtroom origins of its central controversy” (1998, 193). I will make use of many of Gray’s observations in this line later. Here we consider Gray’s second approach to the Memorabilia, which considers it as a work of wisdom literature. Gray believes that there is a strong argument for making this tradition “the chief generic influence on Xenophon’s work” (1998, 176). Wisdom literature centers on instruction delivered by a wise man, sometimes in dramatized dialogue form. The basic building block in such texts is the chreia, a brief account of a wise man's practical instruction, in the form of words, deeds, or both. Advice in such works tends to be conventional; they feature more breadth than depth, and more in the way of experimental form than innovation in content (Gray 1998, 159–163). The most famous Greek example of wisdom literature is Hesiod’s Works and Days. But the genre flourished in prose at the time of Socrates and Xenophon as well. The sophist Hippias produced a collection of sayings in this genre (his Synagogē, Collection); Prodicus’ Horai (Seasons), which contained his famous account of Heracles at the Crossroads (Mem. 2.1.21–33), may have been similar. Isocrates’ To Demonicus, To Nicocles, and Nicocles provide extant parallels contemporary with Xenophon. More intriguingly, a fragmentary work known only from the el-Hibeh papyrus (PHib 182) may have been a Socratic work in the wisdom literature tradition with a form very similar to that of the Memorabilia.7 The papyrus

34 Approaching the Memorabilia itself dates from the third century BC, though the original text it preserves may well have been written as early as the early 4th century. The best preserved passage consists of a chreia starring Socrates and his wife. … it is said that Xanthippe said to Socrates, as she yielded the coverlets and cups, “The guests have already arrived.” “You need not be upset about anything, Xanthippe,” he said. “And don’t worry about this. For if,” he said, “they are cultured people, it will not matter to them if we use what we have out. And if they aren’t cultured, then I won’t care about them at all.” (Translation from McOsker 2018) This anecdote is known in later forms from Diogenes Laertius (2.34) and Pseudo-John of Damascus (SSR IC.352). The papyrus goes on to feature other bits of Socratic dialogue, perhaps also in chreia form, with linking remarks by a narrator. Shifts in topic and the use of dialogue have led scholars to compare the work to the Memorabilia (McOsker 2018). The most recent editor of the text, Michael McOsker, suspects that it may be Antisthenic, either the work of Antisthenes himself or one of his followers.8 The limited amount of surviving text makes the genre, overall structure, authorship, and date of this work uncertain. But even the little we have suggests that collections of loosely structured collections of useful Socratic sayings of the sort best preserved today in the second century AD biography of Socrates by Diogenes Laertius (2.18–47, especially 30–37) were already in circulation quite early in the history of the reception of Socrates. If this work was written by Antisthenes himself, or even one of his followers, it could have predated and hence influenced Xenophon’s Memorabilia. Some anecdotes from the Memorabilia would be entirely at home in the compilations of chreiai we find in later works like the Gnomologium Vaticanum (Vatican Collection of the Wise and Witty) or in swathes of Diogenes Laertius. And once when someone was angry because his greeting to another man was not returned, he said “It is laughable that you would not have been angry had you met someone with a body in poor shape, but you are pained because you’ve encountered someone with a boorish soul.” (Mem. 3.13.1) Gray (1998, 168) also notes that Xenophon describes Socrates’ procedure in a way akin to wisdom literature: And I go through the treasures of the wise men of old, which they wrote and left behind in books, reading them together with my friends, and if we see anything good, we pick it out. (Mem. 1.6.14)

Approaching the Memorabilia 35 Gray well compares how Isocrates describes the useful sayings he selects from the poets and sophists for delivery to Demonicus (To Demonicus 51). Most of the Memorabilia is made up of units rather longer than what we would find in wisdom literature, but Gray notes that later rhetorical handbooks gave ample instruction in how to expand chreia into longer texts (1998, 110–113), and argues that the conversations of the Memorabilia are better considered as expanded chreiai than as shrunken dialogues (1998, 107). As wisdom literature aimed for breadth rather than depth, and prized innovation in form rather than in subject matter, the common complaint that the Memorabilia is often banal and disorganized would not have been relevant to ancient readers, who would have expected as much from a collection of wise words of advice (Gray 1998, 159). In Gray’s view, then, Xenophon’s contribution was to “socraticize” the genre, not only by developing chreiai into lengthy conversations, but by introducing Socratic modes of argumentation and unconventional elements in Socrates’ thinking. This makes for what Gray terms a “revolutionary advance in the literary expression of wisdom” (1998, 191). But it was use of the pre-existing wisdom literature tradition that enabled Xenophon to introduce Socrates to more conventional readers. It is, however, important not to exaggerate the importance of the wisdom literature tradition. Works in that tradition tended to be very loosely organized indeed; Gray (1998, 171–172) calls our attention to Isocrates’ admission in his Antidosis (68–69) that in his To Nicocles, unlike his other works, individual passages were disconnected from one another, the better to allow his individual bits of advice to be quickly comprehended. The result reads rather like a bloated version of Polonius’ speech to Laertes (Hamlet I.iii.58–81). But short, isolated anecdotes or pieces of advice are the exception rather than the rule in the Memorabilia. And the conventionality of Xenophon’s Socrates has been overemphasized. Even if we limit ourselves to method rather than content, there are major ways in which Xenophon’s Socrates goes beyond the wisdom literature tradition. Socrates’ description of his taking the best bits from other writings, while redolent of the wisdom literature tradition, contains a vital addition: he goes through such books with friends (Mem. 1.3.1). Consider also that Euthydemus, who had gathered up a wide range of books and followed a plan similar to Isocrates’ advice to read widely, is subjected to the most devastating refutation in Xenophon’s Socratica (Mem. 4.2). Thus, for Xenophon’s Socrates real wisdom required something more than an anthology of wise sayings. It therefore seems to me that it is better to speak of a secondary influence of the genre on Xenophon, and on his reader’s expectations. Gray herself well formulates this approach as something she calls a “minimalist position.” The minimalist position is that the expectations based on experience of earlier wise men as reflected in wisdom literature were at work when

36 Approaching the Memorabilia the Athenians put Socrates to death and when Xenophon wrote to clear his name, and they should be part of the explanation of the image produced. (Gray 1998, 177) Particularly when buttressed with the evidence of the el-Hibeh papyrus, this minimalist position appears secure. And even if wisdom literature was only a secondary influence on Xenophon’s Memorabilia, Xenophon’s willingness to use techniques from this popular tradition distinguishes him from Plato, who is so often at pains to distance his writings from other prose genres. As Andrea Nightingale (1995) has argued, Plato seems to have felt the need to mark out philosophy as a new discipline and way of life with its own literary genre, a genre distinct from and superior to traditional prose and poetic genres. Xenophon was much less concerned with distancing his writings from non-Socratic genres. Xenophon’s use of Prodicus’ tale of Heracles at the crossroads (Mem. 2.1.21–33) is a clear example of his willingness to appropriate a set rhetorical piece when he found it a fitting way of showcasing Socratic ideas. Plato allows the sophists to speak as well, as in the Protagoras, but not without subjecting them to Socratic scrutiny. Xenophon did not share Plato’s worry about distinguishing philosophy as a separate genre and a separate way of life.9 Developments within the Socratic circle While Xenophon was open to influences from outside the Socratic movement, his Socratic writings were certainly influenced by other Socratics. Livio Rossetti has powerfully emphasized the importance of the Sokratikos logos as a genre and called for scholars to read extant Socratic works in the light of generic expectations. Rossetti (2011, 26–31) has estimated that the first generation of Socratics published at least 200 titles divided into more than 250 separate books, of which more than half were devoted to Socrates. While Rossetti’s numbers are certainly speculative, it is clear enough that Sokratikoi logoi appeared in large numbers in the 4th century, large enough to constitute a body of work that would have established certain expectations for readers and authors. Rossetti (2011, 41–49) argues that internal evidence in Plato and Xenophon suggests that certain types of Socratic discourse had been standardized during Socrates’ own lifetime, as had the habit of retelling noteworthy Socratic conversations. The most striking evidence for Rossetti’s thesis comes in references to retold Socratic conversations in Plato’s Symposium (172a–173b) and Theaetetus (142c–143c); in both cases we are told that Socrates himself was consulted about the accuracy of the account, and in the second case the conversation was put in writing. The Socratic dialogue as we know it would thus be a crystallization of a common oral practice dating back to Socrates’ own day. Xenophon’s Memorabilia would

Approaching the Memorabilia 37 be a natural development from this practice of retelling Socratic conversations, as it is made up largely of Xenophon’s report of conversations Xenophon claims that he heard himself. Xenophon could well have heard others report versions of Socrates’ conversation during Socrates’ own lifetime; and one can also well imagine Xenophon reporting conversations of Socrates himself. This is not to say that Xenophon’s recollections were accurate, or meant to be received as such. We will consider what to make of such claims later in this chapter. The point to note now is that the reminiscences that make up Xenophon’s Memorabilia may have taken a form common among the early Socratic writers, rather than seeming an outlier in a world otherwise dominated by Plato’s dialogues, which are never presented as Plato’s memories. The Socratic movement also provides a number of possible formal parallels for the basic format of the Memorabilia: multiple short conversations bundled into single books. Diogenes Laertius knew of twenty-five (or twenty-three) dialogues in a single book by Aristippus, though he is also credited with other, perhaps competing, lists of works (D.L. 2.83–84). Diogenes knew of seventeen dialogues by Crito, again gathered together into one book (D.L. 2.121). Simon the shoemaker was credited with thirtythree dialogues in a single book (D.L. 2.122–123); Plato’s brother Glaucon was credited with nine dialogues in one volume, with some thirty other works being regarded as inauthentic; and Simmias of Thebes was credited with twenty-three dialogues in a single volume (D.L. 2.124). To fit within a single volume, these dialogues would have been brief, and Rossetti (2011, 27) notes the resemblance of these collections of short dialogues to Xenophon’s Memorabilia. We have no fragments from any of these dialogues, and the books mentioned by Diogenes Laertius may have been later compilations, like the nine Thrasyllan tetralogies of Plato or the ten tomoi of Antisthenes.10 But Simmias and Aristippus, at any rate, were important intellectual figures, and hence there is no good reason to doubt that they wrote something; and scholars of late have argued for the reality and import of Simon.11 The humble, elderly Crito seems a less likely candidate for a Socratic author, and it seems difficult to believe that Diogenes would be our only source had Plato’s brother been an author. Still, with this much smoke there was likely some fire. This makes it likely that short Socratic conversations were in circulation in the first decades after the death of Socrates, a possibility also supported by the el-Hibeh papyrus. We cannot now recover the literary form in which these short dialogues were presented. But there are, in addition to the basic similarities (collections of shortish Socratic dialogues), some important differences between these collections and the Memorabilia. First, each of these figures is credited with a single volume of dialogues, none of which volumes has a title of its own. This suggests that the only unity these dialogues had was their shared author: any and all dialogues written by each was gathered into one omnibus text. The titles of the dialogues gathered in these volumes also do not

38 Approaching the Memorabilia suggest much in the way of internal coherence or structure. Most are typical philosophical topics, presented in the most concise and abstract manner—On the Good, On Love, On Beauty, and the like— though some include proper names. The sequence and arrangements of titles do not show any very clearly conceptual coherence, though there is a certain association of thought across some adjacent titles. The Memorabilia, as we shall see, does contain rather more in the way of internal structure. Finally, most of these one-volume omnibus editions included far more dialogues than any of the books of the Memorabilia, suggesting that most of the dialogues in these volumes were even shorter than the conversations of the Memorabilia. The other short Socratic dialogues known to us are the pseudoplatonic dialogues, several of which (Halcyon, Sisyphus, On Virtue, On Justice) are roughly the length of some of the longer chapters in the Memorabilia. But these were not part of any larger literary whole, and most of them likely date to well after Xenophon’s day. Thus, our fragmentary suggests that short Socratic dialogues were in circulation in Xenophon’s day, some perhaps bundled into single volumes, but that Xenophon broke new ground by combining short Socratic conversations into a more unified literary whole, the Memorabilia. Before looking more closely at the Memorabilia itself, we will look at the most Socratic work by Xenophon’s near contemporary, the orator Isocrates. Isocrates’ Antidosis In 353, the eighty-two-year-old Isocrates wrote his Antidosis, a fictitious account of a trial modeled on that of Socrates. Isocrates tells us that he had lost a real trial at which an opponent successfully argued that he was skimping on his financial obligations to the Athenian state.12 This unjustified verdict opened his eyes, Isocrates says, to widespread misunderstanding of what he was about, the liberal education in public speaking and statesmanship that he terms philosophia. But rather than publishing an account of his actual defense speech, Isocrates wrote the Antidosis as a defense against an accusation which, as he informs us himself, was entirely fictitious: that he corrupted the youth by teaching them how to win unjust verdicts, and was paid lavishly for doing so. Isocrates’ work probably postdates Xenophon’s Socratic works (the last known date referenced in any Xenophontic work is an event from 355), but it provides numerous parallels to Xenophon’s Memorabilia, is full of allusions to Socrates, and includes attacks on certain types of Socratic. It can thus show us some of the rhetorical tools available to Xenophon. While no stranger to self-praise, Isocrates recognized that such praise could turn people off, and repeatedly notes that envy is one source of the opposition to him; the defensive setting enables him to justify himself without appearing unduly conceited. Xenophon is also aware of the danger of envy—which is one of the reactions Socrates provokes, intentionally, in

Approaching the Memorabilia 39 Xenophon’s Apology (32), where Socrates is not at all interested in securing acquittal.13 But in the Memorabilia Xenophon can employ a defensive stance to present Socrates’ virtues without courting envy, rather as Isocrates does in the Antidosis (Gray 1998, 73). Isocrates takes full advantage of the scope real-life Athenian trials allowed for litigants to discuss their whole lives, making frequent use of rhetorical amplification to repeat the same points. Isocrates uses his fictional accuser, Lysimachus, and other vague enemies as convenient strawmen for him to tear down. Gray finds this quite similar to the use Xenophon makes of “the accuser” and the other opponents of Socrates in the first book of the Memorabilia (Gray 1998, 68–73). Thus, Isocrates, inspired by two historical cases, his own trial and the trial of Socrates, creates an entirely fictitious one, complete with a fictitious rhetorical opposition, in order to present a defense of his entire way of life. Isocrates shows how one contemporary of Xenophon adapted the potential of a forensic frame to make his wider case. Isocrates’ case against Lysimachus is fictional. Does that mean that Xenophon’s is, too? The upshot of Gray’s argument is that the accusers of Socrates in the Memorabilia are roughly as fictional as Isocrates’ make-believe Lysimachus. As we’ll see in the next chapter, this is a welcome departure from the scholarly tendency to see Xenophon as reactively passively to specific historical charges, albeit charges made after the trial, primarily by the Athenian sophist Polycrates. But I think we should hesitate to draw a bright line between fact and fiction in this way; and while I agree with Gray that we should not identify the accuser of the Memorabilia with Polycrates, neither should make him a figment of Xenophon’s imagination. The most plausible view, to my mind, is that Xenophon developed arguments raised at the trial in the ways that best suited his own purposes. Xenophon does not, after all, tell us that his accuser is fictional, as Isocrates does. Xenophon’s use of forensic fiction is also more limited in scope than that of Isocrates; Xenophon introduces his Memorabilia as a commentary on the trial, and loosely refers to various accusers, but then, after the first two chapters of the Memorabilia, abandons the forensic format. So while Isocrates shows how freely a writer could make use of the generic constraints of trial oratory, in the bulk of the Memorabilia, Xenophon chooses to leave those constraints behind. I would suggest that he found those constraints somewhat more restrictive than Isocrates chose to make them. But Isocrates’ creative use of a forensic framework to present his Apologia pro vita sua provides an example how the courtroom genre could be expanded, and thus parallels Xenophon’s use of that framework in his Memorabilia. Old and new If the Memorabilia seems strange to us, then, this is largely due to accidents of survival, lack of attention to Isocrates, and the dominant influence of

40 Approaching the Memorabilia Plato. Xenophon’s Memorabilia developed from multiple origins and under a variety of influences. We may, following Kurke’s lead, characterize some as low-status prose or oral traditions, including the memoirs of Ion of Chios, Aesopic fable, and wisdom literature. From these Xenophon could have taken the relatively loose structure of his work, the concept of a narrator relating individual memories, the chreia as one unit of discourse, and much of his relatively popular subject matter. Another inspiration was forensic oratory, which provided the trial of Socrates as a frame for the work, one which could encompass a broad account of the defendant’s virtues. Another broad stream of influence came from within the Socratic circle. If the Sokratikos logos is the written form of oral retellings of Socrates’ conversations during Socrates’ own lifetime, the putatively remembered conversations of the Memorabilia would reflect the original form of the Socratic dialogue. And if early Socratics had already shared collections of short Socratic conversations, the overall form of the Memorabilia would also have been familiar. Finally, Isocrates shows us how creatively a writer could make use of a forensic framework, suggesting possible parallels and contrasts for Xenophon. Thus, the Memorabilia is not a failed philosophical treatise, or a failed Socratic dialogue. Xenophon was working in different traditions, with different goals. And while these generic influences explain why Xenophon’s work differed from Plato’s, they did not dictate the form of the Memorabilia. Xenophon drew broadly from a number of different traditions to create a new form of Socratic work, a collection of Socratic arguments and conversations introduced by a narrator determined to defend Socrates and show the comprehensive range of his benefits to one and all. We turn now to see how Xenophon made use of that narrator.

Xenophon’s narrator Xenophon’s narrators and other narrators The Memorabilia is unique among Socratic works in featuring an external narrator, a narrator who speaks in the first person but is not himself a character in the story he relates.14 Plato’s dialogues often feature internal narrators, characters with identities of their own who take part in the conversation or frame narrative. Socrates narrates all of the Charmides, Lysis, Euthydemus, and Republic, and all of the Protagoras after a short introductory dialogue. Apollodorus narrates the Symposium, Cephalus of Clazomenae narrates the Parmenides, and Phaedo of Elis narrates the Phaedo after a brief conversation with Echecrates.15 Aeschines of Sphettus also utilized Socrates as an internal narrator in at least one work (Alcibiades). Socrates is the most active of Plato’s narrators; he comments, often ironically, on his own reactions; reveals the motivations of other interlocutors; and even admits to having cleaned up various arguments (as at

Approaching the Memorabilia 41 Republic 1.350c–d). Aeschines’ Socrates similarly comments on his own strange ability to aid Alcibiades (SSR VI.53, Alcibiades frg. 12). Other Platonic narrators are less active, save for Phaedo, whose presence at Socrates’ death lends his account greater emotional heft, culminating in his famous praise of Socrates at the end of the dialogue. Xenophon’s narrator is closest in spirit to Plato’s Phaedo, and his praise of Socrates as the best, wisest, and most just of men at the close of the Memorabilia is quite reminiscent of Phaedo’s words at the end of the Phaedo. Xenophon’s narrator is also quite active, as we shall see, if not always in the same ways Phaedo or Socrates are active in Plato. But an external narrator like that employed by Xenophon differs from internal narrators because he brings a certain air of objectivity to what he narrates, as he is not identified with the particular subjective point of view of a character within the narration, and he is not obviously distinct from the author. Xenophon’s narrator appears to buttress his claim to authority by claiming to have been present at the conversations he relates. In addition to his five explicit claims to have heard or been present at conversations in the Memorabilia (Mem. 1.4.2, 1.6.14, 2.4.1, 2.5.1, 4.3.2), the narrator implies that the bulk of the Memorabilia is based on his memories of Socrates. •

•

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At 1.3.1 the narrator says that he will tell all that he remembers about how Socrates was useful to his companions. This marks the whole of the Memorabilia after the direct defense of 1.1–1.2 as memories of the narrator. At 2.4.1 and 2.5.1 the narrator says that he also heard the following conversation. This implies that he had heard much or all of what preceded as well. Xenophon uses the same formula to introduce the Oeconomicus. On seven occasions the narrator asserts that he knows that Socrates spoke in such and such a way (οἶδα at 1.2.53, 2.9.1, 2.10.2, 3.3.1, 4.4.5, and 4.5.2; συνοἶδα at 2.7.1). These are not quite claims to autopsy, as the narrator could conceivably base his knowledge on the reports of others, but they come pretty close.

Thus, all of the Memorabilia, and particularly all of the Memorabilia after the defense of Socrates in its first two chapters, is implicitly based on the narrator’s recollection of Socrates. It is noteworthy that the narrator twice uses λέγεται (“it is said” 1.2.30, 1.2.40) to distance himself from conversations he reports during the first two chapters. One of these, the conversation between Alcibiades and Pericles (1.2.40–46), would have had to take place before the death of Pericles in 429, and hence is indeed the sort of thing Xenophon, born around 430, could hardly have witnessed himself. The other, Socrates’ criticism of Critias’ improper pursuit of the lovely Euthydemus (1.2.29–30), cannot be dated, but may also have taken place

42 Approaching the Memorabilia around the same time.16 And the narrator is careful not to claim autopsy for one key event in Socrates’ life, his trial. On both occasions he discusses the trial, he names Hermogenes as his source (Apol. 2, Memorabilia 4.8.4). Xenophon himself was off battling for his life in Asia at the time, as would have been very well known. So the narrator’s caution regarding the trial, as perhaps his caution regarding early conversations with Alcibiades and Critias, lends his other claims to autopsy a certain plausibility, and also suggests that we are expected to identify the narrator with the Xenophon who was too young to remember a conversation with Pericles, and who marched with Cyrus and thus missed the trial of Socrates. As we have already seen, Ion of Chios provided a precedent for a narrator who was present at the conversations he recounts and comments on the characters in those tales, but plays no role in those conversations himself, at least as far as we can reconstruct today. There is, on the other hand, no good evidence for this sort of external narrator in the works of the other Socratics.17 The closest we get to such evidence comes when Xenophon, introducing a conversation in which Socrates made an interlocutor moderate about the gods, says that others have related conversations on this theme that they witnessed (Mem. 4.3.2). But this could be a reference to oral accounts of Socratic conversations, or to Socratic dialogues in simple dramatic form that Xenophon took to be eyewitness accounts. Xenophon’s remark that others were present for the conversations they relate does, however, suggest that he did not regard an eyewitness narrator as anything out of the ordinary. And the relatively common use of internal narrators in Plato is, as we have seen, one of the main factors leading Rossetti (2011) to conclude that the Socratic dialogue as a literary form developed from a living tradition of retelling remembered conversations of Socrates. If Rossetti is correct about that, it would have been entirely natural for Xenophon to present the conversations of the Memorabilia as his memories. So while Xenophon’s decision to employ an external narrative may have been unprecedented in Socratic writings, it was probably in keeping with the oral tradition about Socrates. Xenophon’s half-credible narrator Xenophon’s narrator is, however, not as straightforward as he seems. There are two ways in which the narrator appears distinct from Xenophon himself. The first is that some of the narrator’s claims to autopsy do not fit the chronology of Xenophon’s life. This is clearest for the claims to autopsy in the Symposium and Oeconomicus. The narrator claims to have been present for the dinner party that is the subject of the Symposium, but that party honored a victory in the Panathenaic games of 422, when Xenophon would have been no more than eight years old, and thus very unlikely to have been present, much less to have remembered what he saw had he been present.18 In the Oeconomicus (4.18), we encounter a striking anachronism when the

Approaching the Memorabilia 43 narrator says he overheard Socrates discuss the death of Cyrus the Younger, who died at Cunaxa in 401. Xenophon was present himself at the death of Cyrus—which is precisely why he could not have heard Socrates discuss it in the two years remaining in Socrates’ life, years during which Xenophon remained far from Athens. Given how well-known Xenophon’s role in that expedition must have been, this particular anachronism was presumably intentional. One conclusion is that Xenophon claims autopsy in the Memorabilia in an effort to lend credibility to his narrative, but that he does so ineptly by claiming to have been present at conversations he could not have witnessed, not to mention many conversations that probably never took place at all (so Dorion 2000, XXIX–LII). But a fuller awareness of the wider literary context, including Xenophon’s use of a narrative voice in his other works, suggests an alternative response.19 Xenophon’s narrator does more than claim autopsy, and when he does claim autopsy this claim need not have been taken literally to be effective. To better see this, let us turn to the second problem raised when we identify Xenophon with his narrator. In the third chapter of the Memorabilia, the narrator has Socrates discuss the fearsome dangers of kissing with a man named… Xenophon, who appears reluctant to accept Socrates’ teaching (1.3.8–13). What are we to do with this third-person Xenophon? One logical response is to deny that this Xenophon is the same Xenophon who wrote and narrates the Memorabilia, a response suggested by Livio Rossetti (1975, 1997). Rossetti believes that he has found a lost Xenophon, born some decades before the famous Xenophon. Rossetti (1975) also argues that this lost Xenophon is also the Xenophon to whom Aspasia dispenses marital advice in Aeschines’ Aspasia, as the famous Xenophon was married after 394, by which point Aspasia was likely dead. But Rossetti’s hypothesis would fail to account for a far more significant third-person Xenophon in a work narrated by Xenophon—the Anabasis. In that work an external narrator tells the tale of Cyrus’ expedition, which increasingly becomes the tale of Xenophon.20 Xenophon further complicates the status of the Anabasis narrator by mentioning, in an aside in his Hellenica (3.1.2), that an account of the return of the 10,000 had been written by a certain Themistogenes of Syracuse, a figure otherwise completely unknown to us. While there is much uncertainty here, we have no good reason to reject Plutarch’s view (On the Glory of the Athenians 345e) that Xenophon attributed his own work to Themistogenes to provide greater credibility for his account of his own deeds. “Themistogenes” was presumably a pseudonym meant to be seen through, as was the device of an external narrator. Xenophon certainly did not hide his identity very carefully in Anabasis. He plays an increasingly dominant role in the work, and the idyllic description of Xenophon’s subsequent life at Scillus (5.3.7–13) must have come from “a source close to Xenophon”—a source too close to be anyone but Xenophon himself.21 We might compare how Plato’s

44 Approaching the Memorabilia Socrates playfully attributes myths or arguments to others in ways pretty clearly not to be taken literally, including his evil twin in the Hippias Minor.22 Julius Caesar would adopt a similar technique by describing himself in the third person in his account of the Gallic wars.23 Rossetti’s chronological argument about the Xenophon in Aeschines’ Aspasia is similarly weak, for similar reasons. It is true that if Aspasia was born c. 470 (Nails 2002, 58), it would be surprising for her to be giving Xenophon marital advice—and presumably at Scillus, far from Athens—after 394. But in the Menexenus Plato was happy to have Aspasia draft a funeral speech for Socrates that recounts Athenian history through 387—twelve years after Socrates himself was dead. The Socratics were not exactly slaves to chronology, as was already well known in antiquity (Athenaeus 5.216d–218e). There is, then, no compelling reason to follow Rossetti in positing a separate, historical Xenophon as an individual distinct from the Xenophon who fought beside Cyrus and then wrote the works that have come down to us. A more complex approach has recently been put forward by Benjamin McCloskey (2017), who argues not for the existence of a separate historical figure named Xenophon but for separate narrators across the Xenophontic corpus, narrators who are at once distinct from each other, from the author, and from the appearances of Xenophon in the texts. In the case of the Socratic works, McCloskey argues that neither the Symposium nor the Oeconomicus can be narrated by Xenophon; the Memorabilia and Apology share a narrator, who could be Xenophon. But McCloskey’s main arguments for making these distinctions in the Socratic works are chronological ones, and we have just seen reason to doubt that Xenophon intended his chronological pointers to be taken literally.24 And in the case of the Socratic works, McCloskey has yet to articulate how readers who carefully make such narratological distinctions would come to significantly different readings of these texts.25 Xenophon’s use of his narrators is more playful, I suspect, than either Rossetti or McCloskey allows for. The Anabasis narrator is only formally distinct from Xenophon the character and Xenophon the man. In an era well before the rise of narratology—there is no Greek word that readily translates “narrator” in our sense—readers may have readily assumed an identity between author and an anonymous external narrator.26 This is not to say that they trusted everything they read, but rather that they did not pick up a work assuming the need to distinguish carefully between Xenophon as author, narrator, and character: leakage between these levels would be the rule rather than the exception. If we stop to think of it, we know that the narrator is really Xenophon; but we do not always stop to think of it, so the external narrator does provide an air of objectivity. Thus, in the Anabasis Xenophon employs a third-person narrator to lend a certain credibility to the account of his own words and deeds, but not to lay claim to complete objectivity. Given that Xenophon only appears once in the third person in the Memorabilia (1.3.8–13), his choice of an external

Approaching the Memorabilia 45 narrator for the entire work cannot have been designed to frame the one passage in which Xenophon appears as a character (pace Bevilacqua 2010, 18–20). But when Xenophon’s narrator claims to have heard or been present at Socratic conversations, these claims are also meant to boost his credibility. The credibility strategy in Xenophon’s Socratic works is in some sense the converse of that he employs in the Anabasis. In the Anabasis, Xenophon distances the narrator from the events he describes, events in which Xenophon actually played a leading role; in the Socratic works, the narrator claims to be present at some Socratic conversations he could not have been present for, even had they really occurred.27 Xenophon uses different strategies because he did not need to convince readers that he knew what happened to the 10,000, and so never claims autopsy—as he never does within his Hellenica or Agesilaus, despite having been present for some of the most important events those works describe. But he did apparently need to convince readers that he had first-hand access to Socrates. So he depersonalized his account of the 10,000 to lend it objectivity, while claiming personal knowledge of Socrates to assure readers of his authority about Socrates. Both the narrator’s presence by Socrates’ side in the Socratic works and his absence from the scene in the Anabasis are thus half-credible claims to credibility. Both are playful. But in the Socratic works there were some limits to how far Xenophon was willing to go in claiming autopsy. Xenophon’s narrator does not claim to have witnessed the trial of Socrates. Xenophon was hundreds of miles from Athens at the time, as many of his readers must have known. Xenophon’s absence from Athens was not sufficient in itself to prevent him from claiming autopsy to a Socratic conversation, however: the narrator of the Oeconomicus reports a conversation that referenced an event that took place during Xenophon’s time in Asia—the death of Cyrus (Oec. 4.18). So this same absence cannot have been the only reason his narrator cites Hermogenes as his source for the trial of Socrates. Why, then, does the narrator avoiding claiming autopsy for the trial, while claiming it for the rest of his account of Socrates? There are at least two ways of explaining why the trial is different. We may take a literary approach, and argue that Xenophon wanted to filter his account of the trial of Socrates through the character of Hermogenes, a prominent follower of Socrates with characteristic interests of his own. By showing how Socrates convinced Hermogenes, who originally believed that Socrates should attempt to defend himself vigorously, that the wiser course was to speak boastfully, Xenophon models how readers should be persuaded by his own work. Thomas Pangle (1985) applies this approach to argue that the choice of Hermogenes, a marginal figure in society due to illegitimate birth, allowed Xenophon to present Socrates is less conventional terms. I will argue in chapter three that Pangle’s case is not strong: Xenophon’s presentation of Socrates in the Apology differs mainly in tone, not in substance, and those differences are dictated by Xenophon’s different goals in the two works, not by the character of Hermogenes.

46 Approaching the Memorabilia The other approach is to consider the trial’s status as a historical event. The trial of Socrates was a different sort of event from the Socratic conversations that make up the bulk of the Memorabilia. The trial was a public, famous affair; so too Xenophon’s absence from Athens as he took part in the expedition of Cyrus was the most famous event in his life. A claim to autopsy that incongruously combined the best known events in the life of Xenophon and Socrates would be most jarring—it could not even be half-credible. And the trial was a concrete, specific historical event, a unique event in the life of Socrates and the history of Athens, not just one of many conversations he had over the years. It was thus of singular importance in understanding Socrates. This may have put Xenophon under historical constraints he did not feel applied elsewhere.28 A similar constraint may have applied in the case of the two conversations Xenophon reports at second hand early in the Memorabilia, that between Critias and Socrates (1.2.30–31) and that between Pericles and Alcibiades (1.2.40–46). The second of these took place when Xenophon was very young; the first may have. Mere chronology, though, was not enough to lead Xenophon to avoid false claims to autopsy. I would suggest that in these cases, too, we are dealing with famous historical actors, and what may have been famous conversations. This may well have dissuaded Xenophon from claiming autopsy. By contrast, the conversations elsewhere in Xenophon’s Socratic works are important not because any single one of them played a pivotal role in Socrates’ life, but because there are examples of how Socrates helped his companions (cf. Mem. 1.3.1, 1.4.1), how he dealt with different types of potential students (Mem. 4.1), how he behaved himself in lighter moments (Symposium), or what he said about oikonomia (Oeconomicus). With these conversations, Xenophon is vouching for the sort of man Socrates was, and the sorts of things he used to say or would have said when confronted with a certain type of question or problem, or a certain type of interlocutor. One can do this without providing an accurate account of a specific conversation. Hence, the Oeconomicus can include a clear anachronism. And while Xenophon may have avoided claiming autopsy for a conversation about Critias’ pursuit of the handsome Euthydemus, he was quite willing to claim autopsy for Socrates’ philosophical seduction of Euthydemus, which presumably occurred at about the same time (Mem. 4.2). This is because Euthydemus was more a type—the gifted student who prided himself on education—than a historical individual whose historical timeline Xenophon felt some obligation to respect. Xenophon’s clearest claim to historical accuracy in the Memorabilia implies something of this sort. All those who know what sort of man Socrates was and seek after virtue even now continue to miss him more than anyone, believing him to be most beneficial to them for their pursuit of virtue. In my view he

Approaching the Memorabilia 47 was as I’ve described him (ἐμοὶ μὲν δὴ τοιοῦτος ὤν, οἷον διήγμαι): so pious that he did nothing without the guidance of the gods; so just that he did not do the least harm to anyone at all, but did the greatest benefit to those who dealt with him; such a master of himself that he never chose the pleasant in place of what was better; so prudent that he never made a mistake in judging what was better and what worse and never needed anyone’s help, but was self-sufficient in judging these things, capable of discussing and distinguishing them, and able to test and refute others who were wrong about such things, and to turn them toward virtue and nobility (kalokagathia). In my view he was the best and happiest sort of man one can be (ἐδόκει τοιοῦτος εἶναι, οἶος ἂν ἄριστος τε ἀνὴρ καὶ εὐδαιμονέστατος). If anyone isn’t satisfied with this, let them compare the character of others to his and then judge what I’ve said. (Mem. 4.8.11) The emphasis is on the sort of man Socrates was, on his virtues, his capabilities, and his character. It is this that Xenophon claims to have depicted. Xenophon did not expect readers to believe that he was personally present for Socratic conversations and could provide verbatim transcripts of them. The Apology also begins with a historiographical statement: everyone who has discussed the trial has agreed that Socrates was boastful, which shows that this is the way he actually spoke. The claim that Socrates was boastful at his trial in 399 is more specific than the general statements about his virtues at the end of the Memorabilia. But the Apology claim is still rather general; while Xenophon says that all agree about Socrates’ tone at the trial, he does not claim that everyone fully agrees about the content of what Socrates said. And it is a good thing he makes no such claim, as his account of the trial differs from that of Plato in important respects, as we shall see in chapter three. Thus, even where Xenophon’s account is at its most historical (at least inasmuch as his cites a source for events he could not have witnessed himself) his claim to historical accuracy has its limits. Xenophon is thus making what we might call a qualitative claim to accuracy, claiming to show the sort of man Socrates was and the sort of attitude he took when on trial for his life. His claims to autopsy also enable him to claim a personal connection to Socrates. This connection does not necessarily mean that his account is more accurate than others: it rather means that this account is indeed his. This is clearest in one of Xenophon’s six claims to autopsy. First of all he would attempt to make his companions moderate about the gods. Now others have reported what Socrates said about this, in their presence, to other people. But I was present when he had the following conversation with Euthydemus. (Mem. 4.3.2)

48 Approaching the Memorabilia As those others were also present at Socratic conversations, Xenophon’s presence put him on no better footing than they were. What he is claiming is that this account is his own, that he himself is responsible for it. When Xenophon reminds us that his memories are the basis of the Memorabilia, he is claiming that he is the real author of the work, that he is responsible for what is said in it, based on his memories of Socrates, and that his account is not simply derivative of other accounts. We are not often in a position to evaluate Xenophon’s independence from his literary sources, given the loss of the bulk of Socratic literature. But when we do have one of Xenophon’s sources, as in the case of Plato’s Apology and Symposium, it is clear that Xenophon felt free to differ from his fellow Socratic. The claim to autopsy thus serves as a pre-emptive attack against those who might consider Xenophon’s account of Socrates to be derivative. This was a relevant claim to make in Xenophon’s day, given that many others had already written about Socrates. It also rather presciently anticipated the attitude taken during much of the last century, when Xenophon’s works were so often treated as sources for lost Socratics, above all Antisthenes, rather than the writings of a Socratic with his own views on Socrates. By his use of an external narrator, then, Xenophon maintains that his account of Socrates is “controlled by his personally acquired sense of who Socrates was and what he stood for” (Cooper 1999, 14). Putting the narrator to work The narrator does things beyond claiming autopsy. The most frequent use Xenophon makes of his narrator is to introduce and summarize the individual conversations of the Memorabilia, thus helping to structure and unify the work. In addition to presenting Socratic conversations in direct discourse, the narrator also reports Socrates’ words in indirect discourse, summarizes Socrates’ ideas, and argues for Socrates on his own behalf. Most of the first book of the Memorabilia, in fact, is couched in the voice of the narrator rather than in direct accounts of the words of Socrates, for Socrates did not wish to defend himself against the forensic argument raised in 399, as Xenophon explains at the outset of his Apology, while Xenophon did want to defend Socrates. The narrator takes a back seat in much of the rest of the Memorabilia, to reappear again toward the end of the book, a pattern Pelling (2017, 242) has noted is common for Xenophontic narrators, something quite clear in the Cyropaedia and also true, if perhaps to a lesser degree, of the Hellenica. But even in the midst of the Memorabilia the narrator not only introduces and summarizes conversations, but also recounts plot elements, allowing Xenophon to quickly summarize little vignettes by telling rather than showing what happened, just as his summaries of Socratic ideas allow for economical presentation of Socrates’ views. The narrator thus both provides a voice in support of Socrates other than Socrates’ own voice and

Approaching the Memorabilia 49 enables Xenophon to summarize Socrates’ words and deeds more efficiently than he could have done using the direct dialogue form. In one passage from the Memorabilia, as we have seen, the narrator allows for an implicit contrast between Xenophon as narrator and Xenophon himself as a young man (1.3.8–13). In both the Anabasis and the Memorabilia, Xenophon portrays himself, in his interactions with Socrates, as a foolish and headstrong youth. In the Anabasis, as we saw in the introduction, Xenophon shows that as a young man he twisted Socrates’ advice to consult the oracle in order to ensure the oracle’s support for his plan to join Cyrus. In the Memorabilia, the young Xenophon does not recognize how dangerous kisses from young beauties can be—so much so that he would eagerly kiss the beautiful son of Alcibiades. Socrates calls him a fool (ὦ μῶρε 1.3.13), using blunter language than Socrates uses of anyone else in Xenophon, but also implying considerable intimacy between young Xenophon and Socrates. The episode demonstrates that Xenophon did indeed have first-hand experience with Socrates—lending a certain plausibility to his other claims to have witnessed Socratic conversations (Pelling 2017, 253). But this young Xenophon is also distinct from the older narrator, whose views had developed considerably in the meantime. The older Xenophon, the authorial voice of the Memorabilia, recognizes the erotic dangers minimized by his youthful self, as he shows by praising Socrates’ advice to the contrary. Xenophon—as character and narrator—is thus a prime example of a man who benefitted from the wisdom of Socrates. Finally, the narrator’s act of recollection provides a model for the activity of readers. Remembering Socrates is, for the narrator and others who knew Socrates, an immensely beneficial experience. And Socrates was so useful in every matter and every way, that it would be obvious to anyone considering this, even if he is only of average perception, that there was nothing more useful than to associate with and spend time with Socrates, wherever he was and whatever he was doing. For even remembering him in his absence provided no little help to those who were accustomed to spend time with him and follow him. (Mem. 4.1.1) Here, precisely speaking, the benefits from remembering Socrates are limited to those who had associated with Socrates during his lifetime. But elsewhere Xenophon speaks of benefits from Socrates to all who know what sort of man he was (Mem. 4.8.11), and has Socrates speak of the benefits of reading (Mem. 1.6.14), so it seems safe enough to conclude that Xenophon expected readers to benefit from Socrates as well. Remembering Socrates is not only to look back to some past event, but to call Socrates to mind in the present, as a guide in the pursuit of virtue and a source of more practical advice. If we call Socrates to mind we can learn from him as Xenophon did, and this is an activity modeled for us by Xenophon as narrator.

50 Approaching the Memorabilia Thus, Xenophon’s use of a first-person narrator has its roots in the storytelling tradition exemplified by Ion of Chios, and probably reflects a habit of retelling Socratic conversations during Socrates’ lifetime. The narrator helps Xenophon structure and unify the Memorabilia, and economically presents a wide range of Socrates’ words and deeds. Use of a narrator allows Xenophon to articulate his own defense of Socrates, a defense distinct from anything Socrates did say, or would have said. The knowing narrator provides a contrast with the naïve, youthful Xenophon whose foolishness is exposed by Socrates in the Anabasis and Memorabilia. The narrator’s claims to autopsy are, like the playful distinctions between narrator, author, and character, rhetorical half-truths—but they are half true, giving us the sort of man Socrates was, even if they do not report his ipsissima verba. Finally, claims to autopsy mark these Socratic reflections as Xenophon’s own, and model for readers the ways in which their own reflection on Socrates can be of benefit.

The structure of the Memorabilia As the Memorabilia is unique amongst extant works on Socrates, it has a unique structure that has often puzzled readers. Readers who come to Xenophon’s Socratic works via the Penguin translation of Robin Waterfield (1990, 53) or the revised Loeb edition by Jeffrey Henderson (2013, 3) will still be told that the work is poorly organized. But in recent years, other scholars have reached a fair degree of consensus about the its basic structure.29 The two largest parts of the Memorabilia are reasonably clear. Xenophon first defends Socrates against the legal charges against him (1.1–1.2), then writes up all he remembers about how beneficial Socrates was (1.3–4.8). The Greek word for recollections, the key theme of the second and far larger part of the work, provides the title for the whole, Apomnemoneumata, a title Diogenes Laertius says that Xenophon gave it himself (D.L. 2.48). The recollections also have a fairly clear internal structure. Xenophon first introduces Socrates’ positive teaching on the very issues at stake at his trial: piety, the explicit focus of the charge against him; and self-mastery (enkrateia), the trait that Xenophon takes to demonstrate that Socrates never corrupted anyone (Mem. 1.3–2.1). He then shows him engaged with a wide range of interlocutors on a variety of topics (books 2 and 3), before providing a more extended account of how Socrates educated one model student, Euthydemus (book 4). We might call the first section an account of Socrates’ character, the second an account of how he applied his philosophy to benefit others, and the third an account of his educational program. The last chapter returns to the trial and concludes the entire work. So a first pass at outlining the Memorabilia would thus look like as given in Table 1.1. This broad outline does not explain every transition within the work, however—far from it. As we saw above, Xenophon emphasizes the variety of ways in which Socrates was of benefit. This in turn produces a variety of organizational principles. Some passages are grouped together by related

Approaching the Memorabilia 51 Table 1.1 Basic structure of the Memorabilia Defense: 1.1–1.2 Recollections (apomnēmoneumata): Socratic piety and enkrateia: 1.3–2.1 (character) Help for family, friends, leaders, etc.: 2.2–3.14 (applied philosophy) Educational program, mainly with Euthydemus: 4.1–4.7 (education) Conclusion: 4.8

content, as when Socrates discusses friendship with a variety of interlocutors in 2.4–2.10. Others are linked by an individual interlocutor, as Euthydemus in book 4, or a type of interlocutor, like various men seeking political office (3.1–3.7). Memorabilia 1.4.1 suggests that we may also classify some passages by the different approaches taken by Socrates, refuting know-it-alls, or being more didactic with daily companions, though it is less clear how these alternatives help organize what follows.30 As Xenophon’s goal is to show variation along so many variables, it is not terribly surprising if we sometimes find it difficult to understand how a section fits together. When all else fails, we can still usually uncover an association of thought linking one conversation to the next. This is hardly the strongest of organizational principles, yet, given Xenophon’s interest in showcasing Socrates’ versatility, even that response could occasionally be salutary. “To think that Socrates was also helpful like that!” may sometimes have been precisely the reaction Xenophon was looking for. A full commentary on the Memorabilia would be required to discuss every organizational question. I will thus limit myself to two broad sorts of structural issues. The first and largest issue is the relationship between the initial defense of Socrates and the recollections that make up the rest of the work. This led to the hypothesis that the defense was published first, and the rest of the Memorabilia added later, perhaps much later. The second is the problem of apparent repetition. Sometimes Xenophon appears to be circling around to the same lessons again and again. Compare Hippias’ complaint about Socrates, that he is always saying the same things about the same things (Mem. 4.4.6–7). The problems are in some sense the flipsides of each other: either Xenophon fails to connect the disparate pieces of the Memorabilia or his pieces are so similar that they are redundant. But I will argue, building on the work of others, that the Memorabilia is neither disconnected nor redundant. From defense to recollection Erbse (1961) argues that the recollections respond to the charges made in the first two chapters of the Memorabilia. Later commentators have built

52 Approaching the Memorabilia Table 1.2 Defense and response in the Memorabilia Defense (1.1–1.2)

Response in “recollections” (1.3–4.8)

Charges in the indictment 1. Piety (1.1.2–20)

Following local customs: 1.3.1–4 Divine design: 1.4, 4.3 Peroration on Socrates’ virtues: 4.8

2. Corruption of character (1.2.1–8)

Enkrateia: 1.3.5–15, 1.5, 1.6, 2.1, 4.3 Peroration on Socrates’ virtues: 4.8

Attacks by “the accuser” (Polycrates?) 1. Contempt for lot, laws (1.2.9–11)

Advice to Athenian leaders: 3.1–7 Defense of legality: 4.4

2. Corruption of Critias and Alcibiades (1.2.12–48)

Education of Euthydemus: 4.1–4.3, 4.5, 4.6, 4.7

3. Rejection of useless fathers, relatives, friends (1.2.49–55)

Importance of family, friends: 2.2–2.10

4. Abuse of poetry in pursuit of tyranny, contempt of poor (1.2.56–61)

Value of poor friends: 2.5, 2.7–2.10; Criticism of tyranny: 3.9.10–13; 4.6.12

Table 1.3 Piety and enkrateia 1.1 (piety) and 1.2.1–8 (enkrateia) 1.3.1–4 (piety) and 1.3.5–15 (enkrateia) 1.4 (piety) and 1.5 (enkrateia) 4.3 (piety) and 4.5 (enkrateia)

on his work, challenging it in many details but finding the approach useful on the whole.31 Table 1.2 shows my effort to see later chapters of the Memorabilia as indirect responses to the various charges Xenophon first addresses at the beginning of the work. Xenophon breaks the charges in the indictment into two broad categories, impiety and corruption, and he believes that Socrates’ teaching on enkrateia (self-mastery) is the best response to the corruption charge. Piety and enkrateia are then discussed in paired groupings that help structure the work (see table 1.3). Thus, where Plato formally subordinates the corruption charge to the impiety charge by having Meletus agree that Socrates corrupted the youth through irreligious teaching (Apology 26b), Xenophon treats the corruption charge first and foremost as a matter of character.

Approaching the Memorabilia 53 Xenophon further develops the corruption charge by raising a number of accusations he attributes to an anonymous accuser, traditionally identified with the Athenian sophist Polycrates. Xenophon does not explicitly link passages later in the Memorabilia to these charges, but their relationship is clear enough in general terms. Xenophon never explicitly rejects the first of the anonymous charges, the claim that Socrates attacked the use of the lot, thus providing grounds to think that Socrates did attack it. But he does show Socrates productively engaged with various men holding or seeking leadership positions at Athens in book three, and in 4.4 he provides a fulsome defense of the rule of law. Xenophon also never explicitly discusses Critias and Alcibiades again; and the absence of Alcibiades from the bulk of the Memorabilia is noteworthy, given his prominent role in Plato and other Socratics. But Xenophon introduces the education of Euthydemus in book four with language that is reminiscent of Alcibiades, who, like Euthydemus, was young, handsome, wealthy, and ambitious; the bulk of book four thus provides us with a positive counterexample to the failed students Critias and Alcibiades. Xenophon also never explicitly rejects the third anonymous charge against Socrates, the claim that he made utility the most important factor in relations with family members. But he does show Socrates reconciling his own son with Xanthippe, as well as reconciling brothers, and he emphasizes the importance of friendship in 2.4–2.10. Finally, Socrates’ use of poetry is not a major topic elsewhere, but the other parts of that charge, abuse of the poor and advocacy of tyranny, are addressed elsewhere. Several of the conversations about friendship in book two praise the value of impoverished friends, and Socrates’ conversations with artisans and even the hetaera Theodote have been taken to show his willingness to be helpful to non-elites. And he clearly distinguishes tyranny from monarchy—to the detriment of tyranny—at 3.9.10–13 and 4.6.12. Thus, the majority of the later part of the Memorabilia is clearly enough connected to the direct charges against Socrates raised in the first two chapters of the work. There are advantages to leaving the relationship between the defense and the recollections somewhat vague. For there is some truth to the political charges against Socrates, as we will discuss in greater detail in the next chapter. Xenophon’s Socrates presumably does consider the lot a foolish way to choose public officials, and he does not think that affection or family ties should trump utility as a basis for friendship. Xenophon manages to address such charges without either admitting Socrates’ guilt or lying on behalf of his client. His strategy is to first provide, in the opening chapters of the Memorabilia, a direct defense to those aspects of the charges he can refute directly. Then, in the rest of the Memorabilia, he makes a positive case for Socrates that addresses the general concerns raised by the charges while leaving their specifics behind. The best defense for Socrates is a good offense. Now the fact that a later passage responds to a charge earlier in the Memorabilia does not mean it does not play other roles. Xenophon’s concern with showing Socrates’ beneficence in all of its variety is the central organizing

54 Approaching the Memorabilia Table 1.4 Recollections not obviously connected to the charges 1.6 1.7 3.8 3.9 3.10 3.11 3.12 3.13 3.14

Antiphon questions Socrates On imposture (alazoneia) The good and the beautiful Virtue as wisdom Conversations with artisans Conversation with the hetaira Theodote Physical training A master as fit as his slave Gluttony

principle for the recollections, and it sometimes leads him to discuss issues of less direct relevance to the defense. It is thus unsurprising that some chapters are harder to assign to one or another of the charges against Socrates. Table 1.4 provides quick summary of the chapters omitted on the chart above. Socrates’ encounter with Antiphon in 1.6 and his remarks on imposture (alazoneia) in 1.7 raise and reject new accusations against Socrates, Antiphon’s charge that he had failed to cash in on his wisdom or provide practical political advice, and the related charge that Socrates was therefore a poser. Both of these charges reflect misunderstandings of Socrates’ enkratic way of life. The investigation of key moral terms in chapters 3.8 and 3.9 builds on Socrates’ pious and practical interest in human questions (cf. 1.1.16), rather than in inscrutable and impious natural philosophy. Socrates’ definitions in 4.6 and his urging his companions to study only useful matters in 4.7 are part of the same thought pattern. They also respond to the charges inasmuch as Euthydemus is a sort of anti-Alcibiades. The final chapters of book 3 (3.10–14) have been taken to show that Socrates was a friend to the common people, which would address the fourth of the “Polycratean” charges above.32 But while Socrates’ conversation partners there are varied, they are either prominent practitioners of their crafts or aristocratic friends of Socrates, and are thus not particularly common. They thus differ from the humbler acquaintances in book two. Socrates’ advice to artisans in 3.10 and the courtesan Theodote in 3.11 more clearly demonstrate the striking range of Socrates’ usefulness. And the final chapters of the book (3.12–3.14) provide advice about regimen (diaitia) grounded in self-mastery, returning us to that theme. But as the recollections do not only serve to defend Socrates, but to show the many benefits he provides, we should not expect every conversation to directly address a specific charge against him. Not just repetition, but amplification We come to our second problem, Xenophon’s tendency to address the same issue a number of times. Even if the Memorabilia does not, upon reflection, seem that episodic, it may still appear repetitive. For example, Xenophon

Approaching the Memorabilia 55 Table 1.5 Full outline of the Memorabilia Defense [1.1.1 → 1.2.64] Impiety 1.1.2 Orthopraxy 1.1.2–5 The daimonion 1.1.6–9 Divination 1.1.10–15 Against the Presocratics 1.1.16 Habitual pursuit of human things 1.1.17–19 Keeping oaths 1.1.20 Conclusion re piety Corruption 1.2.1–8 Enkrateia 1.2.9–11 The accuser: Lottery and laws 1.2.12–48 The accuser: Alcibiades and Critias (Alcibiades, Critias, Pericles) 1.2.49–55 The accuser: Useless relatives 1.2.56–61 The accuser: Abuse of poetry and the poor Conclusion 1.2.62–64 Conclusion of defense against legal charges Recollections [1.3.1 → 4.1.1] Character 1.3.1–4 Piety 1.3.5–18 Enkrateia 1.4 Piety (Aristodemus the scoffer) 1.5 Enkrateia 1.6 Philosophy, pay, politics (Antiphon) 1.7 Imposture (alazoneia) 2.1 Enkrateia (Aristippus) Help for family, friends, and leaders Family 2.2 Mothers and sons (Lamprocles) 2.3 Brothers (Chaerecrates) Friendship 2.4 Value of friends 2.5 One’s own value as friend (Antisthenes) 2.6 Choosing and winning friends (Critobulus) Friends [2.7.1→] 2.7 Putting womenfolk to work (Aristarchus) 2.8 Seeking supervisory work (Eutherus) 2.9 A poor friend vs sycophants (Crito and Archedemus) 2.10 Another valuable poor friend (Diodorus and Hermogenes) Leaders [3.1.1→] 3.1 On learning tactics 3.2 Making followers successful 3.3 On commanding cavalry 3.4 Economics as basis for leadership (Nicomachides) 3.5 Restoring Athenian greatness (Pericles Jr.) 3.6 Prerequisite knowledge for leadership (Glaucon) 3.7 Encouraging a man diffident about politics (Charmides) (Continued)

56 Approaching the Memorabilia Table 1.5 (Continued) Definitions, artists, regimen Definitions 3.8 The fine and the good (Aristippus) 3.9 Virtue and knowledge Help for artists [3.10.1→] 3.10 Painting, sculpture, armor (Parrhasios, Cleiton, Pistias) 3.11 The hetaira and her friends (Theodote) Regimen 3.12 Physical training (Epigenes) 3.13 As fit as a slave 3.14 Gluttony Education [4.1.2→] 4.1 Different approaches for different types 4.2 Recruiting Euthydemus (Euthydemus) 4.3 Piety (Euthydemus) 4.4 Justice (Hippias) 4.5 Enkrateia (Euthydemus) 4.6 Definitions (Euthydemus) 4.7 Limits on advanced learning (Euthydemus) Conclusion 4.8.1–10 Socrates’ approach to his trial (Hermogenes) 4.8.11 Peroration: Socrates as a role model of the virtues

devotes at least four substantial passages in the Memorabilia to enkrateia (1.3.5–15, 1.5, 1.6, 2.1, 4.3); he gives two different versions of the argument from design (1.4 and 4.3); and he has Socrates rattle off definitions in two different patches of the Memorabilia (3.8–3.9, 4.6). Friendship is repeatedly discussed in the first chapters of book two, and leadership in the first chapters of book three. Xenophon rarely provides cross-references, and each individual discussion appears to be an independent. Here we can benefit from Vivienne Gray’s discussion of the rhetorical technique known as amplification.33 Gray argues that when Xenophon returns to a recurrent theme, he does not simply repeat himself, but further develops what has come before, while also managing to suit the conversation to the new interlocutor. This results in Socrates’ teachings becoming progressively more sophisticated as the work goes on, a development facilitated by the presence of Euthydemus as a model student in the fourth book of the Memorabilia. Amplification also plays the humbler role of rendering the Memorabilia more easily digestible. Individual passages are not solely repetitive, but do repeat enough of the prior argument to make each treatment of a given theme intelligible in itself. With amplification Xenophon is able to retain readers who might find themselves lost in a treatise, while presenting a text that other readers can analyze themselves to produce a more comprehensive account of Socrates’ views. In chapter four, when we consider the various passages on Socrates’ moral psychology, we will see how successive treatments of related themes build on one another.

Approaching the Memorabilia 57

Outlining the Memorabilia No outline is going to capture all the structural flexibility of the Memorabilia. But Table 1.5 above provides what might be called a structured table of contents. Socrates’ interlocutors, as well as some other individuals central to a passage, are listed in parentheses. Where the structure is based on explicit remarks by Xenophon, I underline the heading and provide the reference to the relevant passage or passages. Thus, “Recollections: [1.3.1 → 1.4.1]” means that at 1.3.1 Xenophon characterizes what follows as his recollections of Socrates, and at 1.4.1 he appears to sum up and thus close that section. “Help for artists [3.10.1 →]” indicates that Xenophon introduces such help as a topic, but that no explicit conclusion to this section is present in the text: in this case it is difficult to say whether the next chapter, starring the hetaira Theodote, is a continuation on the same theme. And of course where no such framing remarks are provided, the structure I suggest can be questioned.

Conclusion The Memorabilia is a unique work. It aims to provide us with a comprehensive defense of Socrates not only by showing that he was innocent of the charges against him but by demonstrating the range and variety of the benefits he provided to all who dealt with him. No other Socratic work known to us shared these goals or employed the tools Xenophon devised to accomplish them. Xenophon built on precedents from a wide variety of different genres, but he produced something that was, as far as we can now judge, quite new. If the Memorabilia does not regularly feature the literary qualities that make Plato’s dialogues such masterful philosophical dramas, neither do Plato’s dialogues make as clear a case for Socrates’ innocence or usefulness. Xenophon, moreover, could write literary, dramatic Socratic dialogues when he chose to do so, as he did with the Oeconomicus and Symposium. But in writing the Memorabilia he had different goals and used different means to reach them. The Memorabilia form went on to have a long life in philosophical literature, from the Memorabilia of Crates by Zeno, the founder of Stoicism and admirer of Xenophon’s Memorabilia (D.L. 7.3), to Arrian’s collection of the conversations of Epictetus.34 Major ancient writers recognized the merit of Xenophon’s approach, and we should as well.

Notes 1 On this “indirect approach,” see chapter two, page 94. 2 Plato’s Republic is of course a masterpiece of unrivalled breadth and depth, but not many scholars regard its content as particularly Socratic. 3 Dorion (2000, XVIII–XCIX) provides an assessment of criticisms made of the Memorabilia, most of which he rejects. 4 So Graham (2008).

58 Approaching the Memorabilia 5 Pelling (2007, 76–77) is more skeptical of Ion’s influence, but he does not address the fundamental formal parallel with the Memorabilia, a first-person narrator recalling conversations and making observations about the characters in them. 6 J. H. Hordern (2004, 26–27), Sophron’s most recent editor, argues for a limited similarity between Sophron and Plato and suggests, given the scurrilous nature of many of Sophron’s mimes, that the tradition linking Sokratikoi logoi with mime may have originated in an attack on Plato. A reader for the press suggested the possibility of lost comedic Sokratikoi logoi. 7 The papyrus text was published in 1955 but was apparently not known to Gray in 1998; I learned of it only thanks to a reader for the press. McOsker (2018) provides a new critical edition, and my account is indebted to him throughout. 8 McOsker notes that other plausible candidates include Aristoxenus or a Cynic source, though the text does not appear to take a severe enough line against material wealth to make the later likely. 9 On Xenophon’s attitude to philosophy, see Moore (2018b). 10 On Thrasyllus’ tetralogies, see Tarrant (1993); on Antisthenes’ writings, see Prince (2015, 120–130). 11 On Simon, see Sellars (2003). His historical existence is at least partially confirmed by the discover of what are very likely the remains of his shop at the edge of the Athenian Agora (Thompson 1960). 12 Athenians called upon to make large contributions to the Athenian state could sue other Athenians who had not been called upon to do so, claiming they were richer and thus better suited to make the contribution. The defendant could either (a) agree to settle by making the contribution himself or exchanging estates with the litigant or (b) have a court decide which man should pay. The procedure was known as an antidosis (“giving in exchange”). 13 On envy and Xenophon’s Socrates, see Azoulay (2018, 157–160) and O’Connor (2011). 14 For an introduction to the types of narrators in Greek literature, see De Jong (2004). 15 On Plato’s narrators, see Morgan (2004). 16 The conversation took place before Critias was a member of the Thirty (in 404), but we cannot be sure how long before 404 it took place. If Critias was born around 460, as is generally believed (Nails 2002, 108), he would have been considered too old to be chasing Euthydemus long after 430—though his pursuit of Euthydemus was apparently uncouth in some respect. 17 Kahn (1996, 33) suggested that Antisthenes (SSR VA.198) also claimed autopsy; but see Huss (1999a, 68–69) and Prince (2015, 678). 18 This anachronism has led some to attempt to push Xenophon’s birth date back well before 430 (discussion in Huss 1999a, 67–69). Doing so, however, would call into question our most significant piece of evidence for Xenophon’s date (his claim that he was young for a general—hence presumably under 30—in 401 (Anab. 3.1.14, on which see Huitnik and Rood 2019, 9). Given that the Oeconomicus anachronism cannot be explained away in this manner, it makes little sense to trust an implied date in a genre known to welcome anachronism (the Sokratikos logos: see below) over an explicit date in a work that makes at least some claim to historical accuracy. Pushing back Xenophon’s date of birth before 430 would also make Xenophon implausibly longer-lived, given the fact that he was still writing in 355. 19 For recent work on Xenophon’s narrators, see Pelling (2017), Rood (2017), and McCloskey (2017).

Approaching the Memorabilia 59 20 On the narrator in the Anabasis, see Bradley (2010), Grethlein (2012), and Pelling (2013). 21 “A source close to Xenophon” implied for Scillus: Pelling (2013, 41). Pelling is however noncommittal, given our ignorance of the original circumstances of the publication of the Anabasis, about whether readers would have known that the work was authored by Xenophon (Pelling 2017, 260). Flower (2012, 53–57) argues that readers were to recognize that Xenophon was the author. 22 Morgan (2004, 371). 23 For a comparison of the use of narrators in Anabasis and Caesar’s Bellum Gallicum, see Pelling (2013). 24 In the case of the Symposium, McCloskey adds that all those present are compelled to speak, and hence that the narrator, if present, must have spoken and thus be a named character. McCloskey plumps for Critobulus (2017, 626–629). But the Syracusan impresario is not compelled to speak; although he is a marginal character, and thus not part of the required round of speeches, it would not be out of the ordinary for Xenophon to consider himself marginal. Though present at all (or most) of the Socratic conversations in the Memorabilia, after all, the narrator appears at most in only one of them (if he is the Xenophon of 1.3.8–13). 25 To be fair, McCloskey’s hypothesis about the narrator of the Cyropaedia (the main topic of his article) would help explain the central mystery of that text: the narrator is a non-Socratic dupe who fails to see through Cyrus or understand how Persia could have declined so rapidly upon his death. 26 Whitmarsh (2013) argues that when reading ancient texts we should expect playful overlap, particularly in fictional autobiography, and avoid strict adherence to the “antiseptic formulae” (244) of narratology. 27 It seems unlikely that Xenophon would have been present a conversation in which Socrates discusses Xanthippe with his son (Mem. 2), for example. 28 Xenophon similarly sources his account of the secret trial of Orontas in Anabasis 1.6.1–11 to Clearchus, the only Greek who was present; cf. Baragwanath (2017, 281n3). 29 For largely positive accounts of the structure of the Memorabilia, see Gray (1998, 123–158), Dorion (2000, CLXXXIII–XXCL), and Bevilacqua (2010, 10–62). One major difference among them is that Bevilacqua remains partial to the view that 1.1–1.2 were composed separately, a view considered below. 30 On the difficulties in identifying passages via the rubric of 1.4.1, see Johnson (2005, 41–43). 31 See note 29 above. 32 This view goes back at least to Erbse (1961), and is accepted, with certain modifications, by Dorion (2000, CXCIX, CCIV) and Bevilacqua (2010, 38–39). 33 Gray (1998 passim), but see in particular 16–25, 34–40, 53–58, 123–157. 34 The title of Arrian’s major work on Epictetus is unknown, perhaps because he did not provide one himself (Long 2002, 42–43), but Stobaeus appears to have referred to it as the Apomnemoneumata (the Greek title traditionally rendered as Memorabilia) which Long observes is a better (because more Socratic) title than the Diatribes (Diatribai) found in more manuscripts. Arrian’s Anabasis of Alexander and On Hunting were even more clearly inspired by Xenophon.

2

Defending Socrates

Starting with Xenophon Plato’s Apology may be the most inspirational philosophical text ever written. As an exhortation and introduction to the examined life, it can hardly be bettered. Yet as an account of a trial it leaves much to be desired. To understand any trial, we need to understand both sides of the case, and Plato’s Apology is a very poor guide to the arguments for the prosecution. Socrates’ direct confrontation with the formal charges of 399 BC takes up a very small part of the work (Apology 24b–26a, about 10% of the whole), and tells us far more about Plato’s Socrates and his typical mode of argumentation than about his prosecutors. Socrates’ treatment of what Plato has him call the first accusers, the men who had attacked him for years before the trial, is no less one-sided: they are dismissed even more quickly (Apology 19a–20c). These observations are not criticisms of Plato. They are not even, necessarily, arguments against the historicity of Plato’s account, for Plato and Xenophon agree, as we shall see, that Socrates made no real effort to secure an acquittal, so it is likely that he did not say much about the charges against him at his trial. But if we care about the trial of Socrates as a trial, and not solely as a springboard for brilliant and dramatic philosophy, we need to look elsewhere. Xenophon’s own Apology is also not the best place to look. It is a brief work, with a clear focus: showing how and why Socrates chose not to defend himself in a way likely to secure acquittal. It thus does not purport to give us anything like a complete account of the trial. But in the lengthy opening chapters of the Memorabilia, Xenophon provides us with what is far and away our most important evidence for the trial of Socrates. Here are the main points I hope to demonstrate from my reading of those chapters. •

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Xenophon’s account of the trial aims to be comprehensive; it addresses not only the formal charges against Socrates, but the political and religious subtexts for those charges. Xenophon’s defense is a defense of Socrates against the charges made against him at the time of his trial in 399 BC, not simply a contribution to the literary debate that sprung up after his execution.

Defending Socrates 61 •

•

•

•

While responding to charges actually in the air in 399, Xenophon does not passively react to them, but effectively manipulates the internal opposition he introduces into his text so as to best make the case for Socrates.1 While Xenophon’s defense is comprehensive, Xenophon often responds to charges without explicitly naming them, the better to avoid highlighting problems for Socrates.2 He also sometimes leaves specific aspects of individual charges unaddressed in the defense itself, believing that his best course is to implicitly admit their truth while minimizing their immediate impact. Xenophon writes as an advocate for Socrates, not a historian of philosophy. While rhetorically adept, Xenophon’s account is also responsible. He is willing to raise specific aspects of charges that he cannot refute, and he reveals some of Socrates’ more controversial views, if most often later in the Memorabilia. But he argues, in the defense itself and in the rest of the Memorabilia, that Socrates’ overwhelmingly beneficial role far outweighs any forensic weaknesses in his case. Because it is comprehensive, historical, and responsible, Xenophon’s defense of Socrates also reveals a great deal about the case against Socrates. He shows why so many Athenians were convinced by the charges against Socrates, while denying that those Athenians were right to be convinced.

Starting with the Memorabilia It has often been argued that Xenophon’s slight Apology was written before his much more substantial Memorabilia,3 and hence it may seem strange to discuss the account of the trial in the Memorabilia before turning to the Apology. But we have no sound evidence for the chronology of Xenophon’s Socratic works, either in absolute terms or relative to one another, and none whatsoever for the relative dating of the two accounts of the trial.4 We do, however, have some grounds for determining an implied reading order. In his Apology, Xenophon addresses readers who are already sympathetic enough to Socrates to wonder why he did not defend himself well; this is not a question one normally asks about a guilty man. The audience Xenophon imagines for the Memorabilia, on the other hand, presumably includes readers still open to the attacks against Socrates; otherwise Xenophon would not spend so much time summarizing and refuting such arguments. To convince these skeptical readers, Xenophon mounts a lengthy direct defense of Socrates (Mem. 1.1–1.2), and does a much better job of defending Socrates than he allows Socrates to do on his own behalf in the Apology. Once this defensive case is made, the Memorabilia can go over to the positive argument for Socrates. By the time we reach the end of the Memorabilia, Xenophon has so transformed his originally critical audience

62 Defending Socrates that they resemble the audience he starts with in the Apology and find themselves wondering why the obviously innocent Socrates was not warned by his divine sign in time to mount an effective defense (Mem. 4.8.1). If we read Apology first, however, there is no need for the opening question posed by the Memorabilia—what arguments enabled the prosecution to persuade the Athenians to execute Socrates—because Socrates had already all but executed himself with his boasting in the Apology. Thus, the Memorabilia ends by addressing the question, and the audience, that the Apology began with. The two works differ not because Xenophon changed his views, but because he changed his readers. Another reason to start with the Memorabilia is that all of Xenophon’s Socratic works, with the exception of the Memorabilia, begin with language that implies that they are part of a larger discussion about Socrates. I also heard him saying the following things about oikonomia. (“household management,” Oec. 1.1) It also seems worthwhile to me to call to mind how Socrates, when he had been indicted, took thought about his defense and the end of his life. (Apol. 1) But (ἀλλά) it seems to me that when it comes to deeds of fine and good men, not only those done in seriousness are worth relating but those done playfully. (Smp. 1.1) The formula introducing the Oeconomicus is exactly the same as that introducing the conversation in Memorabilia 2.4. The first sentence of the Apology, like that of the Oeconomicus, features not one but two connectives (δέ… καί), each implying we have an addition to something that came before, although it was not unknown for Greek texts to begin with such formulas. The Symposium also begins with a conjunction (on which see Huss 1999a, 61–62). By saying that not only the serious but the playful deeds of the kalokagathoi are worth recounting, Xenophon implies that their serious deeds have been recounted elsewhere; given that Socrates is clearly the central figure in the work, this presupposes that other works depicting Socrates’ more serious deeds were in circulation, and at least some of these other works are presumably by Xenophon himself. The Memorabilia is thus the frame within which all of the rest of Xenophon’s Socratic works should be considered. This implicit reading order does not prove that Xenophon wrote and published the Memorabilia first; he could have written it as a sort of prequel after writing one or more of his other Socratic works. But in the absence of any firm ground for publication order, the implicit reading order provides one intelligent way of approaching his Socratica.

Defending Socrates 63

Xenophon’s wonder at the charges (Mem. 1.1.1) Xenophon introduces us to his defense of Socrates as follows: I have often wondered what arguments those prosecuting Socrates could have used to convince the Athenians that he deserved to die. (Mem. 1.1.1) A speaker can express wonder to different ends. Xenophon is certainly astonished and indeed indignant that the Athenians found some reason to convict Socrates. This, of course, does not mean that he really found the Athenians’ decision surprising. As John Dillery (2018) has recently noted, Xenophon, Isocrates, and others often employed the language of wonder in order to present a particular observation as both surprising and self-evident. Inasmuch as it is surprising, readers need things to be explained to them by the author; but once they get that explanation, they will be spontaneously struck by the truth of what the author is claiming. Xenophon’s wonder here is, however, rather complex. The usual technique is to start with wondering about something puzzling and end with understanding.5 Thus, at the outset of the Constitution of the Spartans, Xenophon reports that he once wondered how Sparta managed to be so powerful despite her small population, but ceased to wonder once he understood the Lycurgan system. Rather similarly, Xenophon begins the Cyropaedia by noting how difficult it is to maintain power, which leads people to regard tyrants as wonderful if they manage to hold power for even a short time (1.1.1). But Xenophon’s researches caused him to change his mind and conclude that ruling need not be impossible or even difficult if one approaches it knowledgeably (1.1.3). Cyrus is truly worthy of wonder (1.1.6), but Xenophon’s wonder of Cyrus now appears not to reflect puzzlement but admiration for his achievement. In the Memorabilia, however, Xenophon does not cease to find the Athenians’ decision to execute Socrates an object of wonder. He instead repeatedly notes how amazing he finds their ability to consider Socrates guilty, given the obvious evidence for his innocence (Mem. 1.1.17, 20; 1.2.1). Xenophon’s goal is not so much to dispel wonder but to lead his readers to share it (Dillery 2018, 90–92). To demonstrate that Socrates’ conviction was truly astounding—astoundingly unmerited and unjust—Xenophon must, however, consider the arguments against Socrates in considerable detail. In doing so, he reveals far more about the case against Socrates than any other source.

Impiety (Mem. 1.1.2–20) Socratic orthopraxy (Mem. 1.1.2) After stating the legal charge against Socrates in a language very close to that in Plato (Apology 24b-c) and Diogenes Laertius (2.40), Xenophon asks what

64 Defending Socrates proof the prosecutors could have used to show that Socrates did not acknowledge the gods the city does. Xenophon responds that Socrates openly sacrificed, at home and at the city’s altars, and was also seen to make use of divination (cf. Apol. 11, Plato Euthydemus 302c–303a). This blanket statement of Socratic orthopraxy is the only explicit argument Xenophon makes to demonstrate that Socrates did in fact acknowledge the gods of Athens. The effectiveness of this argument will be dependent on what we take “acknowledge the gods” (θεοὺς νομίζειν) to mean. The phrase splits the difference between customary worship and customary belief; claims that Greek religion was all about rituals and not at all about belief accurately capture a contrast between Greek religion and modern monotheistic faiths, but exaggerate. One fundamental belief in Greek religion was precisely the belief that rituals were effective (Parker 2011, 31–39). So Socrates’ willingness to participate in private and public sacrifices, and to resort to normal forms of divination, not only demonstrates his orthopraxy but also suggests that he held orthodox views about these central cult practices—why else would he have bothered? As we shall see, Xenophon has plenty to say about Socratic beliefs in what follows, but it will often be less clear whether those beliefs are customary. The daimonion (Mem. 1.1.2–1.1.5) Socrates’ orthopraxy was or at least should have been apparent. His habit of saying that “the daimonion” (τὸ δαιμόνιον) gave signs to him was also well known, and Xenophon concludes that this was behind the charge that he introduced new divinities (καινὰ δαιμόνια Mem. 1.1.2; cf. Apology 12–13, Plato Apology 31c–d, Euthyphro 3b).6 Xenophon first attempts to defend Socrates’ invocation of the daimonion with a linguistic argument. Where others said that they were told to do or avoid something by sacrifices or birds or other traditional means, Socrates simply said that “the divine” (another perfectly sound translation of to daimonion, τὸ δαιμόνιον) gave him a sign (Mem. 1.1.4). So he traced the sign directly to the source, rather than stopping with one of the traditional intermediaries. No one believes, after all, that birds know what is going to happen, so it is not birds who give signs: Socrates’ way of speaking is thus more accurate. This linguistic argument is consistent with Xenophon’s usage elsewhere. Dorion has demonstrated that in Xenophon to daimonion is a substantive, referring to the divine in general (2013, 275–281). Xenophon uses the same expression (to daimonion) both for the source of the divine messages given to Socrates and for divinity in general, something difficult to distinguish from “the gods” (οἱ θεοί, as at Mem. 1.4.2, 10; 4.3.14, 15). In Xenophon, then, unlike in Plato, we are not dealing with an elliptical adjectival phrase, “the divine _____,” where “sign” (semeion) or some other term is required to fill in the blank. Xenophon can thus say that to daimonion told Socrates not to prepare a defense speech (Apol. 4) and later attribute the same message to the gods (Apol. 8).

Defending Socrates 65 Xenophon’s linguistic argument is sound enough, as far as it goes. What it elides from consideration, though, is that Socrates not only attributed the divine messages he received directly to their ultimate source, the gods, but also had a special channel to those gods, one open to him alone. These messages required no consultation of an oracle or seer, and came to him far more regularly than the other sorts of unsought divine signs recognized by convention (like the sneeze that Xenophon and the 10,000 took to be a good sign after Xenophon’s speech at Anabasis 3.2.9). The unique manner in which Socrates received divine messages naturally enough led some to think that Socrates had introduced new divinities. But it is hard to see how Xenophon could have done a better job of defending Socrates’ divine sign in conventional terms: Plato provides no such defense. And Xenophon will eventually give an explanation for Socrates’ superior access to the gods: Socrates, as a supremely pious individual, deserved such access (Powers 2009). Xenophon’s next argument uses Socrates’ divine sign to meet a charge Xenophon does not explicitly articulate, that of atheism. Socrates made use of the sign to advise many of his companions to do some things, and not do others; those who followed this advice never regretted it. Socrates himself would have been shown to be a foolish poser if he gave his companions such advice based on anything other than the gods. So he must have believed in the gods—and believing in the gods entails acknowledging them (Mem. 1.1.4–5). The argument is at least a more direct one than that in Plato’s Apology (26c–28a), where Socrates shows that if he believes in daimones (here understood as “minor divinities”), as Meletus asserts by charging him with introducing new daimonia (here “things having to do with minor divinities”) he must also believe in the gods who are the parents of daimones. Plato’s Socrates employs this argument to show that Meletus’ understanding of his charge is incoherent, rather than to draw any explicit conclusion about his own beliefs. Xenophon does something Plato does not: he connects the dots from Socrates’ belief in the daimonion to his belief in the gods. Xenophon’s reasoning here is, however, rather abstract. The assumption that Socrates could only have been confident if his advice was based on divine inspiration seems particularly questionable, given that Xenophon goes on in the very next section (Mem. 1.2.6–9) to suggest that human knowledge is the best basis for advice in many situations. And diviners and their clients had a wealth of responses other than loss of faith in the event that divination appeared to be faulty (Flower 2008, 107–108). But we should credit Xenophon the advocate with smartly addressing the atheism charge without explicitly raising it, thereby inoculating Socrates against the charge without even allowing it to be uttered. Xenophon carefully limits what he allows the prosecution to say, and arguably does it more artfully here than Plato, who has Meletus define the impiety charge as one of atheism under Socratic questioning. Meletus’ move opens him up to a quick

66 Defending Socrates Socratic rebuttal, as Socrates easily shows that Meletus is accusing him both of not believing in any gods and in believing in the wrong (new) gods. As we will see in the next chapter, Plato’s account here is questionable on two counts: many readers find Meletus’ response in Plato inept, and it is entirely possible that an Athenian jury would not have considered Socrates’ demonstration of logical flaws in Meletus’ argument an adequate response to the charge of atheism. Divination and human knowledge (Mem. 1.1.6–9) As a further defense of Socrates’ religiosity, Xenophon notes that he often sent his followers off to seek divination. While Xenophon says Socrates was seen using divination, he only shows him using the divine sign. But while the sign did sometimes allow him to advise his followers (a phenomenon we do not find in Plato), it did not provide them with all the advice they needed. Xenophon now pauses to carefully distinguish when Socrates thought divination was called for, and when it was not. The gist of his advice is that when we face a major decision, we should consult the gods about whether to do something; this is entirely pious and conventional, and shows that Socrates, despite his divine sign, was not hostile to traditional forms of divination. Indeed, Socrates famously sent Xenophon himself to the oracle at Delphi when he thought Xenophon was considering whether to join the expedition of Cyrus (Anab. 3.5–7). Socrates also believed that it is foolish to consult the gods about how to do something we have decided to do, at least when there is some art that tells us how to go about doing it. Punning on the verb δαιμονάω, Xenophon says that Socrates believed that both those who believe that everything is divine (daimonion) and therefore unknowable, and those who believe that humans can know everything, are possessed/insane (δαιμονᾶν). In fact, those who ask the gods to reveal things human knowledge can tell us are doing what is contrary to divine ordinance (ἀθέμιτα 1.1.9). One would have thought that it would suffice, to defend Socrates, to say that he actively encouraged the use of conventional forms of divination. But Xenophon gives equal attention to occasions where Socrates thought divination was not appropriate. Xenophon is at pains to distinguish Socrates not only from the irreligious but the superstitious, who would use divination where human reason is an adequate guide. We see this same pattern in the differences between Xenophon’s daimonion and the daimonion as it appears in Plato (Johnson 2017, 178–180): for Plato’s Socrates, the daimonion is customary (and hence comes often, unlike other messages from the gods), always says no rather than yes (unlike other divine messages), and applies solely to Socrates (again unlike other signs from the gods). Socrates’ divine sign could have made him seem not the paragon of rationality he has become for us but an example of superstitious excess. Compare the Euthyphro, where Plato distinguishes Socrates from a

Defending Socrates 67 religious crank (McPherran 1996, 34–35). As was the case when he argued that Socrates was not an atheist, Xenophon responds to an implicit charge against Socrates without granting it a direct hearing. Socrates was neither overly skeptical nor overly credulous. The public man (Mem. 1.1.10) Socrates was always out in public, Xenophon tells us, wherever he could meet the most people; he was usually in conversation, and anyone who wished could listen in. Socrates did not even spend the bulk of his time in one fixed public place, as would the leaders of the philosophical schools that followed him, but wandered through various parts in town in order to meet as many people as he could. In part, the stress on public life reflects the Athenian belief that a man’s real life should take place outside, in public, where he could readily be observed and judged by his peers: Athenian defendants often called upon juries to judge them by their public conduct (Cohen 1991, 81–82). But Xenophon is doing more than noting that Socrates respects this Athenian norm: he is again addressing a charge against Socrates that he leaves implicit, here the charge that Socrates had a secret teaching. In Aristophanes’ Clouds, students had to be initiated before being allowed into the phrontisterion, where they are taught to reject the gods of the city and to beat their fathers and mothers. Xenophon elsewhere emphasizes that Socrates made his views clear (Mem. 4.2.40, 4.4.1, 4.7.1), yet he will soon grant that some of his beliefs were not apparent to all (1.1.17). As Dorion suggests, the way to square this circle is to note that while anyone could listen in on Socratic conversations, Socrates took some care in choosing those he would speak to at greater length: in both Plato and Xenophon, this is part of the point of his not taking pay for his teaching, since that would obligate him to talk to anyone who paid his price.7 When Xenophon stresses how open Socrates was, he refers either to his teaching of Euthydemus (4.2.40, 4.7.1), who had passed the Socratic screening test by returning after being humiliated via the elenchus, or to how Socrates’ view of justice was revealed by his deeds (4.4.1). So, while Socrates spoke in the open, his views were not immediately intelligible to all. One of Xenophon’s main tasks is to make Socrates’ views clearer. Presocratic madness (Mem. 1.1.11–16) No one, Xenophon claims, ever observed Socrates saying or doing anything impious. He never discussed the nature of all things, as did most of the others, investigating the status of what the sophists call the “cosmos” and how every event in the skies is the result of some necessity; instead, he

68 Defending Socrates showed that those who concerned themselves with such things were madmen. (Mem. 1.1.11) “Most of the others” here are the sophists, in the vague sense of more or less suspect intellectuals, including the Presocratics with whom Socrates was conflated in Aristophanes’ Clouds. Investigation into the natural order was associated with impiety and atheism in the popular mind, as is clear from the Clouds and other evidence (including Laws 10.886b–e). Plato in his Apology (19b–d) treats this as one of the first and more serious accusations against Socrates, and has his Socrates simply deny any such knowledge, something he says can be confirmed by those who have heard him speaking. Plato’s Socrates also says that he does not condemn such knowledge, if anyone has it, a bit of irony that neatly manages to insult both anyone who was suspicious of Presocratic thought and anyone who believed their inquiries could lead to knowledge. Xenophon does not explicitly say that people accused Socrates of undertaking this sort of investigation, but he was certainly aware of the charges from Aristophanes (Oec. 11.3), and he here responds to them without allowing them to explicitly surface, just as he responded to the charges of atheism and superstition without explicitly raising them. Xenophon says that Socrates made three arguments against Presocratic natural philosophy. First, the Presocratics rather presumptuously turned to divine things (ta daimonia, another reference to the charge and the daimonion) as if they understood human ones, which he clearly believes they did not. Second, such matters are not intelligible to mankind (cf. Mem. 4.7.6), as is shown by the stark contradictions among the Presocratics. Finally, even if such things were knowable, they would have no practical value: even the Presocratics, Socrates implies, do not believe that they are going to learn how to make it rain. Socrates instead was always investigating human things; it is knowledge of the virtues and related concepts that makes one fine and good (kalos and agathos), while ignorance of such things makes one slavish (1.1.12–16). This passage from the Memorabilia has played a large role in the tradition that culminates with Cicero’s famous claim that Socrates “summoned philosophy down from the heavens and established it in cities and introduced it into homes and compelled it to investigate life and ethics and good and evil” (Tusculan Disputations 5.4.10; Vander Waerdt 1994; Long 2011, 358–359). Yet despite initial appearances to the contrary, Xenophon’s Socrates does not reject the study of nature tout court. He rejects that study as most people do it—that is, by those we call Presocratics (Vander Waerdt 1994; McPherran 1996, 280–281). This is why Xenophon explains Socrates’ arguments against the Presocratics; had Socrates rejected all forms of inquiry into the natural world, it would have sufficed to simply deny his involvement in such things, as Plato did. So if anyone aimed to whitewash Socrates when it comes to speculation about the natural world, it was Plato—though Plato’s whitewash is

Defending Socrates 69 complicated by Socrates’ ironic praise of such knowledge, not to mention the intellectual biography of the Phaedo (97b–99d). Xenophon’s Socrates will overtly engage in a form of natural philosophy when he makes the argument from design in Memorabilia 1.4 and 4.3. There must, therefore, be a way to do natural philosophy that results in something other than insane contradictions, and that has a practical value for human life. In 1.4 and 4.3, Socratic natural philosophy will be explicitly linked to a pious end—the gods’ design of the world to the benefit of mankind. Hence, Xenophon’s Socrates does not study nature like others do, both because he does not speculate about causes and the ultimate constituents of the world, and because when he does speak of the natural order it is to the pious end of showing divine design. Xenophon will, however, only unveil this fuller and more controversial picture of Socrates after defending him. We see here another important tactic in Xenophon’s defense of Socrates: he provides a quick initial defense to an accusation, while holding back his more positive account of Socrates’ relevant beliefs for later. By doing so, he distances the positive account of Socrates’ beliefs from the charges against him, limiting the possibility that readers will connect Socrates’ beliefs to the controversy about him. Open evidence about Socrates’ piety (Mem. 1.1.17–19) Xenophon begins the last section of his defense of Socratic piety by saying that it is no wonder if the Athenian jurors were wrong about views that Socrates did not publicize; he is, however, still amazed that they did not take into consideration Socrates’ brave attempt to prevent the illegal trial of the generals from Arginusae in 406, when he served as the presiding officer (epistates) of the Athenian Assembly.8 On that occasion, Socrates stood by his oath rather than unjustly bowing to the threats of the people, and attempted to prevent an illegal vote; for Socrates, unlike most people, believed that the gods know all that we do, including our silent deliberations, and give signs to people concerning all sorts of human affairs. The commentators Dorion (2000, 64n48) and Bevilacqua (2010, 272n43) argue that Xenophon here is contrasting Socrates’ well-known political views with his lesser known religious views. But politics is not directly relevant in this section of the defense, which is dedicated to Socratic piety. Rather, Xenophon is contrasting two aspects of Socratic piety, one clearer, one less so. In keeping his oath despite the threat to his life, Socrates very publicly followed a central tenet of Athenian religion.9 Xenophon himself stresses the pious imperative of keeping one’s oaths elsewhere, including at Cyropaedia 8.8.2–3 and Agesilaus 3.2–5. But while the jurors could see Socrates keeping his oath, just as they could see him performing public cult, they could not fully understand his reasoning for doing so without Xenophon’s help. Xenophon here implies that many try to wiggle out of oaths by making a pretense of abiding by them while recognizing, in

70 Defending Socrates their own minds, that they are playing false. But Socrates recognized that the gods would see through any such pretense. Rather remarkably, then, Xenophon takes Socrates’ famous resistance to the popular will and turns it into the capping argument for Socrates’ piety. The Athenians themselves came to regard their original decision about Arginusae as ill-considered (Hell. 1.7.35), but they had originally considered the effort to block the illegal trial as an affront to popular sovereignty (Hell. 1.7.22). Contrast Plato, who has Socrates discuss Arginusae to show why neither Socrates nor any other just man could risk engaging in politics under a democratic regime (Apology 31e–32c)—an argument hardly likely to convince an Athenian democrat of Socrates’ innocence. Thus, Xenophon takes a famous event in Socrates life that appeared to show him politically suspect and employs it to demonstrate Socrates’ piety. Xenophon now concludes his defense of Socrates’ religious views by restating his wonder at how the Athenians could have been persuaded that Socrates was not moderate about the gods, given that he did things that make one most pious, and win one a reputation for great piety (1.1.20). By using the same language about wonder with which he began the Memorabilia, Xenophon makes it clear that he has wrapped up one part of his argument, his direct response to the charge of impiety. By adding that Socrates’ words and deeds were most pious, he suggests that his argument has not only shown that Socrates is innocent but has begun to make the positive case for Socrates’ piety. In his defense of Socrates’ piety, then, Xenophon has not only met the explicit charges against Socrates but also addressed implicit charges of atheism, superstition, and Presocratic philosophizing; he has not only pointed to public the evidence the jury should have known but also explained the reasoning behind Socrates’ very public resolve to keep to his oath. By citing Socrates’ orthopraxy, defending his appeal to his daimonion, having Socrates’ explain his rejection of Presocratic natural philosophy, and turning the Arginusae episode into a demonstration of Socrates’ piety, Xenophon has shown himself a far better forensic advocate for Socrates than Plato. Xenophon has also laid the groundwork for his own more positive account of Socrates’ superlative piety, including Socratic versions of the argument from design (Mem. 1.4, 4.3) and divine law (Mem. 4.4.19–25). These arguments demonstrate that Socrates was extraordinarily pious, but do so by attributing extraordinary views to him—views which could, therefore, be considered unconventional and suspect. By putting off his more positive account of Socratic piety to parts of the Memorabilia outside the direct defense of Socrates, Xenophon will insulate them from the trial controversy, which allows him to show that Socrates was far more pious than most without running the risk of having Socrates’ extraordinary piety appear suspect.10

Defending Socrates 71

Corruption (Mem. 1.2) Character as a defense against corruption (Mem. 1.2.1–8) Xenophon also finds it amazing that some believed that Socrates corrupted the youth. For in addition to being pious, Socrates was most self-controlled, and could make do with very little income indeed. We may note first of all that while Xenophon also wonders about this aspect of the charge against Socrates, he could not say that it was obviously false, as he did by citing Socratic orthopraxy in defense of Socrates’ piety. He will, therefore, devote considerably more space to the corruption charge than he did to showing how pious Socrates was. And he certainly does not limit corruption to corrupt teaching on religion, as Plato’s Socrates manages to do in his interrogation of Meletus (Apology 26b). One implication of Xenophon’s claim here is that Socrates’ upright character removed any motivation for wrongdoing. Compare what Xenophon has Socrates say in the Apology (16): And who could you reasonably consider more just than one who is so in harmony with his circumstances, as to need nothing from anyone else? The same point is made by Antisthenes in Xenophon’s Symposium (4.42): To be sure, it’s likely that those who look to thrift rather than wealthy abundance are far more just. For those who are most pleased with what they’ve already got have the least desire for what others have. But in our Memorabilia passage, Xenophon emphasizes another point: a virtuous man like Socrates would not make others unlike him. Rather, Socrates put an end to such faults in others, and led them to expect that by following his example they too could become noble and good men (kalokagathoi). Teaching by example is a common theme across Xenophon’s works.11 If one teaches by example, and one’s own character is spotless, one can hardly have had a negative effect on anyone. Socrates’ character, therefore, does not merely prevent him from wrongdoing but forms the basis of his positive impact on others. Xenophon vs. Plato on corruption Xenophon and Plato treat the corruption charge very differently. They do so both because they present Socrates differently overall, and because Xenophon is far more interested in defending Socrates than Plato is. Despite being eager to demonstrate Socrates’ positive impact on his companions, Xenophon says that Socrates never claimed to teach

72 Defending Socrates kalokagathia, “noble goodness,” Xenophon’s term for the condition to which all decent men aspire (Mem. 1.2.2–3). This denial of teaching resembles similar claims made by Plato’s Socrates. But commentators chide Xenophon for inconsistency, given that his Socrates often does teach things, is reputed an expert in education (Apol. 26), and never claims to be ignorant (Dorion 2000, 73n67; Bevilacqua 2010, 277n6). Yet Xenophon’s account is not internally inconsistent, for Xenophon does not say that Socrates taught nothing, but that he did not claim to be a teacher of kalokagathia (Morrison 1994). There may be two distinctions at work here. The first is that Xenophon’s Socrates may be a teacher of some things but not of others. He is clearly a source for much prudent advice on friendship, leadership, and sundry practical situations. Moreover, he can define the virtues, or at least many virtues (Mem. 4.6), and confidently discuss the relationship between virtue and knowledge (Mem. 3.9). The fact that Socrates is always investigating ethical terms (Mem. 1.1.16), however, may suggest that he did not have a complete set of answers to all such questions. This lack of a complete set of answers may be one of the reasons he did not claim to teach kalokagathia. A second reason Socrates cannot teach kalokagathia is that kalokagathia may not be the sort of thing that can be taught by direct instruction, in the traditional manner of a teacher; this is why Xenophon’s Socrates relies on the power of his example. Now Xenophon’s Socrates will say that virtue is knowledge (Mem. 3.9.4–5), and if anything can be taught by direct instruction, it would be knowledge. As virtue is the basis of kalokagathia, we would expect kalokagathia to be teachable as well. But Xenophon also makes it very clear that one cannot acquire virtue without the right sort of character, without self-mastery (enkrateia 1.5.4–5). While Xenophon’s Socrates spends a great deal of time promoting enkrateia, it is a character trait that cannot be taught as purely cognitive matters can. Hence, in saying that Socrates does not teach kalokagathia, Xenophon seems to mean that self-mastery (enkrateia), the foundation of virtue (1.5.4), cannot be taught, save by exhortation and example; even if virtue is knowledge, if the precondition of virtue includes noncognitive elements, one cannot successfully impart virtue solely by teaching. Plato’s Socrates is far more of an intellectualist, so believes that virtue can be taught—but he also is aware of no successful teachers of virtue. We will see in chapter four that these differences between Plato and Xenophon may not be as fundamental as they appear, but differences there are, and differences about virtue naturally surface in the discussions of the charge about corruption. Plato’s Socrates does not so much defend himself against the corruption charge as make it the occasion for a short aporetic dialogue with Meletus. In his direct response to the formal charges (Apology 24b–28a), Socrates first leads Meletus to claim that all men benefit the youth save Socrates, a claim he refutes by analogy. He then shows that no one corrupts others intentionally by arguing that harming one’s fellow citizens is always

Defending Socrates 73 harmful to the one doing the harm, as he will unavoidably need to interact with these harmed, that is, corrupted citizens. This conclusion is formally positive (unlike those in the aporetic dialogues), but it would call into question any charge of voluntary wrongdoing, thus undermining the whole foundation of any legal system. Later on, Plato provides a more practical argument by having Socrates list his uncorrupted associates. Plato’s Socrates adds that any in the audience who have been corrupted themselves or would like to report that a family member was corrupted can come forward (Apology 33c–34b). Xenophon will also provide a list of Socrates’ virtuous associates (Mem. 1.2.48), and in Xenophon’s Apology (19) Socrates offers Meletus the chance to name anyone he has corrupted. The argument in Plato has impressed many (including Brickhouse and Smith 1989, 200–201 and Reeve 1989, 96), and while Xenophon does have Socrates offer Meletus the chance to name names, his Socrates makes rather less of this point, and does not explicitly offer Meletus the opportunity to call witnesses to testify to Socrates’ corrupting influence. But this defense argument is less conclusive than it sounds. Witnesses in Athenian trials were volunteers who were expected to support one side or the other, not impartial individuals whose testimony could be compelled against their will (Todd 1993, 96–97). Hence, Meletus would have had to find volunteers willing to testify that they had themselves been corrupted by Socrates, or that their sons or brothers had been. As Plato’s Socrates (Apology 34b) himself makes clear, those he had (hypothetically) corrupted would actually have a reason to deny he had corrupted them, if only to protect their own reputations; he also notes that family members would probably not want to name relatives corrupted by Socrates so long as those family members were alive. But it is unlikely that this motivation would cease upon the death of one’s relatives. Socrates knew, then, that Meletus would not call any such witnesses, and thus made use of a common rhetorical move in Athenian trials, making one’s opponent an offer that appears generous but which one knows one’s opponent will not accept (e.g., Isocrates Antidosis 33–34, 100; Demosthenes On the Crown 112, 139). This may also explain why Plato’s Socrates merely says that he himself could call defense witnesses, but does not formally call any: he knows that their testimony would be of limited value. Plato’s most ambitious defense of Socrates comes in Socrates’ profession of ignorance and disavowal of teaching. If Socrates, as Plato claims, made it clear that he knew nothing of the greatest importance, and disavowed teaching, then he should not be blamed for any wrongdoing on the part of his associates. But as Donald Morrison (1994) has pointed out in defense of Xenophon, Plato’s defense of Socrates makes Socrates out to be culpably irresponsible. Young men flocked to Socrates, and were obviously influenced by him; Plato’s Socrates would simply disclaim any responsibility for his influence by denying that he knew or taught anything of importance.

74 Defending Socrates Xenophon, on the other hand, gives Socrates a responsible defense to the charge of corruption. He did improve the character of his followers, in large part though his personal example, and he did not, as many other teachers did, exaggerate his ability to improve them via teaching. This is not to say that Plato did not know what he was doing—but rather that he was doing something other than defending Socrates. Defending Socrates is what Xenophon is all about. Socrates’ way of life (Mem. 1.2.4–8) Xenophon next considers Socrates’ views on care for the body. Socrates did care for it, but not to the point of excess exercise, for more moderate exercise is what helps the soul. So too Socrates’ lifestyle was moderate; he not only avoided luxuries but also did not flaunt his asceticism (Dorion 2000, 76n71). He did not take pay from his associates, and he criticized those who did; his aim was the development of long-term friendships with his followers. His conduct was devoted not to corruption but to the cultivation of virtue. This quick tour of Socratic teachings seems directed less at the formal charges against Socrates than at distinguishing him from certain disreputable types of intellectuals. Socrates contents himself with the humblest food, drink, and clothing, but does not flaunt this, as later Cynics would: he will also be at home in the posh atmosphere of Callias’ dinner party in Xenophon’s Symposium. In comedy Socrates’ shoelessness, Spartan-style use of just one cloak, and haughty air were mocked for their arrogance.12 Xenophon here, if only in passing, attempts to distinguish his Socrates from such boasts. Socrates may have lived humbly enough for Antiphon to think him a study in unhappiness (Mem. 1.6.1), but his lifestyle was an integral part of his character, not just for show. The other contrast, with wealthy sophists, is clearer: the sophists both promised more than Socrates did and demanded pay for their services—pay which allowed them to live lavish lifestyles. As he had in the case of piety, then, Xenophon addresses what Plato calls the “first accusations,” here distinguishing Socrates from the sophists as he had earlier distinguished him from the Presocratics. Xenophon’s Socrates is not only innocent, but also is a different sort of man than the controversial intellectuals he was conflated with in comedy and much other popular thought. Polycrates and Xenophon’s accuser We turn now (Mem. 1.2.9) to the four charges Xenophon credits to a singular, anonymous accuser (ὁ κατήγορος). 1. Rejecting the lottery to select officials and inciting violent contempt of the law (1.2.9–11)

Defending Socrates 75 2. Contributing to the corruption of Alcibiades and Critias (1.2.12–48) 3. Alienating sons from fathers and other relatives (1.2.49–55) 4. Misusing poetry to make his associates evil and tyrannical (1.2.56–61) The accuser, or, better, “his accuser,” as Greek often uses the definite article where English would use the possessive adjective,13 has long been identified with the Athenian sophist Polycrates, who wrote an Accusation of Socrates sometime after 393. Xenophon would thus be referring vaguely and anachronistically to an accuser whom he leaves anonymous, presumably to retain a certain façade of historicity, but who was well enough known to his readers that they would be able to identify him. Despite our almost complete ignorance about the contents of Polycrates’ work, and despite some informed skepticism, this claim remains that of the scholarly consensus.14 Polycrates is considered an unreliable source for the trial of Socrates, for good reasons we will see in a moment. But Polycrates’ unreliability has had an oversized influence on study of the trial of Socrates, and effectively sidelined Xenophon’s Memorabilia from many discussions of the trial—conveniently clearing the field for Plato.15 I will argue that we should reject the identification of Xenophon’s accuser with Polycrates. For starters, consider the fact that Xenophon elsewhere attributes one of these charges, that of alienation of sons from fathers (#3 above), to Meletus (Apol. 20). The charge was hardly a new one, as it is the central theme in Aristophanes’ Clouds. The Clouds (1399–1400) also depicts a student of Socrates condemning the laws in language very similar to that used here #1. There is, thus, no justification for believing that those charges originated in a post-trial literary controversy about Socrates. I believe that the same holds for the famous cases of Alcibiades and Critias (#2) and perhaps even for the less substantive (to our eyes, at any rate) charge of misuse of poetry (#4). But to show as much, we will have to reconsider the evidence for Polycrates. Reconstructing Polycrates Let us start with the surest evidence we have for Polycrates’ Accusation.16 1. Themistius (Orat. 23) reports that Polycrates’ Accusation was delivered by Anytus at the trial in 399. On the other hand, the 14th Socratic letter (SSR VIA.102) reports that Polycrates wrote a speech for Meletus. Neither of these can be accurate, given the anachronism in the next item. 2. Favorinus (D.L. 2.39) pointed out that Polycrates’ speech was not authentic (μὴ εἶναι ἀληθῆ), as it referred to Conon’s rebuilding of the Long Walls of Athens, which took place in 393 (Hell. 4.8.9–10). Presumably, Favorinus meant not that the speech was not written by Polycrates but that it was not a speech actually delivered at the trial.

76 Defending Socrates This suggests that the work was a self-contained speech that anachronistically alluded to events after 399, as does the funeral oration delivered by Socrates in Plato’s Menexenus. 3. Isocrates (Busiris 5) tells us that Polycrates attacked Socrates for being the teacher of Alcibiades; Isocrates says no one had ever noticed this before. 4. Two scholia to Aelius Aristides (In Defense of the Four Dindorf 133.16, 3.480) tell us that Polycrates attacked Socrates for quoting Iliad 2.188ff. to show that the poor should be beaten. This is not exactly a rich haul. Efforts to add to it are based on use of Libanius, who wrote a Defense of Socrates around 350 AD. Libanius certainly aims his speech at Anytus, to whom Polycrates may have attributed his prosecution speech. Both Xenophon and Libanius defend Socrates’ relationship with Alcibiades. And both discuss Socrates’ use of Iliad 2.188ff. (Libanius Defense of Socrates 93), the passage the scholiast tells us was discussed by Polycrates. Libanius even mentions Conon (Defense of Socrates 160), though as his text is corrupt at this point we cannot know just what he said of him, which need not have been anachronistic, as Conon’s career began before 399. Libanius responds to numerous other charges that are not prominent in other extant Socratic works: perhaps here too he is responding to Polycrates (cf. Russell 1996, 17–18). In the most influential reconstruction of Polycrates’ work, Chroust (1957, 74) concludes that “it can be assumed the Libanian Apology possesses a high degree of historical truth which permits us to reconstruct the general content and basic structure as well as the principal arguments and even some of the detailed statements contained in the pamphlet of Polycrates.” But Libanius makes extensive use of sources other than Polycrates. He alludes to Plato’s and Xenophon’s accounts of the trial on occasions too numerous to list.17 On those occasions where supposedly Polycratean arguments are included in both Xenophon and Libanius, we have no way of knowing whether Libanius took those arguments from Xenophon or from Polycrates. And to assume that Libanius mechanically responded to Polycrates is to deny him the very skill his showpiece was meant to display: the rhetorician’s ability to refashion traditional arguments into something new. Russell argues that “it would be unique, in our knowledge, for a declamation to take an existing text as opponent, without modifying it and indeed inventing opposing arguments for the sake of knocking them down …. Whether or not Libanius read ‘Polycrates,’ it is certainly not his main stimulus.”18 Libanius’ use of Xenophon is a case in point. Libanius does rather mechanically recite Xenophontic evidence for Socrates in one chunk of his speech (Defense of Socrates 150–151), where he lists the interlocutors Xenophon has Socrates speak with in the first chapters of book 2 in the same order Xenophon introduces them himself. But this is the exception rather than the rule: elsewhere Libanius’ use of Xenophon and Plato is free and allusive. Any use he made of Polycrates would have been just as free.

Defending Socrates 77 If we cannot rely on details from Libanius, can we not at least draw some conclusions about Polycrates from the general thrust of Libanius’ speech? I am afraid not. Libanius does emphasize the corruption charge, including the political aspect of that charge; given that such charges are not prominent in Plato’s Apology, it is often argued that these charges originated with Polycrates. But Libanius’ emphasis likely reflects his own interests, rather than being a passive response to Polycrates. For Libanius presents the charges against Socrates as if they were directed at a would-be tyrant—and tyranny was a frequent theme for declamations in Libanius’ day. Libanius’ nearly complete neglect of the religious aspect of Socrates’ case may also reflect his own time, as in his day it was Christians who were introducing new divinities. Libanius, who was a proud pagan and ally of the pagan emperor Julian, would not have wanted to associate his hero, Socrates, with religious innovators like the Christians (Russell 1996, 18–19; Nesselrath 2018, 812). The political charges also allowed for more innovation, given that they are downplayed in the Apologies of Xenophon and Plato (cf. Nesselrath 2018, 808–809). We cannot, therefore, conclude that Libanius adopted his emphasis on politics or de-emphasis on religion from Polycrates: these choices in emphasis may well have been due to Libanius himself. Thus, there is no good reason to believe that Libanius’ speech provides any sound evidence for Polycrates, either in its detailed arguments or the relative priority it gives the various charges against Socrates. So much for Libanius. The earliest and most important evidence for Polycrates’ speech comes in Isocrates’ Busiris. Isocrates’ piece presents itself as a letter offering friendly criticism of another work by Polycrates, a speech in praise of Busiris, the mythical Egyptian priest who was infamous for sacrificing the visitors who reached the shrine he oversaw in Egypt. Busiris was hardly an obvious candidate for panegyric, and we are here entering into an arena of playful epideictic sophistry. Isocrates chides Polycrates for making Busiris not only a murderer but also a cannibal. As an aside, Isocrates notes that just as Polycrates erred in his defense of Busiris, he erred in his attack on Socrates. When you undertook to accuse Socrates you gave him Alcibiades as a student (μαθητήν)—as if you had wanted to praise Socrates! No one ever observed Alcibiades being educated (παιδευόμενον) by him, but all would agree that Alcibiades far surpassed the rest of the Greeks. (Busiris 5)19 This passage has been taken to say that Polycrates was the first to associate Alcibiades with Socrates; Polycrates’ work would then be the origin of the extensive Socratic literature about the relationship between the two men.20 This is, however, unlikely both as a reading of this passage and as a reading of Socratic literature. In that literature we see Alcibiades closely associated with Socrates not only in Plato’s Symposium, Protagoras, and

78 Defending Socrates Gorgias, but also in two works by Antisthenes, the Alcibiades of Aeschines of Sphettus, the arguably Platonic Alcibiades I and the probably pseudoPlatonic Alcibiades II, as well as the dialogues titled Alcibiades credited to Phaedo and Euclides. Could the treatment of Alcibiades in all of these works have been inspired by Polycrates’ Accusation of Socrates? This seems highly improbable, particularly as none of these works was overtly apologetic, as far as we can tell, save in the sense every Socratic work is apologetic. As none of these works, then, appears to have been reacting to charges against Socrates, why ought they be taken to be obsessed with responding to Polycrates’ attack on Socrates? Note as well how much of the biography of Socrates we would lose were Alcibiades stripped from it: the whole of Alcibiades’ speech in Plato’s Symposium, including Socrates’ role at the battles of Potidaea (also mentioned in Charmides) and Delium, both of which are too mixed up with Alcibiades to survive his excision from the story. If the Socratics could happily invent a relationship between Socrates and Alcibiades in order to respond to an attack Polycrates conjured out of thin air, there was obviously very little historical constraint in the genre, even regarding the sort of biographical elements that otherwise skeptical scholars are usually willing to accept. Believers in the influence of Polycrates, thus, must be very skeptical indeed about our knowledge of the historical Socrates. More importantly, it would be bizarre if no Socratic author thought to defend Socrates simply by denying that Socrates ever had a relationship with Alcibiades, if there was no historical relationship to explain away. Why play along with Polycrates? As Livingstone (2001, 36–39) has shown, the most plausible reading of the passage does not make Polycrates the inspiration for all the Socratic literature about Alcibiades. Isocrates’ meaning is difficult to pin down because he is being deliberately paradoxical and provocative. Isocrates claims that “all would agree that Alcibiades far surpassed the rest of the Greeks.” Thus, Polycrates erred by trying to attack Socrates by making him the teacher of such a successful man. But Alcibiades was nothing if not controversial, as shown by Isocrates’ own On the Team of Horses (Isocrates 16), a speech which consists mainly of a defense of Alcibiades. It was patently absurd to claim that everyone agreed that Alcibiades was superior to all other Greeks. But Isocrates’ Busiris is a terrifically playful work, where absurd claims have their place. Isocrates also does not say, in so many words, that Polycrates was the first to associate Alcibiades with Socrates, or the first to attack Socrates for his association with Alcibiades. He says that Polycrates erred by saying that Alcibiades was a student of Socrates, because no one had observed him being educated by Socrates. This touches on a delicate point for the Socratics, who consistently deny that Socrates taught in the same way that professional teachers do. This is a signal point in Plato’s account of Socrates (Apology 33a). And, as we have seen, Xenophon’s Socrates, while he has plenty of positive advice to offer, is still no teacher of nobility (Mem. 1.2.3),

Defending Socrates 79 and does not take pay for his lessons (Mem. 1.2.60). Neither Plato nor Xenophon (nor Libanius) ever says that Alcibiades was a pupil (mathetes) whom Socrates could be said to educate (paideuein). They do not say this about any of the individuals in the Socratic circle, employing vague terms like “associates” (συνόντες) instead.21 Socrates’ efforts to deny the role of teacher were apparently notorious: in the Clitophon (408c), Clitophon jokes that he does not know what to call the young men in the Socratic circle: “your agemates or fellow-strivers or comrades or whatever we’re supposed to call their relationship with you.” The unspoken premise of his joke is that whatever they are, one cannot call them students. Aeschines of Sphettus (Alcibiades frg. 12 = SSR VIA.53) makes a similar point in the case of Alcibiades himself: Socrates says that he did not benefit Alcibiades through some art, but by a kind of divine dispensation. The Socratics’ emphatic denials that Socrates was a teacher surely reflect the belief that he was a teacher. This belief is present already in Aristophanes’ Clouds, where Strepsiades explicitly wants to become a student (mathetes) of Socrates (Clouds 140, 142, 502), who runs a school housed in a special building of its own. Given the debate about whether or not Socrates’ was a teacher, the precise language in Isocrates’ claim—that no one ever observed Alcibiades being educated by Socrates—was presumably chosen with care. This allows him to set up a nice parallel with Polycrates’ treatment of Busiris. Just as Polycrates made Busiris look even worse than he already was (undermining his effort to praise Busiris) by foolishly adding cannibalism to human sacrifice on his list of sins, so too Polycrates made Socrates appear even better than he already was (thus undermining his attack on Socrates) by saying that Alcibiades, whom Isocrates claims that everyone considered to be an excellent man, was not just an associate of Socrates but a student educated by Socrates. Polycrates’ innovation would thus have consisted solely of upgrading Alcibiades’ status from associate to student: he was not the first to connect Alcibiades with Socrates. Other external arguments mustered to show that Polycrates must be behind Memorabilia 1.2.9–61 and can be dismissed more quickly. It is true that Plato’s Apology makes little of the political charges highlighted in the purportedly Polycratean section of the Memorabilia and featured in Libanius’ Apology. But we have already seen that Libanius’ own interests made politics a more congenial topic for him than religion. Those who would make the Platonic Apology a comprehensive account of Socrates’ defense are eager to make Polycrates the origin for the political charges, as they believe it would have been irresponsible for Plato’s Socrates to neglect them had they already been in the air. But there are hints enough of the political subtext in Plato (as at Apology 33a), and unless we are determined to see Plato’s defense as the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about the trial of Socrates, we have no reason to believe that only themes prominent in Plato’s Apology were prominent in 399.

80 Defending Socrates The amnesty of 403 has often been taken to have ruled out any mention of Alcibiades or Critias at the trial of Socrates, particularly as Anytus, the most prominent of Socrates’ accusers, was also one of the most important backers of that amnesty (Isocrates 18.23–24).22 But even if the amnesty did inoculate defendants against all crimes committed before 403 BC (rather than only against crimes committed under the reign of the Thirty, as was more likely the case), it would not have prohibited a prosecutor from mentioning Socrates’ corruption of Alcibiades and Critias as precedents for post-403 corruption of the youth. And, as a matter of fact, defendants were often attacked for their deeds under the Thirty.23 In the absence of any judge to rule given arguments out of bounds, Athenian litigants made free use of arguments that went well beyond the narrow legal issues at hand (Lanni 2005, Yunis 2005); given this tendency, it would be rash to assume that any topic was off-limits at Socrates’ trial in 399. The nature of Polycrates’ other works also makes it extremely unlikely that he played a substantial role in the debate about Socrates.24 If it was anything like the other works attributed to him, the Accusation was a rhetorical jeu d’esprit meant to showcase Polycrates’ rhetorical gifts, a playful speech in which Polycrates had no intention of making a serious contribution to the debate about Socrates. We have no good reason to believe that Polycrates was interested in practical politics.25 In addition to his piece in praise of the cannibal Busiris, Polycrates wrote in praise of Clytemnestra, in praise of mice, of pebbles, and, probably, in praise of a pot. He wrote a work in which Thersites (or a figure like him) was treated as a hero on a grand scale. Somewhere he attacked the Spartan constitution. Quintilian (3.1.11) lists him as an author of a rhetorical handbook. Demetrius notes his playful use of highly rhetorical encomiastic language in praise of minor topics (On Style 120). Polycrates’ stock-in-trade, then, was displaying his rhetorical panache by lavishing praise on villains or trivialities, or, as in the case of the Spartan constitution, attacking something that was more often idealized. Little wonder, then, that he left himself open to the charge Isocrates made in his Busiris (5): attributing negative qualities to those he defended (Busiris) and positive qualities to those he attacked (Socrates). In an exercise in paradoxical accusation or defense, starting out by praising one’s opponent or denigrating one’s hero would only add to the fun, raising the stakes for the rhetorical display. Isocrates, thus, will have missed the point of Polycrates’ work, whether he did so intentionally or not. And if Polycrates’ Accusation of Socrates was in keeping with the rest of his works, it would most likely have been based on the implicit premise that Socrates was actually the great man his followers made him out to be, making a paradoxical accusation of him a splendid occasion for a rhetorical tour de force. The highly playful nature of Polycrates’ oeuvre, therefore, makes him a singularly unlikely candidate to have had the massive influence on the Socratic movement that he is too often credited with.26 The only demonstrable parallels between Xenophon and Polycrates, then, are the fact that both addressed Socrates’ relationship with Alcibiades,

Defending Socrates 81 and that in both, at least if the scholia to Aelius Aristides are correct about Polycrates, Socrates was attacked for his interpretation of Iliad 2.188ff. The former, if we grant that the relationship was not an invention of Polycrates, is hardly a striking coincidence, given that most of the Socratics seem to have discussed Socrates’ ties to Alcibiades. This leaves the use of the same passage from Homer. This passage is discussed nowhere else in extant early Socratic literature. But this in itself does not prove that Polycrates was Xenophon’s source, particularly given how much of Socratic literature has been lost. It is also entirely possible that the historical Socrates had discussed the passage in a controversial way. Certainly, the interpretation of poetry, and particularly the interpretation of Homer, was a commonplace in the culture of Socrates’ day. Homeric interpretation was a central preoccupation of the Socratic Antisthenes,27 and it comes up often enough in the Socratic dialogues of Plato and Xenophon. Further, as we will see below, the interpretation of poetry plays a role in larger debate about Socrates’ relationship to the citizens of Athens—it is not a purely literary matter we might expect to find in speeches by sophists but not in court. The mere fact that the same lines from Homer were discussed in Polycrates and in Xenophon is not enough to demonstrate that Xenophon was responding to Polycrates. From rhetorical accusers to the historical Meletus There is, therefore, no sound evidence to support the view that Polycrates had a major influence on Xenophon’s account of “the accuser.” But if Polycrates is not the accuser, then who is? Vivienne Gray (1998, 60–73) has argued that Socrates’ various opponents—including those outside the “Polycratean” charges of Memorabilia 1.2.9–61—are primarily tools used by Xenophon to provide his readers with the image of an opposition that is progressively beaten down by the narrator’s superior arguments. Gray’s parallel is Isocrates, particularly Isocrates’ Antidosis, in which, as we saw in chapter one, Isocrates invents a fictional opponent, Lysimachus, to serve as his straw man. Gray of course grants that there was a historical trial, and real-life controversy about Socrates, but her central point is that Xenophon did not simply react to charges made by Socrates’ real-world opponents, but shaped his account of the charges to his own ends. She argues that Xenophon varies the way he introduces charges to structure his account and impress readers with his ability to face all comers. As each new attack is given voice, Xenophon gives readers the impression that the opposition has abandoned its previous charge. By 1.4.1 the opposition has become hypothetical (“If some believe …”), preparing us for the long silence from the opposition before they return at the end of the Memorabilia, not to argue that Socrates is guilty, but only to wonder why he did not did get adequate enough warning from the daimonion to mount an effective defense (Mem. 4.8.1).

82 Defending Socrates Gray’s approach is most obviously fruitful with the vaguest charges, those attributed only to “someone” or “some people,” or made only in the passive voice. These vague personages raise general points, in the present tense or (tenseless) potential optative, that could be deduced from the more concrete and specific charges made in the past tense by “his accuser.” So the accuser attacked Socrates for his relationship with Alcibiades and Critias (Mem. 1.2.12), while vaguer opponents note that one should teach sophrosunē before politics (1.2.17). Other charges surface only in the form of rhetorical questions, or apparent concessions that Xenophon immediately addresses. On one occasion the anonymous opponents are described in enough detail to lead us to wonder about their identity: “many of the selfproclaimed philosophers may say” (εἴποιεν ἂν πολλοὶ τῶν φασκόντων φιλοσφεῖν Mem. 1.2.19) that a just man cannot become unjust, for nothing learned can be lost. Xenophon himself explains how, on the contrary, learning can be lost. The usual suspects for these self-styled philosophers are Antisthenes and his followers, but this view is problematic, given Antisthenes’ emphasis elsewhere on the noncognitive elements of virtue (Prince 2015, 341). Xenophon’s rejoinder to this charge seems more Antisthenic than the charge itself. Gigon (1953, 45), suggested a sophistic target as a possible alternative, and this seems more likely, particularly if we are to take Xenophon to be denying that the others are bona fide philosophers, something one would not expect Xenophon to say of Antisthenes, whom he generally treats with respect. We are thinking here, though, of generalized, abstract points that were not specifically tied to Socrates, and may reflect a general debate rather than the thought of some single historical figure. Thus, we see a basic pattern of specific charges against Socrates, credited to the accuser in the past tense, and various general points raised as ramifications of these charges, which are attributed to less specific sources and raise general points that are not explicitly tethered to the past or the trial. This suggests that the singular “Polycratean” accuser may be tethered to a specific historical individual, while the various accusations which Xenophon attributes to vaguer sources are not those of any particular person but may reflect his own development of the charges. Hansen (1995, 13–15) argues that the singular accuser is Anytus—that is, the historical Anytus, not the speaker in Polycrates’ Accusation. According to Plato, Anytus spoke on behalf of the politicians and artisans as a synegoros in support of Meletus’ indictment, and was far most important than Lycon, the other synegoros, who spoke for the orators, or Meletus himself, who spoke on behalf of the poets (Apology 23e). Anytus’ interest in politics would make him a natural candidate for the more political charges that Xenophon credits to the accuser, and the absence of these charges from both Apologies could be explained by the fact that both works are directed solely against Meletus.

Defending Socrates 83 But Xenophon’s text provides us with better evidence for another identification.28 At the very outset of the Memorabilia, before he introduced the anonymous singular accuser, Xenophon had spoken, in the plural, of those who indicted Socrates and persuaded the Athenians to convict him (οἱ γραψάμενοι); he begins the Memorabilia by wondering which of their arguments, that is, which of the arguments used in 399, persuaded the Athenians. And after the long discussion of the charges raised by the anonymous accuser, Xenophon closes his defense of Socrates by returning to the indictment and its author, now in the singular (ὁ γραψάμενος 1.2.64). The term will refer to the man who formally lodged the indictment, Meletus; and in the Apology (20) Xenophon credits Meletus with one charge he credits to the anonymous accuser in the Memorabilia (1.2.49–50), alienating sons from fathers. Meletus is the target of both Apologies. The natural conclusion is that the anonymous accuser is once again Meletus. This provides us with a more coherent text than we would have, were we to have to imagine readers somehow having to recognize Anytus behind the anonymous accuser—or, stranger still, Polycrates—only to return to Meletus at 1.2.64. But why not just call this accuser “Meletus”? Xenophon makes use of anonymity elsewhere in ways that parallel his approach here. There are anonymous characters elsewhere in the Memorabilia (3.2, 3.3, 3.13, 3.14), though they are rather minor figures. Closer parallels come in the Cyropaedia, where Xenophon introduces several major characters (Araspas, Artabazus, Gadatas, Cyaxares, and Pantheia) without names, only to provide their names later in the narrative, sometimes much later. So too Xenophon will eventually name Meletus at Memorabilia 4.4.4 and 4.8.4, after only speaking more generally of indicters and accusers before that point. Xenophon’s intent in leaving some Cyropaedia characters nameless for a time is far from clear. But perhaps Xenophon leaves Meletus nameless here to dishonor him: at Cyropaedia 5.4.46–50 Xenophon notes that leaders learn the names of their followers in part to honor them.29 Anonymity may also give Xenophon more leeway to reframe the charges against Socrates. When he does name Meletus later in the Memorabilia, Xenophon refers solely to the indictment of 399. By attributing arguments to the vague “accuser” only later named as Meletus, Xenophon may grant himself more liberty than would be the case with a more explicit source citation. I thus submit that Xenophon’s anonymous accuser was meant to be taken as Meletus, who was left unnamed in keeping with Xenophon’s practice elsewhere. As I have just granted, this is not to say that everything attributed to “the accuser” was said by Meletus in 399. Xenophon, as a good advocate, will certainly have made selective use of the accusations against Socrates, and reshaped them to meet his own ends. By leaving Meletus unnamed, and discussing still more vaguely sourced accusations in the course of dealing with the four accusations he sources to “the accuser,”

84 Defending Socrates Xenophon may have his cake and eat it too. He maintains a connection to the historical arguments while gaining the freedom to present a more wideranging discussion of the issues at stake. It is noteworthy that Xenophon does not, in the first two chapters of the Memorabilia, cite Hermogenes, his source for his accounts of the trial in Apology and Memorabilia 4.8. I suggest that readers should have a hierarchy of historical expectations. The indictment itself is the most historical; it is confirmed almost word for word by Plato (Apology 24b) and Diogenes Laertius (2.40), whose 2nd century AD source, Favorinus, said it was still to be found in the Metroon, where public records were kept at Athens. Next come arguments explicitly attributed to a named accuser and vouched for by Xenophon’s source, Hermogenes; here, as we will see in the next chapter, Xenophon and Plato often differ in how they treat a given argument or episode, sometimes quite significantly, but do, generally speaking, discuss the same topics. Next in line are the accusations sourced to specific but unnamed accusers in Memorabilia 1.1 and 1.2. The charges raised still more vaguely in those chapters carry the least expectation of historical grounding. But they are all on a continuum that reaches from the official charges to debates raging as Xenophon wrote. The defense in the first two chapters of the Memorabilia is, therefore, not strictly limited to arguments made at the trial. But neither is it part of an entirely artificial post-trial literary debate, instigated by Polycrates, that had nothing at all to do with the trial itself. Xenophon’s effort to understand the arguments that led the Athenians to convict Socrates was surely influenced by oral and written discussions that took place after the trial. The same would be true of a contemporary attempt to understand a trial from the recent past. In Xenophon’s case, the Accusation of Polycrates may have been one influence, for all we know. But that work is irretrievably lost, and what we can plausibly reconstruct of it and Polycrates’ oeuvre makes it unlikely that it ever had a major impact. I see no reason, then, not to take Xenophon as his word, and read the first two chapters of the Memorabilia as an effort to understand the trial of Socrates, even if he does not strictly limit himself to arguments made at the trial itself. Condemning the laws and the lot (Mem. 1.2.9–11) So much for the general character of the anonymous accusations. The first charge made by the accuser is that Socrates led his companions to despise the laws by attacking the lot (1.2.9). Under the Athenian democracy, most public officials were chosen not through election but by a lottery in which all male citizens of the required age could take part, if they wished to be considered for a given office. Aristotle includes the requirement that “all offices should be subject to lot, except the few that demand special skills” among the principles of democracy (Politics 6.1.1317b17–1318a3).30 Selection by lot helped ensure that magistrates would not exercise undue

Defending Socrates 85 power, and gave all citizens interested in serving the same chance of being chosen. Elections in which all citizens can stand for office and all citizens can vote did qualify as democratic (Aristotle Politics 4.12.1300a32–35). But at Athens, elections seem to have been viewed as pragmatic concessions for particularly important offices (most military, a few financial and religious), which required qualifications likely to be held by only a few individuals. While good democrats could no doubt differ on just which offices should be filled by lot and which by election, Socrates’ complete rejection of the lot would have been another matter. Xenophon’s wording confirms that, at least in the eyes of Socrates’ opponents, the lot was an essential element in Athenian democracy. “But, by Zeus,” said his accuser, “he made his companions despise the established laws by saying it would be foolish to select rulers of the city via the lot, while no one would use a lottery to select a helmsman or a carpenter or an aulos-player or for anything of that sort, though such things do far less harm, when they are done in error, than errors concerning the city. And such words,” he (the accuser) said, “led the youth to be contemptuous of the established constitution and made them violent.” (Mem. 1.2.9) Socrates’ view seems to have been well-known, as Aristotle (Rhetoric 2.20.4.1393b3–8) lists the comparative attack on the lot as an example of a Socratic style of argumentation.31 Xenophon defends Socrates against the charge of fomenting violence, but never denies that he attacked the lot. But I believe that those who train in practical wisdom (τοὺς φρόνησιν ἀσκοῦντας) and believe that they will be capable of explaining what is advantageous to the citizens are the least likely to become violent, as they know that hatred and danger increase with force, while with persuasion one can, without danger and with friendship, get the same results. (Mem. 1.2.10) The emphasis on persuasion introduces a theme which will be picked up in the next section of the Memorabilia. It bears some resemblance to the persuade or obey doctrine of Plato’s Crito—though with the crucial difference that here, at any rate, there is no talk of obedience. Xenophon explicitly tells us that he is arguing in his own voice, not that of Socrates himself, something he does elsewhere in the Memorabilia only at 1.2.19–28, where he argues that sophrosunē can be lost. Xenophon also argues not about Socrates per se but about the class of people who believe that their training in practical wisdom qualifies them to advise the citizens, a class which probably includes sophists and orators. Xenophon’s language makes it clear that those using persuasion could achieve the same ends others sought through violence: in the present context this must include

86 Defending Socrates fundamental changes to the Athenian government, probably including far more radical changes than abolishment of the use of the lot. The Athenian democracy had twice been overthrown in Socrates’ lifetime, after all (411 and 403), both times peacefully, though the regime of the Thirty in 403 was backed by local thugs and a Spartan garrison. So Xenophon’s treatment of Socrates here leaves him exposed to the charge of being an opponent of democracy. Why? Xenophon’s account of Socrates elsewhere in the Memorabilia will to some extent provide a defense that is lacking here; in book three Socrates will provide ample advice to men elected to serve in high office, or interested in being so elected (Mem. 3.1–7). In those passages, he is not only willing to give advice about how to succeed in the Athenian democracy but also defends a selection made by the Athenian voters (3.4) and encourages a discouraged democrat by arguing that the Athenian people can regain their past greatness (3.5). As these are elected officials, not officials chosen by lot, Socrates can square his belief in expertise with the practice of Athenian democracy by urging would-be elected officials to acquire the necessary expertise before seeking office (Johnson 2018b). But this general defense in which Socrates plays an active and positive role in the Athenian democracy does not show that he believed that Athenian democracy, at least as far as the lot goes, was well-designed. Here as elsewhere, then, Xenophon reveals controversial elements of Socrates’ thought, and thus reveals why the Athenians condemned him, while also making the best argument he could in Socrates’ defense. There was a fundamental tension between Socrates’ belief in the value of expertise and the implicit principles behind the direct democracy at Athens. Any effort to dissolve this tension would require some rather sophisticated political philosophy—something beyond the remit of Xenophon’s task here as an advocate. The fact that Xenophon raises the charge about the lottery, despite his inability to directly refute it, suggests that the charge was too prominent to be ignored. This makes it highly unlikely that the charge originated with Polycrates; had this been the case, Xenophon could simply have denied that Socrates attacked the lot, rather than leaving the damning accusation hanging. Alcibiades and Critias (Mem. 1.2.12–48) The accuser now attacks Socrates for his relationship with Critias and Alcibiades. “But,” his accuser said, “both Critias and Alcibiades were associates of Socrates, and the two of them did the greatest harm to the city. For Critias was the greediest, most violent, and most murderous of all those in the oligarchy, while Alcibiades was the most uncontrolled, hubristic, and violent of all those in the democracy.” I for my part will not defend

Defending Socrates 87 the two of them, if they did do some harm to the city; but I will explain how their relationship with Socrates began (1.2.12). Xenophon does not defend Critias and Alcibiades, though neither does he necessarily agree that they are as violent and hubristic as the accuser suggests.32 Instead he mixes rather abstract arguments about the nature of teaching and learning, most of which would apply to any teacher, with arguments more explicitly addressing the cases of Critias and Alcibiades. His argument can be summarized as follows. 1. Critias and Alcibiades were always extremely ambitious. (Mem. 1.2.12) 2. They saw that Socrates was self-controlled and self-sufficient, and could dominate people with words. They envied his ability in speech and action, but would have preferred death to Socrates’ moderate lifestyle. (Mem. 1.2.13–16) 3. Socrates taught them sophrosunē before teaching them skill in speech, and as long as they were with Socrates, they not only acted moderately but also believed that sophrosunē was the best policy. (Mem. 1.2.17–18) 4. Sophrosunē, despite what some self-styled philosophers say, can be lost. (Mem. 1.2.19–23) 5. As soon as they could refute leading politicians, they left him and fell in with corrupting company. (Mem. 1.2.24–25) 6. Good teachers and good fathers are not to be blamed when their charges go bad after leaving them, particularly if they kept them in check when they were young. (Mem. 1.2.26–28) 7. Socrates rebuked Critias and Alcibiades for their vicious acts; witness his conversation with Critias and Charicles. (Mem. 1.2.29–38) 8. He never pleased them, given his habit of refuting them when they went wrong; they always wanted to rule, were not truly educated by him, and were always trying to refute leading politicians. Witness Alcibiades’ conversation with Pericles. (Mem. 1.2.39–1.2.47). Socrates is, therefore, not responsible for their huge ambitions, which predated their time with him. Nor is he responsible for their vicious acts, as those postdated their time with him. While with him, moreover, they were not only moderate (sophrōn) but were also convinced that they should be moderate. Yet he never completely won them over, so they left him when they got what they wanted. Read a bit more closely, however, Xenophon’s argument raises four big questions. i. Why does Xenophon link Critias and Alcibiades so closely together? ii. It looks like Critias and Alcibiades wanted only political skill from Socrates, but got only moderation, only to lose it at once. But how

88 Defending Socrates could Socrates have managed to teach Critias and Alcibiades to be moderate, given their utter lack of interest in anything of the sort? iii. While Xenophon says that Socrates made Critias and Alcibiades moderate while they were with him (item 3 above), he later denies that they were ever educated by him (item 8). How could they have been genuinely devoted to sophrosunē while with him yet not have been educated by him? iv. And what did Critias and Alcibiades get out of their association with Socrates? Did they learn the skill in speech they clearly wanted to learn from him? We will examine these questions in order, before turning to the longer conversations featuring Critias and Alcibiades. Pairing off Alcibiades and Critias One striking thing about this passage is how closely Xenophon connects Critias and Alcibiades. He makes frequent use of fairly rare Greek dual forms to pair the two off, rather than employing more usual plural forms. Despite their divergent political views, the two men were apparently allies, at least during some portion of their lives. They enter together in Plato’s Protagoras (316a), apparently set in the late 430s. We also have evidence that Critias sponsored a decree to have Alcibiades recalled from exile soon after 411 (Plutarch, Alcibiades 33.1). Later, however, Critias is said to have instigated the murder of Alcibiades (Plutarch, Alcibiades 38.3). But whatever their historical connections, friendship, or enmity, Xenophon was obviously free to discuss them individually rather than together; he presumably could have discussed only one or the other of them; and he could also have discussed some of Socrates’ other problematic associates.33 What does he gain by pairing Critias and Alcibiades? Critias seems to have been nearly universally reviled after his exploits as one of the leaders of the Thirty. By 355 BC the Athenian orator Aeschines would say that the Athenians “put Socrates the sophist to death because he had been shown to be the one who educated Critias” (Against Timarchus 173). Alcibiades, on the other hand, always had his admirers as well as his detractors. Critias is a villain in Xenophon’s Hellenica; Alcibiades is controversial, but the positive evidence appears to outweigh the negative (Hell. 1.4.13–17). So one thing Xenophon may be doing is lessening the damage done to Socrates by Critias by presenting him as part of a package with the less damaging Alcibiades. Those willing to forgive Socrates for his role in the life of Alcibiades could be induced to also forgive him for Critias. And much of the defense of Socrates in this passage applies rather better to Alcibiades than it does to Critias. The early part of Critias’ career is a puzzle, but he first appears as political figure near the age of 50, during or soon around 410, when he was active at Athens, only to be exiled to

Defending Socrates 89 Thessaly by 406 (Hell. 2.3.36). It is there that Xenophon will say that Critias was corrupted (Mem. 1.2.24), at a point in time when Critias would have been in his mid-fifties.34 Alcibiades, on the other hand, was famous for his youthful ambition and early entry into politics, so his corruption took place while he was relatively young.35 So it is easier to defend Socrates’ role in Alcibiades’ case: Socrates kept Alcibiades in check when he was very young, rather as a good father might do, but when Alcibiades was mature enough to go his own way, he went astray. Critias, on the other hand, seems to have been corrupted only in middle age, after something like twenty years in Socrates’ circle—at least if we can credit his role in Plato’s Charmides, which is dated firmly to 429, or the Protagoras of c. 433. Had Xenophon discussed the case of Critias separately, it would have been laughable to credit Socrates with keeping Critias in check (only) when he was young (1.2.26), or to compare Socrates to a good father not to be blamed for the subsequent corruption of his wayward son (1.2.27). But such arguments readily apply to the precocious Alcibiades. So a defense that in reality only works for Alcibiades is extended to Critias as well. On the other hand, Socrates is explicitly critical of Critias in this passage in a way he is never critical of Alcibiades. While it is Alcibiades who Xenophon introduces as being the most lacking in self-control, and whose sex life was infamous, it is Critias whose sexual morality is attacked by Socrates (at Mem. 1.2.29–30). Socrates also attacks Critias’ political role as one of the Thirty Tyrants (1.2.31–38), while providing no criticism of Alcibiades’ political career, which was surely open to attack. Instead he allows Alcibiades to win a subversive argument against his guardian Pericles (1.2.40–46), the greatest stateman of democratic Athens, without saying a word questioning that argument himself or having Socrates question it. I suggest, then, that by pairing Alcibiades and Critias, Xenophon aims to have things both ways. He can defend Socrates’ relationship with Critias by joining it to the more innocuous case of Alcibiades. And he can have Alcibiades present controversial elements of Socratic teaching—but elements Xenophon evidently thinks deserve a hearing—in a way that appears to distance them from Socrates, given their occurrence in a context that distances Socrates from both Alcibiades and Critias. What Alcibiades and Critias wanted and what they got A close reading of the relevant passage shows that Alcibiades and Critias sought more than rhetorical skill from Socrates, and that this made them susceptible to Socrates’ teaching on sophrosunē. They knew that Socrates lived most self-sufficiently off of the least amount of money, had complete mastery over every pleasure, and did what he wanted with those who spoke with him. Seeing this, and being

90 Defending Socrates the type of men I have described, will anyone say that they sought out his company because they desired Socrates’ way of life and the moderation (sophrosunē) which he had? Or was it because they thought that if they associated with him they would gain the greatest ability in speech and action? I for my part believe that if a god gave the two of them the choice of living their whole lives as they saw Socrates living, or dying, they would have chosen to die. They made this clear from what they did. For as soon as they believed that they were superior to those they associated with, they at once ran off from Socrates and entered politics, which is the reason they had sought out Socrates. (Mem. 1.2.14–15) One way to read this passage is to see the two facets of Socrates, his character and his skill, and to say that Critias and Alcibiades were interested only in his skill. It would then indeed be a puzzle if Critias and Alcibiades became moderate. But on another reading the passage becomes more coherent. As we will consider in greater detail in chapter four, Xenophon does not treat enkrateia (self-mastery) and sophrosunē (moderation) as synonyms. Briefly put, sophrosunē adds an intellectual element missing in enkrateia; sophrosunē is a virtue, indistinguishable from wisdom (sophia, Mem. 3.9.4), whereas enkrateia is not so much a virtue as the foundation of virtue (Mem. 1.5.4). Xenophon makes it very clear that Alcibiades and Critias were not interested in Socrates’ sophrosunē and his moderate way of life. But they could still have been impressed by Socrates’ self-sufficiency and control over his desires, not only his way with words: self-sufficiency and self-mastery would help them with their goal of increasing their ability in word and deed. Self-mastery and self-sufficiency, after all, can be put to various ends, and Xenophon’s Socrates argues that they are particularly necessary for successful leadership (as at Mem. 2.1). Note that what Critias and Alcibiades would have utterly rejected was living their whole lives as Socrates lived his: they would not necessarily have rejected an austere lifestyle as a temporary means to an end like the pursuit of power. This reading has the advantage of helping us to see how Socrates could have had some success in teaching Critias and Alcibiades sophrosunē, a lesson they accepted while with him (Mem. 1.2.18). For enkrateia provides a foundation for sophrosunē, and the two traits cover much of the same territory. If Alcibiades and Critias were open to training in enkrateia, they could have momentarily accepted lessons in sophrosunē as well. Socrates’ success and its limits For most of his discussion of Critias and Alcibiades, Xenophon emphasizes Socrates’ success with the two men, for as long as they were with him. But he then drops something of a bombshell.

Defending Socrates 91 I for my part would say that no one receives an education of any sort from someone who does not satisfy him. During the time Critias and Alcibiades associated with him, Socrates did not satisfy them, but from the very start they were set on leading the city. φαίην δ᾽ ἂν ἔγωγε μηδενὶ μηδεμίαν εἶναι παίδευσιν παρὰ τοῦ μὴ ἀρέσκοντος. Κριτίας δὲ καὶ Ἀλκιβιάδης οὐκ ἀρέσκοντος αὐτοῖς Σωκράτους ὡμιλησάτην ὃν χρόνον ὡμιλείτην αὐτῷ, ἀλλ᾽ εὐθὺς ἐξ ἀρχῆς ὡρμηκότε προεστάναι τῆς πόλεως. (Mem. 1.2.39) This seems to be at odds with Xenophon’s claim earlier that Critias and Alcibiades were moderate while with Socrates because they believed that this was the best course of action (1.2.18). So how, given that they did adopt Socrates’ view on sophrosunē—a view they certainly did not have before associating with Socrates—were Critias and Alcibiades never satisfied with or educated by Socrates? At the end of his discussion of Critias and Alcibiades, Xenophon tells that one way Socrates failed to satisfy them was by refuting them. Well, as soon as they grasped that they were superior to those doing politics they no longer went to Socrates. For not only did he not satisfy them in general (οὔτε γὰρ αὐτοῖς ἄλλως ἤρεσκεν); when they approached him, they would get upset at being refuted by him about their mistakes; and they were doing politics, which is why they had gone to Socrates (Mem. 1.2.47). At this point Critias and Alcibiades were both associating with Socrates and practicing politics. And the errors Socrates was criticizing were presumably political errors—like the errors of the Thirty Socrates criticized in public. Reproached in these terms, and finding themselves successful in politics, in part thanks to their Socratic training, Alcibiades and Critias no longer associated with Socrates, or at least no longer viewed him as a teacher or mentor. As to Socrates not satisfying them in general, the point is presumably that Alcibiades and Critias never abandoned their political ambitions, and never found Socrates’ response to those ambitions satisfying. This would not be because he turned them away from politics toward philosophy. While this appears to be Socrates’ plan for Alcibiades in the Platonic Alcibiades I, Xenophon’s Socrates is happy to advise political figures, as he informs Antiphon (Mem. 1.6.15) and demonstrates himself in the first seven chapters of book three of the Memorabilia. Xenophon does have Socrates check the young Glaucon from doing politics (3.6), but this was because he was ridiculously unprepared to do so; and in the next chapter Xenophon has Socrates urge Charmides to enter politics (3.7). Hence, we cannot assume that Alcibiades and Critias went wrong not simply because they entered political life; there problem was that they were too impatient and reckless to

92 Defending Socrates do politics in the right way. The phase Xenophon has in mind here has some kinship with the relationship between Alcibiades and Socrates as Alcibiades describes it in Plato’s Symposium (216a–b); there Alcibiades is still inspired when in Socrates’ presence, but unable to resist the lure of politics once he leaves Socrates. We ought to contrast Socrates’ model student in the Memorabilia, Euthydemus, who, unlike many Socrates refuted, came back for more after being refuted. Euthydemus was properly humbled by his refutation, came to believe that he needed Socrates so much that he rarely left his side, and even took to imitating what Socrates did (Mem. 4.2.40). Alcibiades and Critias must have been members of Socrates’ circle for a time, which presumably meant putting up with their fair share of refutation; while Socrates may have been selective about his students, Critias and Alcibiades passed his initial screening test. But they presumably never came to associate with Socrates as consistently as Euthydemus did, much less to mimic his way of life. When Socrates saw that Euthydemus was this committed, he left off refuting the young man, and instead “explained to him as simply and as clearly as he could what he believed were the best things for a man to know and do” (4.2.40). It seems unlikely that Alcibiades and Critias ever reached this phase, as Socrates was still refuting Alcibiades and Critias at the end of their association with him. Thus, they never got past the elenchus stage.36 When Xenophon speaks of Critias and Alcibiades not getting an education from Socrates, then, he is describing their ultimate failure to learn everything that Socrates had to teach. The Greek paideusis, as the English “education,” derives from a verb that is normally telic, implying a complete process, something obscured in most translations of Memorabilia 1.2.39. There is enough wiggle room between “acting moderately not out of fear but out of conviction” (Mem. 1.2.18) and “receiving an education” (Mem. 1.2.39) to avoid complete contradiction between Xenophon’s more and less positive characterizations of Critias and Alcibiades’ progress under Socrates. Thus, Xenophon’s position is that while Critias and Alcibiades were willing to put up with unpleasant refutations for some time, and for a time accepted that sophrosunē is the best policy, they eventually lost this conviction and, finding themselves able to refute their peers, left Socrates to commit themselves fully to politics. Xenophon explains that sophrosunē can be lost when one stops practicing it and innate desires overcome the soul (Mem. 1.2.19–23). All of us are liable to relapse, and Critias and Alcibiades were more liable than most, given their constant and pressing desire to win glory in public life. Socrates could not, in the end, satisfy this desire in a way acceptable to Critias and Alcibiades. Teaching skill in speech While Xenophon never says so in as many words, Critias and Alcibiades clearly did develop skill in speaking from Socrates. They did, that is, get

Defending Socrates 93 what they came for, which explains why they stayed with Socrates for as long as they did. Alcibiades displays great skill in speech in his Socratic takedown of Pericles (Mem. 1.2.40–46), and Critias shows his appreciation for Socrates’ use of homely analogies to make moral arguments, including arguments against him, in his conversation with Socrates (Mem. 1.2.37). Critias was also an intellectual in his own right, a playwright, poet, and author of accounts of the constitutions of Sparta and Thessaly, works known to us now only in fragments—though he will not have learned how to write verse or study constitutions from Socrates. At any rate, Xenophon does not hide the fact that Critias and Alcibiades, particularly the latter, became masters of Socratic argumentation; but by showing it rather than discussing it he avoids the need to defend Socrates on this ground. We can more clearly see why Xenophon does not explicitly discuss Socrates’ success in teaching skill in speech when we look to Xenophon’s abstract arguments in defense of Socrates’ teaching (Mem. 1.2.27–28). Teachers, Xenophon argues, are not responsible when their students lose skills they acquired from their teacher. But Xenophon applies this argument not to skill in speaking but to the sophrosunē Xenophon reports that Critias and Alcibiades gained while students of Socrates. The argument could not apply to skill in speech, because Critias and Alcibiades did not lose this skill once they left Socrates. Xenophon’s other general argument is again about sophrosunē rather than skill at speech: moderate fathers are not blamed if their sons turn out immoderate, and likewise Socrates, who was moderate, cannot be blamed for immoderation in others. By defending Socrates on the ground of sophrosunē rather than skill in speech, Xenophon takes the offensive, noting Socrates’ success, however temporary, in improving Critias and Alcibiades. And Xenophon avoids the sorts of problems faced by teachers of rhetoric in Plato’s Gorgias (456c–457c). For, despite his apparently full discussion of objections, Xenophon does not here address the issue of a teacher’s responsibility for a student misusing the skill in speech he learned from his teacher. Xenophon will face this issue directly later in the Memorabilia (4.3.1), but with a far safer case, that of Euthydemus—a success rather than a failure. In the meantime, as we shall see, he discredits the charge that Socrates taught skill in speech by having it voiced by the tyrannical Critias. Critias, lust, and the art of words (Mem. 1.2.29–39) We turn now to the two vignettes Xenophon presents near the end of his account of Socrates’ relationship with Critias and Alcibiades. The first is a two-part tale about Critias, introduced to meet still another objection: But even if he himself did nothing wrong but praised them when they acted badly, it would be right to blame him. (Mem. 1.2.29)

94 Defending Socrates In the first part of the tale about Critias, Socrates criticizes Critias’ lust. Socrates rebukes Critias when he sees that he “was in love with Euthydemus, and attempting to have the same sort of relationship with him as those who enjoy bodies for sex” (1.2.29). Xenophon’s formulation thus makes it clear that Critias was interested solely in Euthydemus’ body as a sexual object. Socrates at first takes a higher road, pointing out that it is slavish and unbecoming of a kalokagathos to act like a beggar seeking something unworthy from one he most wants to impress with his worth. Socrates’ initial argument fails to move Critias, so he turns to an approach that was both ruder and more public. In the presence of many others, including Euthydemus, but not Critias, Socrates is said to have remarked that Critias’ passion was bestial: he wanted to rub up against Euthydemus as pigs rub on stones (1.2.30). This indirect approach, in which Socrates’ words are aimed mainly at someone other than his interlocutor, is fairly common in Xenophon, but quite rare in Plato.37 Here the indirect approach allows Socrates to be far more blunt than he would have been in Critias’ presence. Scratching appears as a metaphor for sexual desire in Plato’s Gorgias (494c–e; cf. Statesman 266c), and terms for pig in Greek could refer to the female genitalia, so Critias’ lust is not only bestial but also effeminate: his passion unmans him.38 This Socratic rebuke was presumably effective, shaming Euthydemus, Critias, or both so much as to prevent any further relations between the two, and opening up the path for Socrates’ chaste, philosophical seduction of Euthydemus, which is depicted in Memorabilia 4.2. Socrates’ criticism made Critias hate Socrates and draft the law against teaching the “art of words” (λόγων τέχνην Mem. 1.2.31) when he came to power as one of the Thirty in 403. The phrase is vague, and was usefully vague for Critias’ purposes. In Plato and Aristotle’s day, the phrase “art of words” could be used as an equivalent to “rhetoric” (rhetorikē), but in Socrates’ day the term was broader, and could encompass other forms of argumentation, as rhetoric was yet to be distinguished as a distinct discipline (Schiappa 1999, esp. 68–70). Xenophon goes on to say that Critias invoked the art of words against Socrates because this was a charge “commonly made against philosophers by the many.” “Philosopher” was also yet to be defined or redefined by Plato.39 So the many would likely have taken the Thirty to be legislating against those who taught how to make the weaker argument the stronger, to make wrong seem right, as Socrates is said to do in Aristophanes Clouds.40 Xenophon says he neither heard Socrates doing this nor does he know of anyone else who had (Mem. 1.2.31). Xenophon presumably means that Socrates did not teach people how to cheat with arguments: so he was innocent of the charge as commonly understood. But we soon see that Critias and Charicles call Socrates in not for teaching anyone how to succeed in court but for attacking their role through an analogy with a bad herdsman who harms his flock. They first

Defending Socrates 95 try to convince Socrates that he should not speak with anyone under thirty years of age, but give ground when Socrates asks if he can talk to someone under thirty if he wants to buy something from him, or to tell him where to find Critias or Charicles. So Critias and Charicles are forced to reveal that they do not want Socrates asking his peculiar type of questions, questions that start out about shoemakers and carpenters and bronze-smiths but end up being about justice and piety. Charicles, who actually plays a larger role in the conversation than Critias, shows a certain shrewd appreciation of Socratic irony by noting that Socrates usually knows the answers to the questions he asks. Socrates forces Critias and Charicles to admit that what they do not want him to discuss with the young is justice, for that will show them in a bad light (Mem. 1.2.33–38). Thus “the art of words” means one thing for the many, who presumably associate it with shady argumentation in the law courts, and another thing for Charicles and Critias, who have tied to it Socrates and his peculiar mode of argumentation. The law against teaching the art of words appeared to be an attack on misleading forensic arguments but was really an ad hominem attack on Socrates. Xenophon has brilliantly turned the tables on the charge that Socrates gave men like Critias the rhetorical skills they went on to misuse, through at least three very clever moves. First, he simply denies that Socrates taught the art of words in the popular sense. But he also shows how Socrates can use skill in speech both to embarrass the Thirty by revealing their injustice and to refute their attempts to stifle free debate. Finally, Xenophon attributes the charge about teaching skill in speech to Critias and Charicles, the worst of the Thirty, thus undermining the charge by associating it with villains. The two vignettes with Critias are thus ideally suited to Xenophon’s defense of Socrates. The first shows him outspokenly rebuking Critias for his lust, thus implicitly shielding Socrates from the accusation that he corrupted the youth. The second shows Socrates criticizing the excesses of the Thirty and demonstrating that the charge that he teaches the art of words was an unjust attempt to muzzle his pursuit of virtue. The best defense is a good offense, particularly when one can attribute an accusation to someone as offensive as Critias. Had Xenophon attributed the charge about teaching the art of words to a less disreputable source, he would have had a far more difficult argument on his hands. For, as we’re about to see, at least one of Socrates’ charges was indeed quite capable of making the better argument the worse. Alcibiades, Pericles, and the legitimacy of law (Mem. 1.2.39–47) Xenophon does not show Socrates criticizing Alcibiades. He instead uses a story about Alcibiades to illustrate to explain the point we discussed above, the impossibility of providing a complete education to someone who does not find his teacher pleasing. Xenophon naturally chooses to explain that phenomenon in the case of Alcibiades, who left Socrates while he was still

96 Defending Socrates youthful, rather than Critias, who was corrupted only late in life. Alcibiades’ precocious interest in politics is demonstrated by his conversation with his guardian, Pericles (Mem. 1.2.40–46). The conversation certainly demonstrates Alcibiades’ interest in politics, but for most readers of Xenophon it is highly problematic. First of all, Alcibiades uses the elenchus; Xenophon recognizes that the elenchus is a common Socratic technique (1.4.1), but rarely has Socrates employ it, presumably because he recognizes it can be abused (Johnson 2005). And Alcibiades does appear to abuse the elenchus in order to embarrass Pericles, Athens’ greatest statesman. Pericles gives a positivistic definition of law—the laws are whatever the governing body in a city establishes. Alcibiades easily shows a flaw in Pericles’ understanding of the law when he contrasts legality with violence. Coercion is not legal, Alcibiades suggests, and Pericles quickly agrees that statutes forced on the city by tyrants and oligarchs are not true laws. Pericles blanches at saying the same of democratic laws, however, when Alcibiades notes that they are forced upon the wealthy by the poor. Pericles tries to escape via condescension: he himself was good at such sophistry when he was young, he says. Alcibiades, who sees through Pericles’ dodge, jokes that he wishes he had known Pericles back when he was at his cleverest regarding such things—perhaps hinting that Pericles was never that clever. A follower of Socrates thus showcases the power of the elenchus to undermine Pericles and question the legitimacy of the laws of Athens. Little wonder, then, that Alcibiades’ conversation with Pericles has become one of the most problematic passages in all of Xenophon’s Socratic works. Some commentators grant that Xenophon errs by including the conversation as part of the defense of Socrates (Dorion 2000, CLX-CLXIX, 103n128). Gigon (1953, 65–71), as often, thinks that Xenophon has taken over a passage from another source, only to fail to integrate it with the rest of this text. But this neglects its thematic coherence with what has come before. Socrates had just quizzed the oligarchs Critias and Charicles on the meaning of a law, whereas here Alcibiades discusses the meaning of law with a democrat. And Alcibiades’ trump card against Pericles is persuasion, precisely the card Xenophon played when defending Socrates against the charge that he incited violent overthrow of the democracy (Mem. 1.2.10–11). This passage appears well-suited to its context, then: Xenophon did not just insert a conversation between Alcibiades and Pericles he happened to find in some source. Others would distance the argumentation here from Socrates by saddling Pericles with responsibility for the argument or characterizing it as sophistic rather than Socratic. Bevilacqua (2010, 304n79, 308n83) appears to mistake Pericles’ disingenuous attempt to escape the argument by saying he once dabbled in sophistry for an admission that this is the sort of sophistry he taught Alcibiades. And there is nothing particularly sophistic about Alcibiades’ approach (pace Tuplin 2017, 357); it is a textbook case of an elenchus. Kirk Sanders (2011) argues that the passage actually depicts a

Defending Socrates 97 sophistic conversation Alcibiades had with Pericles before he associated with Socrates; but this interpretation, in addition to other difficulties, would render Alcibiades’ interest in Socrates unintelligible. If he could already refute Pericles this decisively, what need would Alcibiades have had for Socratic instruction?41 Melina Tamiolaki (2016, 14–18) argues that the argument says more about Pericles than about Socrates, saying that Pericles is too quick to agree that regimes other than democracy have legitimate laws and too ready to concede that democratic laws can be illegitimate. But Pericles’ problem is his feeble argumentative skill, not his limited attachment to democracy; it is the latter that leads to his evident embarrassment at the success of Alcibiades’ anti-democratic argument. There is no denying, I think, that this argument complicates Xenophon’s defense of Socrates: a follower of Socrates uses Socratic techniques to show that the greatest statesman of democratic Athens cannot distinguish democratic laws from the dictates of a tyrant. Alcibiades’ argument also problematizes the rather naïve version of legal positivism Socrates appears to endorse in Mem. 4.4, where he argues that all one needs to do to be just is to obey the law. But we have some good reason to believe that Xenophon and his Socrates endorsed the political views that underlie Alcibiades’ refutation of Pericles.42 And we have already seen that Xenophon has a pattern of granting that certain charges against Socrates have some basis in fact. Xenophon does not deny that Socrates attacked the use of the lot to choose public officials, and in the next section of the defense he will explicitly grant that Socrates taught that one should judge relatives and friends by their worth, not by their kinship or goodwill (Mem. 1.2.53). Indeed, the case of Pericles himself shows as much: a companion of Socrates is willing to show up his guardian (Danzig 2014a, 23–25). As is true for many of the other charges against Socrates, then, there is some factual basis to this one. Alcibiades did learn how to argue from Socrates; and he was quite willing to put his argumentative skills to work to embarrass Pericles and raise questions about the legitimacy of the law, including the laws of Athens. By having Alcibiades make these challenging arguments, rather than Socrates, Xenophon maintains a certain deniability for Socrates. He has buried Alcibiades’ conversation within an argument in which he treats Alcibiades and Critias as equally wayward disciples of Socrates. And immediately after having Alcibiades shred Pericles, Xenophon notes that Critias and Alcibiades were themselves not pleased at being refuted by Socrates when they made mistakes (Mem. 1.2.47). We are thus left to imagine Socrates refuting Alcibiades, even if Xenophon himself does not depict Socrates doing any such thing. Perhaps Xenophon intended that most readers draw the conclusion that Alcibiades’ refutation is an example of the irresponsible use of the elenchus. But Xenophon chose to include this conversation not because it aids his defense of Socrates but despite the fact that it does not. I suspect he expected at least some readers to notice as much. A full analysis of what he is

98 Defending Socrates doing would require a more thorough examination of what Xenophon’s Socrates thinks of law and democracy than can be provided here.43 I would note, however, that Alcibiades’ argument is not, stricto sensu, antidemocratic. Alcibiades certainly embarrasses Pericles—so the passage is definitely anti-Periclean. But so too, arguably, is the conversation between Socrates and the son of Pericles in Memorabilia 3.6 (so Tamiolaki 2016, 20–24). Perhaps Pericles was not an ideal democratic leader. And what Alcibiades demonstrates is not that democratic laws are inferior to laws in other types of regimes, but that they are no more legitimate, when they are coercive, than are coercive laws in oligarchies or tyrannies. In fact, one could readily enough argue that democratic laws are bound to be more persuasive to more citizens, and therefore less coercive, given that they need the consent of the majority to be passed in the first place. Moreover, in the passage immediately before introducing Critias and Alcibiades, Xenophon had emphasized the positive value of persuasion, contrasting it with violence (Mem. 1.2.9–11)—making use of precisely the same dichotomy that is the basis of Alcibiades’ argument against Pericles. So it seems unlikely that we are to dissociate Socrates from an argument Xenophon made on his behalf just a few pages ago. Xenophon’s Socrates does not take up the opportunity to defend particular democratic institutions, whether they be the use of the lot or the fact that democratic laws are passed by the majority. He instead retreats to a position—one calling for laws to be based on persuasion rather than violence—that is compatible with democracy, but not necessarily peculiar to it. The basic logic in this passage, then, is similar to that regarding the lot, but here Xenophon buries a potentially antidemocratic strand of Socrates’ thought a bit more deeply by attributing it to Alcibiades rather than having an accuser attribute it to Socrates himself. Socrates’ true associates (Mem. 1.2.48) To conclude his account of Socrates’ relationship with Critias and Alcibiades, Xenophon contrasts the better sort of Socratic companion, the men who associated with him not to gain what they needed to succeed in public life, but rather to learn how to be good men who were able to benefit their families, fellow-citizens, and the city. Xenophon lists Crito, Chaerephon, Chaerecrates, Hermogenes, Simmias, Cebes, and Phaedonidas. None of these men were controversial. The last three were Thebans, who had no opportunity to become politicians at Athens and, hence, were of little concern to an Athenian jury. Chaerephon was a democrat (Plato, Apology 20e–21a), as presumably was his younger brother, Chaerecrates. Crito, who was the same age and from the same deme as Socrates, was evidently an eminently respectable man, an old friend of Socrates but not a man deeply influenced by Socratic philosophy and hence not likely to have been a concern to Athenian democrats. This leaves Hermogenes, illegitimate son of Hipponicus, and halfbrother of Callias. Hermogenes is also Xenophon’s source for his Apology,

Defending Socrates 99 and accompanies him to Callias’ party in the Symposium. Hermogenes’ illegitimate status debarred him from an active political career at Athens, though as his brother was an avid democrat he may have been expected to have similar leanings. Conspicuously missing from this list are Xenophon’s rival Socratics: Plato, Antisthenes, Aristippus, and Aeschines, though Xenophon gives Aristippus (Mem. 2.1, 3.8) and Antisthenes (Smp.) major speaking parts elsewhere, and mentions Plato (Mem. 3.6). It has been suggested that Xenophon’s silence could reflect rivalry among the Socratics (Dorion 2000, 112n149). Xenophon also avoids mention of certain other disreputable figures linked to Socrates, including Phaedrus, who was implicated in the profaning of the mysteries in 415 or Charmides, who was a major supporter of the Thirty (though he is associated with Socrates at Mem. 3.6.1, is Socrates’ interlocutor in 3.7, and accompanies Socrates to Callias’ dinner in the Symposium). Hansen (1995, 26–30) argues that it is much easier to find “crooks and traitors” among Socrates’ friends than democrats, but much depends on how one defines the Socratic circle, as not all the characters Socrates speaks with in Plato and Xenophon are his followers. And there are democrats (including Nicias and Callias) mixed in with those tainted with the scandal of 415 (Eryximachus, Axiochus, Alcibiades) or oligarchy (Melesias, Clitophon, Critias). Moreover, Xenophon explicitly tells us that his list is partial, and he will himself show Socrates engaged with many figures omitted from the list here. Xenophon tells us that the men he lists came to Socrates not to learn how to become orators or win lawsuits, but to become kalokagathoi, fine and good men who nobly handled all their affairs. Xenophon does not deny that Socrates taught politics, for public life is part of what the kalokagathos does; all he denies is that the true associates of Socrates did not come to him solely to learn how to get ahead in public life. Perhaps Xenophon omits the major Socratic authors (Plato, Antisthenes, Aristippus, and Aeschines) because they did not engage in public life themselves—they thus did not directly benefit from Socrates in this regard. But the key point is to deny full membership in the Socratic circle to any who, like Critias and Alcibiades, was interested only in furthering their own political careers.44 Mad relatives, and the value of expertise (Mem. 1.2.49–55) The accuser now says that Socrates led his followers to treat their fathers with contempt. Socrates purportedly encouraged all his students, once they had acquired Socratic wisdom, to lock their ignorant fathers up as if they were senile and needed restraint (Mem. 1.2.49). The claim that Socrates alienated sons from their fathers goes back at least to Aristophanes’ Clouds, where Socratic teaching turns a son against his father. Relations between fathers and sons had become particularly topical in the wake of the disastrous end of the Peloponnesian War, when many Athenians were eager to

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return to the ways of their fathers after the youthful excesses of the late 5th century (B. Strauss 1993, 179–211). Xenophon deals with this charge once again in his Cyropaedia (3.1.14–31, 38–40) in the guise of the Armenian Sophist, a Socrates-like figure who is executed for turning Cyrus’ friend Tigranes against his father, the king of Armenia.45 So the charge obviously had staying power. Athenian law did allow sons to claim control of their inheritance by having their fathers declared insane.46 But the Athenians also considered care for parents a moral imperative, and Xenophon’s Socrates will note that the city singles out ingratitude toward parents by making it an offense that rendered one ineligible for public office (Mem. 2.2.13). Xenophon attacks the weak link in the argument, that equating ignorance with insanity, by arguing that Socrates distinguished between the two conditions. The insane do need to be restrained, while those ignorant of important things need only to be taught by those who know (Mem. 1.2.50). But Xenophon’s later discussion of insanity, at Memorabilia 3.9.6–7, shows how this charge could have been made against Socrates, as he has Socrates say that one lacking self-knowledge is all but insane. Socrates’ understanding of insanity is thus quite distinct from the popular conception of what it means to be insane, and Presocratic philosophers were probably not the only people Socrates said were lunatics. The defense here is thus not particularly effusive: Xenophon does not suggest that Socrates advocated treating fathers, even foolish fathers, with anything like indulgence. Here we have an example where Xenophon knocks down an accusation promptly, but provides, later in the Memorabilia, more evidence for why the accusation was made. The accuser quickly pivots to saying that Socrates dishonored not only fathers but also other relatives and friends, saying that their kinship and goodwill counted for nothing if they did not have useful expertise. He adds that Socrates claimed to be the wisest of men himself, and to be capable of making others wise; hence, others were worthless in comparison (Mem. 1.2.51–52). Here we see an excellent example of Xenophon feeding the accuser lines to structure his own defense of Socrates; the accuser helpfully refines his charge after Xenophon refuted his first formulation of it. Xenophon does not deny that Socrates claimed to be wise, and he forthrightly admits that Socrates said such things about relatives. Indeed, Socrates notes that people quickly get rid of the bodies of their loved ones, once their souls have departed, and dispose of worthless parts of their living bodies as they see fit: nails, hair, calluses, spit. They also pay doctors to burn and cut away parts of their own bodies. The point, Xenophon says, is that Socrates urged us to care for our intellect, which is our most useful part, and, rather than urging his followers to bury their fathers alive or cut them up, told them to learn how to be useful and worthy of honor to all (Mem. 1.2.53–55). Xenophon’s coarse examples apparently made a strong impression on Aristotle, who reports Socrates making the same point with

Defending Socrates 101 the same examples (including spittle, hair, nails, and corpses: Eudemian Ethics 7.1 1235a37–b2). This all does not mean that Socrates taught that one should bury one’s father alive or cut oneself up, Xenophon tells us: rather, one should improve oneself, so that one would be found valuable by fathers, brothers, and others. This defense is also somewhat curious, as Xenophon does not directly deny the charge that Socrates dishonored fathers, relatives, and friends, and instead provides rather memorable comparisons of contempt for one’s own. Xenophon will, however, add to this defense later. In Memorabilia 2.2, Socrates notes to his son, Lamprocles, how many good deeds his mother has done him, deeds which ought to obligate him to reciprocate accordingly. So too will Socrates attempt to reconcile brothers in Memorabilia 2.3, and promote friendship in 2.4–2.7. Xenophon could have mentioned in book one that Socrates worked to reconcile his own son with his mother, or two brothers with each other. That would have provided a more direct defense of the charges against him here. But in all of these cases, it is the value that people can provide one another in long-term, reciprocal relationships, rather than ties of blood or affection, that make relationships worthwhile. In other words, Xenophon does not deny that Socrates argued that we should value others not because of their kinship or good intentions, but by their value to us. Instead he begins to sketch a Socratic argument that fundamentally reinterprets the meaning of friendship, one rooted in reciprocity rather than affection or blood ties.47 Xenophon has allowed the accuser to clearly articulate a way in which Socrates challenged conventional norms, and has declined to defend Socrates by citing readily available examples where Socrates appears to meet those norms. Instead he has chosen to explain Socrates’ unconventional ideas. Poetry and the common man (Mem. 1.2.56–61) The accuser now argues that Socrates made his companions wrongdoers and tyrannical by selecting the worst bits of the best poets (Mem. 1.2.56). First, the accuser alleges, Socrates quoted Hesiod’s line, “Work is no disgrace, but idleness is a disgrace” (Works and Days 311), to teach his companions to do anything at all that brought them profit (Mem. 1.2.56). Xenophon tells us that Socrates, and Hesiod, did not praise every sort of activity, but praised profit-bringing work as contrasted with idleness. The same line from Hesiod is food for fodder in Plato’s Charmides (163b), where none other than Critias claims Hesiod as an authority for his distinction between making and doing, where doing (prattō) is reserved for noble acts, but making (poieō) can be done by cobblers, fish-mongers, and prostitutes. Critias is like Xenophon’s Socrates in distinguishing between different sorts of acts, but his distinction is quite different, as Critias expresses aristocratic disdain for humble work, whereas Xenophon’s Socrates, as Hesiod, praises humble workers and condemns idleness. In

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Xenophon, Socrates’ interest in profitable work is in keeping with his interest in what is useful: and in the last four chapters of the second book of the Memorabilia Socrates will advise various Athenians who are down on their luck to take on profitable if humble work. Socrates’ relationship to the common man is also the subject of the next contested bit of poetry. The accuser takes Socrates to task for often citing a passage from Homer (Iliad 2.188–191, 198–202) to justify beating common people and the poor.48 This is the passage that was also discussed by Polycrates. Odysseus rebukes both commoners and leaders of the Greeks at Troy as they retreat to the ships, but uses his staff to corral the commoners, telling them that they are worthless in battle and council, whereas he uses only “gentle words” with the nobles, telling them that they ought not be afraid. While Homer does not explicitly say that Odysseus struck the commoners,49 the accuser is happy to draw that conclusion; and a leader’s use of force on his own men could well result in considerable controversy, as Xenophon knew well from his own experience with the 10,000, during which he was taken to task for striking soldiers (Anab. 5.8). Xenophon successfully defended himself by arguing that he used physical force only in cases of extreme indiscipline, and did so for the men’s own good. Naturally enough, then, Xenophon does not claim that Socrates was opposed to any use of force on underlings. Rather, he says that Socrates took these verses to show that all useless men should be checked in every way, particularly if they are bold, and even if they are very rich. Such men are of no assistance to an army, city, or the demos (common people). In Xenophon’s telling, then, Socrates stressed the parallelism between the two speeches—both are rebukes of a sort, beginning with the same term of address (δαιμόνιε), one that usually marks a speaker’s surprised disapproval at what is going on (Brown 2011). And the emphasis on utility is a fundamental strand in the thinking of Xenophon’s Socrates. Xenophon also uses the poetic attack on Socrates to launch a wider defense of Socrates’ attitude toward the demos, in two senses. First, Xenophon claims that if Socrates said poor people should be beaten, he was saying he should be beaten himself, given his relative lack of wealth. In the Oeconomicus (2.2) Socrates says if he was lucky, he could get five minae (500 drachmas) by selling everything he owned, including his house; this would place him in the lowest property class at Athens. Xenophon then pivots to note that Socrates never charged anyone for the opportunity to learn from him, despite “taking on many disciples from home and abroad” (πολλοὺς ἐπιθημητὰς καὶ ἀστοὺς καὶ ξένους λαβὼν Mem. 1.2.60)—the closest Xenophon will come to saying Socrates had students. Xenophon contrasts others who learned little from Socrates but charged a great deal to pass it on: such men were not as friendly to the people (demotikos) as Socrates was. Xenophon and Plato often contrast Socrates with the sophists by saying Socrates took no pay, but this is the only overt reference to the question of whether his followers took pay.50 Xenophon makes Socrates’

Defending Socrates 103 refusal to take pay evidence that he was a man of the people, though he also grants that Socrates was motivated by a desire to be selective about who he spoke with. He does not note that wealthy aristocrats (like Xenophon or Plato) or those with wealthy and obliging friends (like Socrates) had no need to charge fees. Finally, Xenophon claims that Socrates, by improving those who associate with him, reflected greater glory on Athens than the glory won for Sparta by Lichas, who won fame merely for hosting guests for an annual festival. So Socrates was himself poor, did not make money from teaching, and was a great credit to Athens (Mem. 1.2.59–61). Xenophon, thus, goes out of his way to argue that Socrates was simpatico toward the common man. This is rather more than would be required to meet the accuser’s charge that he made his companions wrongdoers and tyrannical (Mem. 1.2.56), and suggests that Xenophon hoped to reach those sympathetic to the Athenian demos. But he no more shows that Socrates believed in the superiority of democracy here than he shows that Socrates believed in the lot, or held that democratically enacted laws were more legitimate than laws of oligarchies or tyrannies. And Xenophon does not claim, here or elsewhere, that Socrates believed that democracy was the best form of government. Xenophon will, however, go on to show Socrates giving advice to leaders at democratic Athens (3.1–7; cf. 1.6.15) and praising the value of poor friends (2.9 and 2.10). And he argues that Socrates was happy to share his wisdom with all (1.1.10), would not use violence to overthrow the democracy (1.2.9–11), and was not contemptuous of everyday Athenians. If he is not a democrat, then at least he was no anti-democrat.51

Concluding the defense (Mem. 1.2.62) Xenophon concludes his defense in language that recalls the outset of the Memorabilia, where he wondered how the Athenians could have considered Socrates worthy of death. Socrates deserves honor rather than death, great honor in fact, Xenophon now claims. He makes a somewhat curious legal argument: Socrates was not guilty of any of the serious crimes for which Athenian law dictated death as a punishment, nor was he ever charged with any such thing. The argument seems to be that there was something disproportionate about making death the penalty for impiety—but that is an argument that would only be needed were one to grant that Socrates was actually impious. And it was Socrates himself, of course, who insisted on making death the penalty in his case by refusing to propose any other penalty (Apol. 23) or proposing an alternative only after mocking the process by suggesting that he be rewarded rather than punished (Plato, Apology 36b–38c). We may perhaps allow that this is an instance where Xenophon resorts to the kitchen sink approach to litigation. But Xenophon quickly moves on to say that Socrates worshipped the gods more than others do, and led his followers to put an end to base desires and long for

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virtue, and that he did both of these things in a public manner that should have been clear to all. Xenophon thus stresses the contrast between the enormity of the punishment and Socrates’ superlative value to Athens. In the long first two chapters of the Memorabilia, then, Xenophon provides us with a thorough and compelling defense of Socrates. He directly addresses all the main charges in the indictment of 399, but also raises and refutes various other attacks on Socrates, charges that were probably in the background in 399. These include charges of a religious sort, including atheism and secret teaching, and those tied to the charge of corruption, including Socrates’ critique of “family values,” his criticism of the lottery, and his relationship with the man in the street. He devotes considerable time to Socrates’ most controversial associates, Critias and Alcibiades, demonstrating Socrates’ successes with them but noting that the two were never fully sold on the Socratic way of life. Pairing off the two men allows him to defend Socrates’ relationship with Critias with arguments more fitting for Alcibiades; and by having Critias attack Socrates for teaching the art of words Xenophon undermines that possible line of attack on Socrates. Xenophon also distinguishes Socrates from other controversial types, including Presocratics, sophists, religious cranks, and those who pride themselves on their asceticism. Xenophon does not react passively to a set of accusations, but rather manipulates his internal rhetorical opponents as he sees fit, sometimes allowing them to speak at some length (as in the “Polycratean” charges), sometimes leaving charges implicit (as in the case of atheism). His defense is, however, no whitewash: he often leaves one part of a charge standing either implicitly or explicitly. Xenophon does not deny that Socrates discussed natural philosophy in his own way, that he attacked the lot, that his associates learned skill at speech (including the ability to question Athenian laws), or that he was open to the use of physical force against worthless men. And he explicitly grants that Socrates made utility, rather than affective or family ties, the basis for relationships. The Athenians, then, had numerous reasons to be critical of Socrates, and Xenophon is far and away our best guide to why they were critical of him, even if Xenophon’s intention is to show that their critiques were ultimately misguided. It is in large part because the charges against Socrates were not baseless that Xenophon continues the Memorabilia with his positive case for Socrates’ usefulness to his companions. Thus, Xenophon sometimes returns to fill holes in his argument here; in fact, as we saw in the first chapter, most of the Memorabilia responds, in one way or another, to the charges raised in its first two chapters. So while Plato’s Apology aims not so much to defend Socrates against the charges of 399 as to make him an eternal martyr for philosophy, and Xenophon’s own Apology explains why Socrates never intended to defend himself at all, the Memorabilia makes a genuine and largely effective effort to defend Socrates against the charges against him, both the legal charges against him in 399 and those swirling about him before, during, and after his trial.

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Notes 1 A technique previously studied by Gray (1998, 60–73). 2 A technique previously recognized by Dorion (2004, 183–186) and Danzig (2010, 216). 3 As by Stokes (2012). Dorion (2011b, 243n1) lists 15 scholars in favor of the priority of Xenophon’s Apology and only two for the priority of Memorabilia (add Gray 1989 to the defenders of the priority of Memorabilia). Dorion rightly observes that the chronological issue is not of great importance given that there are no significant doctrinal differences between the two texts. 4 For efforts to date of the Memorabilia, see note 40 to the introduction. Gray (1989a) suggests that Memorabilia appeared after Polycrates’ Accusation of Socrates, to which it, unlike the Apology, responds. Polycrates’ Accusation appeared after 393, which would put the Apology before that date. But even if one grants that Memorabilia responds to Polycrates (which I will question later in this chapter), Xenophon could have chosen to respond to him only in the Memorabilia, given the Apology’s more limited aims. 5 For wonder as a prod to inquiry in Xenophon, see Humble (2018b). 6 The bibliography on the divine sign is immense; some key items are McPherran (1996, 175–208), Smith and Woodruff (2000), Destrée and Smith (2005), Long (2006), Dorion (2013, 275–316), and Johnson (2017, 178–180). 7 Dorion (2000, 59n28); for the selection process used by Xenophon’s Socrates, see Morrison (1994). For Socrates’ refusal to take pay, see now Van Berkel (2020, 263–329). 8 Dorion (2000, 65n50, 53), Bevilacqua (2010, 272n44), and Pownall (2018, 355n26) deny that Socrates was the epistates, and say that he was instead simply one of the prytaneis, the presiding committee from which an epistates was randomly selected for each day’s Assembly meeting. Socrates is named as a prytanis at Hellenica 1.7.15 and at Plato, Apology 32b, but sometimes the broader term was used of the man serving as epistates (Krentz 1989, 164). Dorion and Bevilacqua argue that if Socrates were epistates, he would have been able to stop the unconstitutional vote to convict the defendants en masse; but this is to assume that the Athenians would scruple to obey the authority of the epistates at precisely the same moment that they were violating the law that called for defendants to get separate trials. Xenophon also names Socrates as epistates at Memorabilia 4.4.2, and Plato’s Gorgias clearly alludes to Socrates’ effort to avoid putting the matter to a vote at Gorgias 473e–474a. 9 For the import of oaths in Athenian religion see Mikalson (1983, 31–38). 10 For more on Xenophon’s positive account of Socratic piety, see McPherran (1996, 272–291), Sedley (2008), Powers (2009), and Johnson (2017); for one account of controversy surrounding it, see Janko (2006). 11 See Mem. 1.2.17–18, 1.3.1, 1.5.6, 4.4.1, 4.4.10–11; Oec. 12.18; Smp. 8.27; Anab. 1.9.3–4; 3.1.36; Cyr. 1.2.8, 3.3.39; 7.5.86; 8.1.39; 8.6.13; and Dorion (2000, 74n68), from which most of these passages are drawn. 12 Edmunds (2018) cites Ameipsias’ Konnos frg. 9, Clouds 362–363, and Eupolis (frg. 386 = SSR IA.12); cf. Edmunds (2005). 13 CGCG 329, 351. 14 The commentaries of Dorion (2000) and Bevilacqua (2010), the translations of Waterfield (1990) and Henderson (2013), and essays by Stokes (2012), Waterfield (2012), and Murphy (2019) all identify the accuser as Polycrates. Arguments to the contrary can be found in Russell (1996, 17–18), Hansen (1995, 9–11; 2002, 154–155), Gray (1998, 60–68), Livingstone (2001, 36–39), and Pangle (2018, 226n9). As Livingstone (2001, 33) and Hansen (2002, 154) note, the view that Polycrates was the accuser originated with Cobet in 1858,

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but was already refuted by Breitenbach in 1869, who argued that the accuser was best taken to be Meletus, as I will argue below. Thus, Brickhouse and Smith (1989, 69–87) argue that Plato’s Socrates had no need to respond to political accusations as they were largely the invention of Polycrates. Chroust (1957, 69–100) presents the most detailed reconstruction Polycrates’ speech, though, as we shall see, he is far too optimistic about his ability to recover what Polycrates said, and fails to take adequate account of our evidence for the playful nature of Polycrates’ works outside the Accusation. On the speech see now Murphy (2019). Förster’s edition (reprinted in Calder et al 2002) lists dozens of cross-references to Plato and Xenophon. Russell 1996, 17; Nesselrath (2018, 808n37) is similarly skeptical about Polycratean influence on Libanius. “Far surpassed the rest of the Greeks” translates πολὺ διήνεγκε τῶν Ἑλλήνων, which could more neutrally mean “was the most exceptional of the Greeks.” But the positive sense is much more common in Isocrates and seems required by the logic of the argument, even if the Greek leaves just a bit of wiggle room for those who consider Alcibiades exceptionally bad (Livingstone 2001, 109). Both Chroust (1957, 174–181) and Brickhouse and Smith (1989, 84–85) suggest that Polycrates may have originated the controversy about Socrates and Alcibiades. For Xenophon’s terminology for those in Socrates’ circle, see Dorion (2000, 54n12). Dorion (2000, 79n77) and Bevilacqua (2010, 11n13) still cite the amnesty in this way. For a quick introduction to the amnesty, see Nails (2002, 219–222). For examples of prosecutors referring to crimes committed before 403, see Hansen (1995, 11–12) and Brickhouse and Smith (1989, 74). My account of Polycrates’ works is based on Livingstone (2001, 28–34); cf. Murphy (2019, 81). There is one scrap of evidence that could support the idea that Polycrates was politically active. At Meno 90a, the manuscripts report that the Theban democratic leader Ismenias grew wealthy, thanks to his acquisition of “the wealth of Polycrates.” If this were our Polycrates, as Bluck (1961, 345–347) suggests, it would provide some evidence that Polycrates was a proponent of democracy, and his wealth would give him the social status to be a significant player on the Athenian stage—a man we might expect to write an Accusation of Socrates that could have a major impact on the Socratic movement. But Isocrates tells us that Polycrates the sophist was poor, and there is no other evidence for Polycrates’ involvement in politics. The old view that “Polycrates” is a scribal error for “Timocrates,” who famously bribed Ismenias (among others) is a far better reading of this passage. See Beresford (no date). One report of a contemporary response to Polycrates by an arguably Socratic source has reached us. The orator Lysias is credited with Apology of Socrates that responded to Polycrates (fragments 271–276 in Carey 2007). Lysias was known to Socrates (Phaedrus, Republic), so his speech might count as “Socratic” in some sense. But our evidence for this speech is exiguous, and features anecdotes about Lysias offering the speech to Socrates, who rejected it as rhetorically effective but unworthy of him. These anecdotes are clearly false if the speech did indeed also respond to Polycrates’ speech, and they also suggest that the speech was considered unSocratic in approach. Lysias’ authorship of the speech, which is first mentioned by Cicero (On the Orator 1.54, 231), is also questionable; his name attracted many false attributions in antiquity. So, our

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limited evidence about the speech does not support the notion that Polycrates had a major influence on the Socratic movement. On this speech, see now Murphy 2019, 83–84. See Symposium 3.5–6, 4.6 and Prince (2015, 584–677). And not one original to me; it goes back at least to Breitenbach 1869 (non legi). Tatum (1989, 164–165, 175–177) rather similarly suggests that Pantheia, the supposed “heroine” of one tale in the Cyropaedia, is left unnamed to show how marginal she is in Cyrus’ world. On such delayed naming see also Due 2003, 594, and the online posting by Norman Sandridge (2012), together with the comments on that post. Some characters in the Cyropaedia are never named, including Cyrus’ major enemies, the kings of Armenia and Assyria; perhaps Meletus escapes this level of ignominy because by the end of the Memorabilia the charges have been so thoroughly discredited that he no longer poses a risk. On lot and election of magistrates, see Hansen (1991, 225–237) (from whom I take the translation above). Gray (2004a, 153) challenges the importance of the lot for democratic Athens, but does not confront the evidence from Aristotle. On Socrates and the lot see also Tuplin 2017, 355–356. It is possible that Aristotle uses Xenophon as a source in the passage from the Rhetoric, but while one of his examples (the futility of choosing a pilot by lot) is the same as Xenophon, the other (choosing athletes to compete) is not, nor is Aristotle’s language very close to Xenophon’s. With Danzig (2014a, 14–15; followed by Tamiolaki 2016, 7n11), I think the second sentence in 1.2.12 is better attributed to the accuser than to Xenophon himself, and thus that Xenophon himself does not call Critias most violent or Alcibiades most hybristic (note that there is nothing comparable to quotation marks in the Greek text). With the contrastive ἐγὼ δ᾽ Xenophon then pivots to his own stance, which is not to enter into that particular debate (1.2.13; cf. 1.2.26); note that while Xenophon says that the two may have done “some harm” (τι κακόν) to the city, the accuser says that they did the “the most harm” (πλεῖστα κακά) to it. Xenophon’s portrait of Critias in the Hellenica (2.3–4) is highly critical, but his attitude toward Alcibiades is balanced or even favorable (so Krentz 1989, 91; cf. Hell. 1.4.13–17). Hansen (1995, 28) identifies the following additional “crooks and traitors” among Socrates’ associates: Pythodorus, Axiochus, Charmides, Eryximachus, Phaedrus, Melesias, and Clitophon. Nails (2002, 106–111) lays out the evidence for our Critias and his grandfather, whom she takes to have been the speaker in Plato’s Timaeus. I differ only in accepting the evidence that our Critias was active in democratic politics in Athens before his exile. It is impossible to identify a consistent political philosophy behind Critias’ possible support for the oligarchy of the Four Hundred, his support for the recall of Alcibiades and postmortem attacks on the oligarch Phyrnichus, and his subsequent exile by the democracy, but it is anachronistic to demand a consistent political ideology from an Athenian aristocrat of this period. Thucydides 5.43.2 implies Alcibiades was at the minimum age to serve as general, thirty, when he was elected to that post in 420; an inscription reveals that he had proposed a decree in 422; and he had already been mocked by Aristophanes in 427 (Banqueters, frg. 205); cf. Nails (2002, 10–17). For a classic account of the stages in the teaching method of Xenophon’s Socrates, see Morrison (1994). As was observed by Gigon 1953, 56; cf. Dorion 2000, 97n115. Examples include 1.3.8–9; 2.5.1–2; 3.14.2–4; 4.2.1–7. On these terms see Henderson (1975, 131–132); Gray (2017, 239) notes that

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Plutarch uses the same Greek term when referring to the belief that pigs crush their testicles by rubbing them against tree stumps (Plutarch, Causes of Natural Phenomena 917d). Christopher Moore (2019; cf. Moore 2018b) has recently argued that “philosopher” originally was a derogatory term meaning something like “wannabe sage,” rather than a more general and neutral term for intellectuals. In Moore’s view, the supposed etymological meaning of “lover of wisdom” came rather later, as philo- prefixes at an early date usually meant something like “crazy about,” and sophos meant “sage.” So the philosophos is wild about sagery in the same way that Aristophanes’ Philocleon is “wild about juries” (phileliastes, Wasps 88). The negative valence of the term was based on the perceived disconnect between the abstract discussions of philosophoi and their claims to practical know-how. For present purposes, it suffices to note that the term philosophos was broad enough to encompass both more abstract conversation and the application of such conversations. Clouds 112–115, 882–885; cf. Plato Apology 19b, 23d; Xen. Smp. 6.6, Oec. 11.3. Danzig 2014a provides additional arguments against Sanders. So Strauss (1972, 14–15), Johnson (2003, 277–279 and 2012, 136–138), Danzig (2014a), Pangle (2018, 33–39). For some relevant efforts, see Johnson (2003, 2012); Danzig (2009 and 2014a). One key element, as Danzig (2014a, 16–17) notes, is Alcibiades’ suggestion that laws ought not only to be persuasive but good (Mem. 1.2.42). Dorion (2000, 112n149) provides further discussion of omissions on the list, with citations of previous bibliography. For more on the Armenian sophist, see chapter five, page 205. Sons could apparently even use force to ensure control: Laws 11.929d–e; [Plato] 7th Letter 331c; Clouds 845. The most famous case is that brought against Sophocles, who successfully demonstrated that he was in full possession of his faculties by reciting a chorus from the Oedipus at Colonus (Cicero, On Old Age 7.22). For more on Xenophon’s treatment of reciprocity, see Azoulay (2018) and van Berkel (2020). The quotation here omits Homer’s lines on the power and authority of kings that conclude the speeches both to nobles (Iliad 2.192–197) and to the commoners (2.203–206). Strauss (1972, 17), O’Connor (1994, 157–158), and Pangle (2018, 38–39) take the omission of these lines to be a Xenophontic effort to obscure Socrates’ monarchical views. But the accuser’s point was that Socrates approved of Odysseus using force on commoners while using only gentle words on nobles. In the full Homeric texts Odysseus calls on both nobles and commoners to respect monarchial authority, so inclusion of these repeated lines would reduce the contrast between Odysseus’ treatment of those of high and low status, and undermine the criticism of Socrates. Thus, one can just as well imagine the abridgement being made by Socrates’ accuser. The lines would also be irrelevant if Socrates was making the point Xenophon attributes to him, explaining why Xenophon could have abridged the passage. Finally if, as Strauss often insists, we are to consider the context of quotations, this passage would not be the best one to employ to back monarchical authority, as Agamemnon has just made the ridiculous error of testing the morale of his men by suggesting they should abandon the war, hoping they will reject his proposal; instead one and all rush for the ships to sail back to Greece. Homer’s σκήπτρῳ ἐλάασκεν could simply mean “steer them” with the scepter (Kirk 1985, 136). Antisthenes also says that he does not charge for his teaching at Symposium

Defending Socrates 109 4.43, but does not contrast himself with other Socratics. Aristippus is said to have been the first Socratic to charge a fee, and does not come off particularly well in Memorabilia 2.1 or 3.8, so he is the usual suspect here (D.L. 2.65), but Aeschines is also said to taken pay (D.L. 2.62). 51 For more on the politics of Xenophon’s Socrates, see Gray (2004a), Tuplin (2017), and Bevilacqua (2018).

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Men must endure Their going hence, even as their coming hither. Ripeness is all: come on. (King Lear, V.ii.14–16)

Xenophon’s Memorabilia provides us with Xenophon’s fullest defense of Socrates, but it is Xenophon’s defense of Socrates, not Socrates’ defense of himself. If we want to learn how Socrates approached his trial, according to Xenophon, we must turn to Xenophon’s Apology. Xenophon’s Apology also has much to teach us about how other Socratics thought about the trial and death of Socrates. Xenophon names Hermogenes as his source for the trial (Apol. 2; Mem. 4.8.4); this is the only time he names his source for anything he tells us about Socrates to anyone else, and he presumably does so because readers knew he was off with Cyrus and the 10,000 in 399. But Xenophon also alludes to other written sources, and tells us that they all agree that Socrates spoke boastfully at his trial (Apol. 1). This agreement, Xenophon says, shows that this is how Socrates actually behaved. Xenophon’s contribution is to explain something others had not made clear: Socrates was ready to die. This explains what otherwise would have seemed foolish, given that most defendants on trial for their lives avoid boasting in order to avoid conviction. So there was clearly some uncertainty about Socrates’ intentions at his trial among readers of Socratic literature, if not necessarily among the Socratics themselves. I will aim to show that in Xenophon’s view Socrates’ death had a positive purpose beyond simply committing “suicide by jury”: Socrates’ freely chose death that showed his strength of character, and his defense speech confronted the jury, and readers, with a provocative account of his justice and piety. With this reading of the Apology in place, we will turn to two different sorts of comparative study: comparing Xenophon’s account of the trial in the Apology with his defenses of Socrates in the Memorabilia, and comparing Xenophon’s Apology with Plato’s. I will argue that the Memorabilia account

Xenophon’s Apology 111 of the trial differs from that in Xenophon’s Apology in tone rather than substance, reflecting Xenophon’s different intent in writing the two works, rather than any substantive change in his view of the trial. This distinction between differences in tone and differences in substance can provide us with a sort of touchstone for considering Xenophon’s relationship with Plato. If we can say that Xenophon’s Socrates is the same across the Memorabilia and Apology, despite significant differences in tone and approach, we must identify greater differences between Plato and Xenophon if we are to argue that they present fundamentally different portraits of Socrates. And Plato’s Apology was, as we shall see, central among Xenophon’s written sources for his Apology. As has rightly been pointed out in recent scholarship, differences between the two works are not just one-off failures by Xenophon to match Plato’s gold standard, but reflect distinct but individually coherent portraits of Socrates.1 But not all differences are created equal. As just noted, we should distinguish between differences in tone and differences in substance. We can also distinguish between differences that contradict and differences that clarify. Xenophon begins his Apology not by distinguishing his Socrates from Plato’s, but by saying that he will clarify something about how Socrates actually approached his trial and death, his boastfulness. Plato’s Socrates also boasts, but Plato did not make it clear that Socrates did so because he was ready to die. Xenophon does make this clear, and thereby adds something to Plato’s account; but he does not contradict it, at least on that score. So when it comes to the main thrust of his Apology, the explanation for Socrates’ approach to his trial, Xenophon is not presenting a rival account of the trial of Socrates but one that foregrounds a vital shared element, Socrates’ boasting, and adds an explanation for that boasting that is lacking in other sources. None of this is to deny the very real substantive differences between the two Apologies. But we will be in a much better position to evaluate those differences, and what they mean for our understanding of Socrates, once we have a better understanding of Xenophon’s overall intent.

Reading Xenophon’s Apology From suicide by jury to martyrdom Socrates’ jury, as depicted by both Plato and Xenophon, clearly found his “defense” rather outrageous, as evidenced by the number of times they interrupt him. Scholars have also been outraged in various ways, and a look at their varied reactions will prove a useful introduction to the work. Some scholars have found Xenophon’s Apology outrageous on philosophical grounds. They argue that Socrates had a positive duty to help the jurors reach a just verdict, a duty he would have abandoned had he engaged in boasting.2 They have presented close readings of Plato’s Apology to show that, appearances notwithstanding, Plato’s Socrates did make a bona fide

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effort to defend himself in court, constrained only by his commitment to telling the truth. For such readers Xenophon’s Apology is “grossly inconsistent with Socrates’ rocklike integrity of character” (Vlastos 1991, 292), which would have required him to do all he could to prevent an unjust verdict. “Unless it can be shown how manipulating the jury into putting him to death somehow serves the aims of virtue, Xenophon’s account of the stance Socrates took at his trial and why he took it is not to be believed” (Brickhouse and Smith 2000, 40). Xenophon’s account, on this view, is simply wrong, because it is inconsistent with Socrates’ character as Xenophon himself portrays it: we can dismiss it without pausing to ask why Xenophon would have portrayed Socrates in this way. Such readings, however, are based on a moral premise not found in our texts, that Socrates had a duty to help his jury avoid reaching an unjust verdict. But in this case the verdict did Socrates no harm, nor, I will argue, did it harm his jury. For Socrates approached his trial in the way best suited to improve his jurors and all others who would eventually learn how he met his end. Socrates’ boastful, glorious death did serve the aims of virtue. Thomas Pangle (1985) argues that Socrates’ suicide by jury was an indirect effect of another, more honorable purpose, but one with a narrow audience. In Pangle’s reading, Xenophon’s Socrates shaped his account of his intentions to suit Hermogenes, so as to secure in Hermogenes a conventionally minded ally to defend the philosophical mission that would live on after his death. Hermogenes, Pangle notes, was a serious, intensely pious man, as we learn in Xenophon’s Symposium (4.46–49, 6.1–4), but one who would nonetheless be open to unconventional elements in Socrates’ thought due to his own marginal status as an illegitimate son. In Pangle’s view the Apology provides a vital counterbalance to the portrait of Socrates in the Memorabilia; in the Apology Socrates is boastful and largely unconnected to society, whereas in the Memorabilia he avoids big talk and is continually helping his fellow-citizens. Following Leo Strauss (1972, 129–140), Pangle sees the report of Hermogenes as providing hints of a more controversial Socrates than the figure of the Memorabilia: A man like Hermogenes focuses on, and through his report highlights for us, crucial truths about Socrates’ extraordinarily proud or independent posture toward political society at large: truths that in any other context would be imprudent for Xenophon to present so plainly. (Pangle 1985, 110) Pangle goes on to find small but telling differences between what Xenophon says of Socrates’ justice in the Apology and the Memorabilia, raising questions about Socrates’ commitment to the city, his understanding of the relationship between goodness and pleasure, and his view of justice. We see here four key elements of the approach followed by Strauss and his followers. Pangle pays close attention to the character of the

Xenophon’s Apology 113 interlocutor. He draws contrasts between Xenophon’s Socratic works, each of which has a unique perspective, but which together form a “system” (Pangle 1985, 110).3 He looks for an esoteric meaning behind the more conventional and superficial surface of the text. And he reads very closely, making much of seemingly small differences. Much of this is salutary, but Pangle’s analysis is flawed by his taking the compressed and deliberately boastful Apology as if it were meant to be a complete portrait of Socrates to compare with that of the Memorabilia. Of course there will be things missing from the few sentences in the Apology that correspond with far more extensive parallels in the Memorabilia. Pangle exaggerates such omissions and differences in emphasis to find in the Apology ideas more in keeping with Straussian beliefs about the conflict between philosophy and the city than those attributed to the humbler, more conventional Socrates of the Memorabilia. I will argue below that there is little difference between the substance of the defense of Socrates in the Apology and that in the Memorabilia, though there is a great difference in tone. If this is correct, there is no good reason to read the Apology as a particularly revelatory work channeled through the special viewpoint of Hermogenes. Paul Vander Waerdt (1993) agrees with Pangle that Socrates did not only seek suicide by jury. Vander Waerdt argues that Socrates could not win his case without compromising his principles, because he had a novel and radical conception of justice, which in Vander Waerdt’s view consists not in obedience to the law but in benefaction; the Apology is meant to showcase that view of justice. I am rather sympathetic to Vander Waerdt’s conception of Socratic justice (Johnson 2003, 2012), but Danzig (2014b) has rightly pointed out that Socrates says almost nothing that connects justice to benefaction in the Apology. If the Apology were meant to illustrate any such conception of justice, then, it does a remarkably poor job of doing so. Louis-André Dorion (2013, 301–316) shares with Pangle and Vander Waerdt the belief that suicide by jury was only an indirect effect of Socrates’ speech. But Dorion has a very different idea about Xenophon’s intent in writing the Apology. Dorion argues that the daimonion prevented Xenophon’s Socrates from making a rhetorical defense, leaving him no option but an outspoken defense of his exemplary life that jurors accustomed to flattery and emotional rhetoric would naturally reject (cf. Pontier 2018, 436–444). In Dorion’s account, Socrates also recognizes that the time has come for him to die, but this realization does not directly motivate his action; it rather shows that the gods have not abandoned him. Unlike Pangle and Vander Waerdt, then, Dorion does not really provide Socrates with some higher motivation for his course of action; nor, in Dorion’s view, does Socrates choose to commit suicide by jury. Rather, Socrates simply speaks in his accustomed manner, which is unsuitable to the lawcourts, and this results in his execution by a jury that would only have been swayed by a more forensically suitable defense. Xenophon’s primary intention, in Dorion’s view, was to show that Plato erred by having

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his Socrates realize that death was beneficial to him only after receiving the verdict at his trial; Xenophon’s Socrates knows that death will be the natural result of his actions before the trial begins. But Gabriel Danzig (2014b) has well shown that Dorion relies too heavily on the Memorabilia to gloss the Apology, as in the later work Socrates’ desire to die does explicitly motivate his manner of speaking, which is not simply forthright and honest but designed to antagonize the jurors (Apol. 32). The difference between Danzig and Dorion rests in part on a debate about how to interpret Xenophon’s use of the term megalegoria (literally, something like “big speechifying”) in the Apology. Dorion (2013, 305–306, followed by Pontier 2018, 436–439) argues that while the term generally carries a negative connotation (as it clearly does at Anab. 6.3.18), it is ambivalent in Xenophon, as Xenophon’s heroes sometimes employ or tolerate it. But what those heroes tolerate is boasting amongst one’s fellow soldiers about the inferiority of enemies (Cyr. 4.4.2; 7.1.17) or boasts by inferiors before a king who could afford to consider boasts as a promise of good character, not claims to superiority over him (Ag. 8.2). Xenophon clarifies that Cyrus only boasts before battle (Cyr. 7.1.17), to inspire his men, and that Agesilaus was the least likely of men to boast (Ag. 8.2). So exceptional cases in which megalegoria was proper (or tolerable) prove the rule that it was generally improper. The crucial point is that megalegoria naturally elicits a negative reaction in an audience when the speaker boasts of his superiority to those he is addressing. Boasting in a court was as exceptional and dangerous in Socrates’ day as it would be in ours.4 Thus Socrates’ boasting before the jury naturally elicits disbelief and envy (Apol. 13) because he is boasting of his superiority to them. If this wasn’t part of Socrates’ intention, then Socrates didn’t know what he was doing, which would not make for a very good defense of his approach to his trial. Moreover, Xenophon’s problem with Plato is not that Plato’s Socrates mentions the role of the daimonion only late in the Apology, but that Plato leaves Socrates’ motivation unclear. Plato hints that Socrates’ age may make his death less tragic at Apology 34e, where Socrates says that it would be unseemly for someone his age to beg for his life, and at 41d, the end of his final speech, where Socrates explicitly recognizes that it is time for him to die and “escape from my troubles,” an expression usually but not universally taken to refer to the troubles of old age.5 But before that Plato has Socrates compare himself to Achilles as a hero willing to meet his fate at the gods’ command (Apology 28b-e). And the fact that Plato’s Socrates mentions his readiness for death only at the end of the Apology does not show that his Socrates realized that death was a good thing only at the end of his trial. The silence of the daimonion need not lead Socrates to any new insights: it is only the intervention of the daimonion that does that. So nothing in Plato’s Apology is incompatible with Socrates being resigned to death; Plato, however, chose not to emphasize this in his Apology.

Xenophon’s Apology 115 Danzig (2014b) is thus quite right, to my view, to give all due weight to Xenophon’s statement that Socrates did speak boastfully in order to die a timely death: And Socrates, by bringing on envy through his boasting in the courtroom, made the jury condemn him all the more. (Apol. 32) Σωκράτης δὲ διὰ τὸ μεγαλύνειν ἑαυτὸν ἐν τῷ δικαστηρίῳ φθόνον ἀπαγόμενος μᾶλλον καταψηφίσασθαι ἑαυτοῦ ἐποίησε τοὺς δικαστάς. So, Xenophon does not attempt to defend Socrates by saying that boasting is sometimes warranted, and blaming the jury for being upset by Socrates’ justified boasting. Rather, he defends him by arguing that Socrates’ decision to boast, which would naturally lead any jury to favor a guilty verdict, was justified. Danzig argues that Xenophon’s Socrates shows the wisdom and strength of character to choose death, a good thing in his case, where most others would have done anything in their power to live on. I agree with Danzig that the higher motives of defending philosophy (Pangle) or articulating a new view of justice (Vander Waerdt) have largely been read into the text. I will, however, suggest that Danzig still views Socrates’ intent somewhat too narrowly. Socrates does welcome death at his age, and it is this that led him to speak boastfully at his trial. But his boastful account of his own virtues does more than transparently reveal his justifiably high self-regard and thus guarantee his execution: it also provides the jury, and posterity, with a powerful example of how to meet one’s end wisely and nobly. There is a sense in which Socrates was a martyr: he is not a martyr because he sacrifices himself, for death was for him a blessing.6 But he is a martyr inasmuch as his death testified to something, by providing an object lesson for all who pursue virtue. What Socrates avoids To understand what Socrates gets by dying now, we must understand what he avoids by not mounting an effective defense and living on. By the time Hermogenes met Socrates before the trial, Socrates had determined to avoid preparing for his trial. He puts off Hermogenes’ first inquiry about the trial by saying that his whole life was his defense, as he had never wronged anyone (Apol. 3). But when Hermogenes notes that Athenian juries, which are all too easily won over by arguments that generate pity or rely on flattery, have often executed those who have done no wrong, Socrates makes a rather startling admission: “By Zeus,” he said, “I have already started two times to think about my defense speech, but the daimonion opposes me.” (Apol. 4)

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The double intervention of the daimonion is striking, and Xenophon’s later raises another difficulty by noting what Socrates was doing before the intervention of the daimonion:7 “And the gods were right to oppose me at that time,” he said, “in considering my speech, when we were thinking that acquittal was to be sought by any means possible.” (Apol. 8) So the first question is why the daimonion had to intervene at all—why Socrates was considering a forensic defense. Socrates had already been living the just life that is the best defense against such charges (cf. Oec. 11.22), and the idea of Socrates seeking acquittal by any means necessary seems distasteful. Socrates will say that a slavish effort to prolong his life would only result in a life not worth living (Apol. 9). Xenophon does not; however, stress the dishonorable nature of defending oneself in this way nearly as much as Plato does,8 and it is well he doesn’t, as Xenophon himself gives a forensically effective defense of Socrates in the first two chapters of the Memorabilia. It is surely no coincidence that Xenophon, who himself provides Socrates with an effective defense, has the daimonion prevent Socrates from defending himself, whereas Plato, who does not deign to make such a defense himself, merely has the daimonion remain silent as Socrates addresses the jury in his accustomed fashion. Xenophon, then, found nothing unprincipled in a defense of Socrates that differed from what Socrates gave himself. I do not think, however, that we need to characterize Xenophon’s defense in the Memorabilia as employing “any means possible” to defend Socrates. That sounds more like the lost defense speech we are told the orator Lysias offered to Socrates, one which Socrates supposedly praised but rejected as unworthy of him.9 The story about Socrates refusing the speech is too good to be true, for, although Lysias and Socrates knew one another (Phaedrus, Republic), Lysias’ speech apparently responded to Polycrates’ Accusation (Lysias frg. 273 in Carey 2007), which was written after 393. But we can imagine Socrates first considering—together with others—a rhetorical defense of the sort Lysias may have written, only to be prevented by the daimonion, and then to have considered a defense more like that Xenophon provides, only to have the daimonion object again. The second coming of the daimonion does suggest that Socrates misunderstood the daimonion the first time, but is in keeping with the conventional “if at first you don’t succeed” approach to divination, in which believers consulted the gods a second and third time when they did not get the result they wanted (Parker 2004, 144). Socrates assumed he ought to prepare some sort of defense, and this assumption survived the first intervention of the daimonion. Once the daimonion had come to him a second time, however, Socrates no longer concerned himself with a rhetorical (Lysianic) defense or a Xenophontic defense; instead he abandoned any

Xenophon’s Apology 117 planning about how to defend himself, and decided he would speak in court as he would anywhere else, honestly explaining himself without making any concessions to the conventions of an Athenian trial. By making no preparation for his speech, Xenophon’s Socrates, rather as Plato’s, commits himself to speaking as he did normally (cf. Plato Apology 17b-18a). Plato’s Socrates does not ever tell us that he considered making a different sort of speech. But in the Euthyphro (5a-c), Plato’s Socrates at least pretends that he hopes that being instructed by Euthyphro will allow him to escape Meletus’ charges; and many modern readers consider the Euthyphro Plato’s effort to defend Socrates against the charge of impiety (McPherran 1996, 29–82). It is therefore at least possible to imagine Plato’s Socrates defending himself more forcefully than he does in the Apology. Let us turn to analyzing the reasons Socrates gives for his ultimate decision not to defend himself, where we stand on firmer ground than when speculating about his abortive efforts at composing a more forensically appropriate speech. The Greek view of old age, inasmuch as one can speak of any shared view, seems to have been rather bleak. There is even some evidence that the age of seventy—Socrates’ age in 399—was commonly regarded as the highest age to which one ought to aspire.10 And Xenophon’s Socrates does not rely solely on a general concern about poor health in old age, but suggests why old age would have been particularly burdensome for him. When Socrates speaks of decline in old age, he mentions bodily decline, but it is presumably mental decline which would lead him to find himself wanting, as he finds it harder to learn and easier to forget what he knows (Apol. 6). In the Memorabilia, Socrates notes that he not only did what was just and avoided injustice but spent his time “distinguishing what is just and what unjust” (Mem. 4.8.4). This suggests that Socrates’ piety and justice are based on the intellectual skills Socrates worries may fade in old age. Socrates adds that for one unaware of his mental decline, life would not be worth living, while awareness of this decline would make life still worse and less pleasant (Mem. 4.8.8). Xenophon may set the bar for a livable life rather lower than Plato’s Socrates—for whom, given the rarity of the examined life, almost all human lives are not worth living (Apology 38a)—but he does set the bar based on one’s capacity to learn, remember, and (as we will see below), teach. Another factor of particular importance to Xenophon’s Socrates—and once again something made clearer in the Memorabilia than the Apology—is that Socrates prided himself not only on being just and pious, but on improving himself: Don’t you know that up to this time I would never acknowledge that anyone has led a better or more pleasant life than me? For I believe that those live best who are the most concerned with becoming the best, and those live most pleasantly who are most aware that they are becoming better. (Mem. 4.8.6)

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In the boastful Apology, there is little place for Socrates to speak of improvement, but we do see it, once, when he demonstrates his wisdom not by pointing out how much he knows but by saying that he has spent his whole life, from childhood, seeking to learn whatever he could (Apol. 16). Awareness of one’s improvement is also praised in Memorabilia 1.6.9, 4.5.10, and 4.8.6. Socrates’ emphasis continues to be on the intellectual side of things. And Socrates improves not only himself but his friends: Socrates notes this as proof that his friends’ respect for him is well-founded in the Memorabilia (4.8.7), and Xenophon closes the Apology by doubting that anyone has ever met anyone more beneficial in the pursuit of virtue than Socrates. Elsewhere Socrates notes the pleasure and profit he finds in friendship (Mem. 1.6.14). Thus the main reason old age is worrisome, in Socrates’ view, is that cognitive decline would rob him of the pleasure to be found in awareness that he is living justly and piously, and improving himself and his friends, since justice and piety require use of the intellect and improvement requires development of the intellect. Socrates’ ultimate decision not to prepare a forensically effective defense was therefore based on his considered view of the best sort of human life, but it was also contingent on the realities of aging. This suggests a way to make Socrates’ change of heart, following the interventions of the daimonion, more palatable. Socrates did not drop plans to prepare a defense speech because he changed his mind about justice: he changed his mind because, with the help of the daimonion, he confronted the infirmities of old age. For Xenophon’s Socrates, it matters whether one faces such a capital case at 70 or decades earlier. A younger Socrates, Xenophon implies, may have given a speech more akin to Xenophon’s defense in the first two chapters of the Memorabilia than to the boastful speech Xenophon summarizes in his Apology. What Socrates gains Thus far we have concerned ourselves largely with what Socrates avoided by dying. But Socrates does not seek any sort of death: he rather seeks to die in a particular way, and to gain things by dying this way. First, dying this way will be the easiest sort of death for him and for his friends: For if the judgment now goes against me, it’s clear that I will be able to meet my end in the easiest way possible, as it is judged by those who manage this; the least troublesome to one’s friends; and the one that renders those who die the most missed. For whenever someone leaves behind nothing unseemly or difficult in the thoughts of those present, and passes away with a healthy body and a mind still able to find pleasure, must he not be missed? (Apol. 7; cf. 32)

Xenophon’s Apology 119 So those who manage executions chose hemlock as the easiest form of death. There is a long-running debate about how idealized Socrates’ death scene is in Plato, but death by hemlock would surely have been easier than many other forms of death, not to mention the harsher form of execution, “bloodless crucifixion,” that would have awaited Socrates had he not had the money to pay for the fairly expensive hemlock.11 As so often, Xenophon’s evidence has been overlooked: the key is not whether hemlock poisoning is objectively pain free, but whether death by hemlock was regarded as the easiest—that is, most humane—mode of execution, which Xenophon’s text implies. This would help Plato to idealize the death scene to avoid anything “unseemly or difficult.” Xenophon’s point is that Socrates had the courage to choose a seemly death by hemlock over longer life with the risk of an unseemly death by disease. Socrates’ view of his death’s impact on his friends is more difficult to understand. We might object that a kindly friend would not want his friends to miss him. But the contrast is with an ugly, troubling death, perhaps one after a debilitating illness, requiring support from friends and family. And the wish that one die while still missed by one’s friends seems to have been traditional (Solon frg. 21). Hemlock therefore provided Socrates with a relatively easy form of death. But hemlock isn’t the whole of the story: had the Athenians not convicted Socrates of impiety, Socrates would not have gone out and purchased hemlock anyway. It was Socrates’ good fortune, from Xenophon’s point of view, that the trial offered Socrates an opportunity to choose not just a timely death but the noblest sort of death, one complete with final words for all posterity. Socrates did not just tell the jurors whatever it would take to get them convict him. Xenophon makes this clear about halfway through his Apology: It’s clear that he said more than this, as did those friends who spoke on his behalf. But I haven’t strived to say everything from the trial; instead, I was satisfied with making it clear that Socrates considered it all important to show that he was neither impious regarding the gods nor unjust concerning men, and that he did not think that he should beg to avoid death, but believed that it was the right time for him to die. (Apol. 22–23) Socrates’ interest in making his piety and justice clear presumably refers to his arguments against the charges of impiety and corruption of the youth, charges he has just refuted, in that order (and which Xenophon refutes himself, also in that order, in the Memorabilia). Socrates’ arguments cannot, however, be aimed at winning acquittal—that would undermine his decision to die. The only way to show himself pious and just without winning acquittal was to boast. But Socrates had an additional goal, to win glory through bravely facing his end, revealing not only his justice and piety

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but his strength of character (Mem. 4.8.1); he will be remembered, as Palamedes is, for his unjust conviction (Apol. 26). This shows his superiority to his accusers, making him the true victor in this case: “What a wretch this man [Anytus] is, as he does not seem to know that the victor among us is he whose achievements will remain more advantageous and more admirable for all time” (Apol. 29). Socrates’ death not only shows him superior to his adversaries, despite their nominal victory in court, but is the noblest death of any man known to Xenophon (Mem. 4.8.1-3). And the eternal advantage it brings is not only the gain Socrates gets himself through an easy death (which would not last for all time), but the example Socrates sets for those who knew him or come to know him. In Xenophon’s view, then, one can engage in big talk (megalegoria) that includes boasting about ultimate defeat of one’s adversaries, one’s superlative excellence, and the pursuit of glory, while still serving as a role model for the pursuit of excellence. There is nothing wrong with justified big talk, even when it predictably offends the majority of one’s immediate audience. And while Xenophon’s Socrates does not sacrifice himself—he only gains from this way of dying—he gains more than a good death, and he benefits not just himself but all who find in his example the most useful inspiration to excellence. He teaches us when we should welcome death, why we should welcome it, and how we should meet a timely death.

Apology and Memorabilia Memorabilia 4.8 and the Apology Attentive readers will have noticed that I have used Memorabilia 4.8 to gloss the Apology, thus assuming that the two provide a consistent account of Socrates’ death. Danzig (2014b), however, is right to note that there is a danger in using the Memorabilia in this way, as the two passages have different rhetorical goals: while the Apology aims to show that Socrates’ boasting was not foolish, the Memorabilia passage aims to show that Socrates’ execution was not due to divine neglect. I will add that here as elsewhere the Memorabilia is more interested in showing Socrates’ benefit to others than the Apology is. But the passages obviously share much of the same language and thought, and Xenophon’s different rhetorical goals do not reflect any change in his understanding of Socrates. The traditional way of studying differences between these texts is to argue that one precedes the other—usually that the Apology precedes the Memorabilia.12 It would indeed be valuable to know which of Xenophon’s accounts was published first, but speculation about chronology will be unpersuasive if it fails to recognize that the two works have different goals. Most arguments on the priority of Apology to Memorabilia rest on the fact that the Memorabilia provides a better defense of Socrates than the Apology does. But that’s not because Xenophon only figured out how to

Xenophon’s Apology 121 defend Socrates after writing the Apology, for Xenophon’s primary intention in the Apology wasn’t to defend Socrates against the legal charges, but against the view that his boastfulness was foolish. This is enough to undermine the clearest argument for the priority of the Apology, its silence about most of the supposedly Polycratean charges of Memorabilia 1.2.961. Polycrates’ Accusation (written after 393) is taken to provide a terminus ad quem for Apology and a terminus ab quo for Memorabilia. I argued in chapter two that there is no good reason to attribute these charges to Polycrates. But even were we to grant that Xenophon was responding to Polycrates in the Memorabilia, this would not show that the Apology must predate Polycrates, for the Apology makes no pretense of addressing all charges against Socrates. Xenophon could have responded to Polycrates in the Memorabilia, only to ignore him when writing Apology later, because Polycrates’ charges were irrelevant to the task at hand, or simply because he had already dealt with Polycrates in the Memorabilia. The most obvious difference between the accounts of the trial in the Memorabilia and the Apology is that while the Apology is all about boasting (megalegoria), there is no mention of Socrates’ boasting in the Memorabilia. This difference is observable not only in lack of overt discussion of boasting in the Memorabilia, but in how the same arguments are applied to different ends. Thus, while in both works Socrates says that no one has lived a better or more pleasant life than he has, in the Apology (5) Socrates glosses this by saying that he has lived his entire life justly and piously, while in the Memorabilia (4.8.6) he limits himself to saying that he has constantly been improving himself. The theme of improvement does appear at Apology 16, where Socrates notes that he has always sought to learn new things, but he immediately turns what could have been a humbler note into a boast by noting that his labors in this line have led to him being sought out by men from near and far. In both Xenophontic accounts of the trial (Apol. 7, Mem. 4.8.7), Socrates says that his friends confirm his own view of his high self-worth. But in the Memorabilia Socrates deigns to explain this by saying that it was not only because they were his friends that they thought highly of him, but because they realized that they were improved by associating with him. We see again the Memorabilia’s characteristic emphasis on Socrates’ benefiting his friends. The Memorabilia also does not include Socrates’ argument (Apol. 7) that his death will be easy for him, nor that his goal in the speech was to showcase all the fine things he had received from gods and men. In addition to these differences, we see other differences due to the precise rhetorical goal of Memorabilia 4.8: to show that Socrates was not abandoned by the gods when the daimonion failed to prevent his conviction (4.8.1; Danzig 2014b). Memorabilia 4.8 begins not with Socrates’ arrogance but with an argument that this was the best time for him to die: it is only once he makes this argument in his own voice that Xenophon

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introduces the report of Hermogenes, including the intervention of the divine sign. Thus while in the Apology Socrates concludes, from the intervention of the daimonion, that was time to die, in the Memorabilia Xenophon reverses things, starting with his proof that it was time for Socrates to die and only then introducing the daimonion to confirm that argument. The Apology assumes that the daimonion is looking out for Socrates, while Memorabilia proves that the daimonion was looking out for Socrates. Note that the arguments do not contradict one another. Xenophon can argue that it was time for Socrates to die without citing the daimonion, even if Socrates himself first came to that realization because of the intervention of the daimonion. Similarly, in the Memorabilia Xenophon says nothing about Socrates’ intent to provoke the jury to convict him, because the point of Memorabilia 4.8 is to show that the gods did not abandon Socrates. He also says nothing about Socrates’ boastfulness in the Memorabilia, as that plays no direct role in showing Socrates’ benefit to his friends, the major theme of the Memorabilia. Memorabilia 1.1.-2 and the Apology We can see similar differences between Xenophon’s own arguments in defense of Socrates in Memorabilia 1.1-1.2 and the arguments Xenophon attributes to Socrates himself in the Apology. In both works Xenophon begins with a quick defense of Socratic orthopraxy in religion: Memorabilia 1.1.2: First of all, just what was their evidence that he [Socrates] did not acknowledge the gods that the city acknowledges? For he could often be seen sacrificing at home, and often at the public altars of the city, and it was not unknown that he made use of divination. Apology 11: Now, gentlemen, this is the first thing I wonder about regarding Meletus: just how he did he know that I do not acknowledge the gods whom the city acknowledges? For everyone who happened to be there saw me sacrificing during public festivals and at the city’s altars, as Meletus himself could have done, had he wanted to. Socrates’ wonder in the Apology neatly parallels Xenophon’s wonder in the very first words of the Memorabilia. Yet there are significant differences here as well. The Memorabilia adds that Socrates was pious at home as well as in public, and includes mention of conventional divination, something Xenophon will provide some detail on in the Memorabilia (1.1.6-9) but does not mention in Apology. In the Memorabilia Xenophon will also provide readers with insights into Socrates’ thinking that the jurors, and presumably Meletus as well, would not have had before the trial (cf. Mem. 1.1.17). But this isn’t simply a matter of the Memorabilia providing a fuller account than the Apology. For in the Apology Socrates stresses features of

Xenophon’s Apology 123 his religiosity that Meletus should have known about, and adds public festivals to the public altars mentioned in both accounts. Thus the Memorabilia passage gives a fuller defense of Socrates’ orthopraxy, including things unknown to Meletus and the jurors, where in the Apology Socrates is more concerned with embarrassing Meletus than in defending himself, and therefore stresses the single form of conventional religious activity on his part that should have been known to Meletus. The passages on the daimonion are somewhat more complex. In the Apology (12) as in the Memorabilia (1.1.2), we are told that the daimonion was behind the charge that Socrates introduced new divinities (daimonia kaina). In the Apology Socrates first argues that there is nothing strange in a divine voice speaking to him, since many other common forms of divination take place by means of voices: voices of birds, humans, the Pythia, and even thunder. Socrates claims that his way of speaking about this is truer and more pious, as rather than saying that birds, seers, or chance remarks are giving him a sign, he says that it is the daimonion, the divine,13 that is doing so. And as proof that he is not wrong about the divine, he notes that he has often shared its advice with friends and that this advice has never steered them wrong (Apol. 11-13). Thus in the Apology Socrates puts the emphasis on his superiority to others rather than on his innocence. In the Memorabilia (1.1.3-5) Xenophon gives the same basic account of the daimonion, but neatly omits away anything boastful from the account. He notes that Socrates spoke of the daimonion giving him a sign where others spoke of birds or other intermediaries, but does not say that this made Socrates more truthful and more pious, only that he was not strange. In the Memorabilia Xenophon also notes that the daimonion allowed Socrates to give friends consistently beneficial advice, but he structures the argument differently. In the Apology Socrates argues that he is correct to believe that the voice he hears does come from a god, while in the Memorabilia Xenophon argues that Socrates’ belief in the voice proves that Socrates does believe in the gods. Otherwise, Xenophon says, Socrates would appear to be a fool and a braggart when sharing the advice of the daimonion. So in the Apology Socrates boasts about the daimonion, but in the Memorabilia Xenophon makes use of the daimonion to defend Socrates against the charge of impiety. As usual, Xenophon defends Socrates better than he allows Socrates to defend himself. One remarkable feature of Xenophon’s writings is his tendency to nearly repeat himself, sometimes across very different works. Such near repetitions present readers with two temptations. The first is to mistake near repetition for full repetition. An example is the widespread belief that Xenophon presents us with a set of heroes who are essentially interchangeable exemplars of Xenophontic ideals: Agesilaus, Cyrus (Elder and Younger), Jason of Pherae, Ischomachus, Lycurgus, Socrates, and Xenophon himself.14 The second temptation is to make too much of the differences. This can either generate developmental hypotheses posited on the notion that

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Xenophon changed his mind or Straussian readings that find some works less esoteric than others. We ought instead to recognize that Xenophon made use of near repetition because he was particularly adept at putting the same material to different purposes. Hence Xenophon can present the same basic understanding of Socrates but make Socrates boastful in the Apology where he is beneficial in the Memorabilia. The two portraits of Socrates are, however, compatible, particularly once we recognize that Socrates’ boasting can itself be beneficial, as it provides a model for how to bravely meet one’s death and win a deservedly glorious reputation.15

Xenophon and Plato So much for Xenophon’s two different accounts of the trial of Socrates, which feature different rhetorical goals but present the same basic defense of Socrates. We turn now to comparing Xenophon’s account of the trial with Plato’s. Here we will indeed find significant differences, differences which highlight each author’s distinct take on Socrates while also complicating any effort to reconstruct the historical trial. These differences reflect broader differences in Plato’s and Xenophon’s understanding of Socrates, above all in the extent to which Socrates considered himself a man with a unique philosophical mission; that mission is the central theme of Plato’s Apology, but is absent in Xenophon. Other differences reflect Xenophon’s greater interest, even in his unapologetic Apology, in demonstrating Socrates’ innocence. On other matters, however, Plato and Xenophon may be closer than they seem at first glance. I will argue that Xenophon deliberately aimed to clarify Socrates’ intentions at his trial, but that he agreed with Plato about what those intentions were. Targeting Plato Can we be sure, though, that responding to Plato was at least one major goal Xenophon had in writing his Apology? Xenophon begins his Apology with an explicit reference to some number of other writings about the end of Socrates’ life. These others all noted Socrates’ boastfulness, Xenophon tells us, which makes it clear that this is how Socrates actually spoke; but they failed to explain it (Apol. 1). Who are these others who wrote about Socrates’ end? A late source (the Suda) credits Socrates’ old friend Crito with an Apology, but this title does not appear among the seventeen works Diogenes Laertius (2.121) credits to Crito, throwing doubt on whether it ever existed. We saw above that Lysias was credited with a defense speech on Socrates’ behalf, but such a speech, even if Lysias did write one and share it, would hardly have emphasized Socrates’ forensically inept arrogance, so will not have been among the works Xenophon refers to here. Polycrates’ Accusation of Socrates also appears a poor candidate, as reconstructions of his speech do not make much of Socratic arrogance, and

Xenophon’s Apology 125 Xenophon’s mention of works explaining Socrates’ approach to his trial would more naturally apply to defenses of Socrates. A relevant account of the trial could have vanished without a trace, but among the works we know anything about, only Plato’s Apology fits the description of Xenophon’s target (Vander Waerdt 1993, 14–16). And as referring to one’s opponent as “some people” was in Xenophon’s day a traditional way of keeping one’s polemic decorously vague (Slings 1999, 81–82), it is entirely possible that Plato’s Apology was the only work Xenophon had in mind. We have, however, no good evidence for when either Apology was written.16 To show Xenophon responded to Plato, then, we need to ascertain that Xenophon’s characterization applies well to Plato’s work, and we would like to find multiple allusions to Plato’s Apology in Xenophon’s Apology. Most readers of Plato’s Apology have found his Socrates arrogant enough.17 But this consensus view was powerfully questioned in two major books written on Plato’s Apology in 1989, Brickhouse and Smith’s Socrates on Trial, and Reeve’s Socrates in the Apology. Both books argue that Socrates made a genuine effort to defend himself against the legal charges, while remaining true to his principles. If they are correct, Xenophon either misread Plato or wasn’t responding to him at all. This is not the place for a full examination of the evidence from Plato. Briefly, however, it strikes me that both Brickhouse and Smith and Reeve conflate truth-telling, something Socrates is committed to in both Plato and Xenophon, with making a forensically effective defense, which he commits to in neither author.18 In Xenophon’s mind, Socrates’ boasts are both true and designed to alienate the jury: one need not lie to boast. Brickhouse and Smith (1989, 41–47) also supply Socrates with the moral premise that one has a duty to help others perform their duty, in this case the jurors. But Apology 24 and Memorabilia 4.8.9 show that Xenophon’s Socrates, at any rate, feels no sorrow on behalf of the jurors who misjudged him: their shameful impiety and injustice are no reflection whatsoever on him. On three occasions, moreover, Plato’s Socrates notes that jurors make a ruckus (θόρυβος), once for his big talk (μέγα λέγειν Apology 20e) in laying claim to human wisdom, once for his arrogantly (αὐθαδιζόμενος Apology 34d) not bringing his family forward to seek pity, and once for his very arrogantly (ἀπαυθιζόμενος Apology 37a) saying that he deserves free meals in the Prytaneum. While these passages do not necessarily show that Socrates intended to inflame the jury, they show that he did in fact inflame them. On the first occasion, Socrates does not deny engaging in big talk; he says the jury should not shout out even if he seems to be talking big, and rather than retreating from his claim to possess wisdom he cites Apollo in defense of that claim. In the second passage Socrates does deny being arrogant (οὐκ αὐθαδιζόμενος), but grants that he may be speaking boldly (θαρραλέως) despite facing death, and goes on to say that he has a superior reputation, whether he deserves it or not, that he should live up to by not

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stooping to beg. Calling Apollo as a witness on one’s behalf and noting one’s superior reputation aren’t exactly signs of humility. The third Platonic passage, however, does raise difficulties for Xenophon’s view of Socratic arrogance: Now perhaps I may appear to you, as I say this [about meals in the Prytaneum], to be behaving as I did concerning begging and beseeching you—very arrogantly (ἀπαυθαδιζόμενος). But this isn’t the case, gentlemen of Athens. No, it’s more like this: I am persuaded that I have harmed no person willingly, but I haven’t persuaded you of this. For we have spoken with each other for only a short time. In fact, I believe, if it was your custom, as it is for other people, not to take one day to judge a capital case, but many days, you would have been persuaded. As things stand, it is not easy to dispel great slanders in a short time. (Apology 37a-b) Socrates here grants that he appeared to be speaking very arrogantly earlier in his speech. But the most natural reading of this passage itself is that Socrates has, despite appearances to the contrary, been trying to persuade the jurors to acquit him, and simply lacked enough time to do so, given the constraints of the Athenian legal system. In this case, Plato’s Socrates, unlike Xenophon’s, would have been seeking acquittal. Precisely speaking, though, this passage says nothing about Socrates’ intentions. As Plato’s Socrates tells us that he speaks at his trial precisely as he normally spoke (Apology 17b-18a), his point here is simply that jurors would have believed Socrates had they spoken with him for many days, not that he aimed his trial speech itself at gaining acquittal. That is, Socrates made no effort whatsoever to tailor his manner of speaking to the norms of the courtroom, including the time limit. Thus it is clear that Plato’s jury found his Socrates arrogant, and far from clear that his Socrates made any effort to avoid appearing arrogant. The only way for Socrates to win over the jurors by speaking as he normally did would for them all to speak with him for many days, that is, essentially to become followers of Socrates, which was hardly a realistic proposal. In both Xenophon and Plato, then, Socrates’ approach to his trial was utterly unsuited to the goal of persuading the jury. So this passage does not undermine the arrogance Plato’s Socrates displays elsewhere in his speech; he fits Xenophon’s description of a man whose arrogant tone must seem foolish to anyone believing that he wanted to convince the jury of his innocence. Another challenge for Xenophon’s reading comes in the form of an argument by Møgens Herman Hansen (1995, 32), who argues that Plato’s presentation of Socrates, rather than being too different from Xenophon’s to be Xenophon’s target, is rather too similar. Plato’s Socrates does explain why death is preferable to life at Apology 41d: it is better for him to die

Xenophon’s Apology 127 now and be freed from troubles. But Plato does not connect Socrates’ readiness to die with Socrates’ boastfulness at the trial—he does not explain Socrates’ boastfulness at all. In Plato Socrates’ comments about his troubles, which are presumably those of old age, come after Socrates has been convicted and sentenced, allowing readers to wonder at Socrates’ boastfulness up to this point. Even if we add the possible reference to Socrates’ age at 34e, these late, vague references to old age hardly explain Socrates’ approach to his trial. And for Plato’s Socrates, hopeful speculation about the afterlife provides far more solace—at least to the jurors who supported him—than does any relief at being freed from a debilitating old age. Thus while a careful reader can interpret Plato’s Apology in such a way as to have Socrates’ advanced age explain Socrates’ behavior, there is considerable interpretive work to be done to connect these dots. Xenophon connects them for us—as he will connect other Platonic dots elsewhere. Plato’s account, then, is guilty of both sins Xenophon attributes to previous accounts: Plato’s Socrates certainly appeared boastful to his jury, and Plato does not explain that boastfulness clearly enough. It is likely, then, that the main focus of Xenophon’s criticism here is indeed Plato’s Apology. Further proof will come in exploration of intertextual connections between the two texts: I will argue that sections of Xenophon’s Apology can be read as a commentary on Plato’s work. The relationship is a complex one, with some sections of Xenophon’s Apology having more obvious links with Plato than others. It is also essential that we keep in mind the distinction between tone and substance as we compare Plato and Xenophon’s accounts of Socrates’ defense. Even in his Apology, Xenophon provides more in the way of forensically relevant argumentation than Plato does. He is still the author of the Memorabilia, after all. But even if Xenophon’s Socrates has a better lawyer writing for him, he is also more consistently boastful and arrogant—thus assuring that the jury convicts him. Religious orthopraxy and the daimonion A quick review of what Plato and Xenophon say about Socrates’ religious practice will reveal how little interest Socrates has in defending himself in Plato’s Apology. In both the Apology (11-12) and the Memorabilia (1.1.2; cf. 1.2.64, 4.3.16-17, 4.6.2-4), Xenophon provides quick but conclusive claims that Socrates’ religious orthopraxy was visible to all. If this was indeed the case, it is rather stunning that Plato omits it. And there is evidence elsewhere in Plato for Socratic orthopraxy in religion. At Euthydemus 302c-303a, Socrates says that he has shrines and altars at home and “everything of that sort, just like the rest of the Athenians.” Other Platonic passages also provide evidence for Socratic orthopraxy (Apology 35d, Menexenus 243e-244b, Phaedrus 229e). In his thorough study of Socratic religion, Mark McPherran (1996, 77–78) argues that Plato’s Socrates endorses traditional sacrifice and prayer. So Plato’s decision

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not to mention Socratic orthodoxy in the Apology is not the result of a different view about Socrates, but a difference about what Socrates said, or should have said, at his trial. For Xenophon mention of orthopraxy was essential if Socrates was to demonstrate his piety; Plato had similar evidence available but did not employ it in his account of the trial. Plato shares the view that the daimonion was a major factor behind the charges at the trial (Apology 31c-d, Euthyphro 3b), but does not give a positive defense of the daimonion along the lines Xenophon gives in both Apology (12-13) and Memorabilia (1.1.3-5). Plato does, as we will discuss below, have Socrates induce Meletus to contradict his own indictment by asserting that Socrates, whom he charges with introducing new “divine things” (daimonia), is an out and out atheist. But this tells us nothing about Socrates’ divine sign itself. Here we cannot be sure that Plato had the same forensic argument available, for Xenophon’s version of the daimonion makes it out to be considerably more conventional than Plato’s. Xenophon’s daimonion says “yes” as well as “no,” gives advice relevant to others and not just Socrates, and is not as regular a visitor as Plato’s sign appears to be. All of these features make it resemble more conventional varieties of divine communication in Greek religion (Johnson 2017, 178–180). But despite these differences, it is hard to believe that Plato, had he wished to, could not have provide some defense of Socrates’ daimonion, even if he believed it to be less conventional than Xenophon makes it out to be. Perhaps the divine mission of Plato’s Apology, something completely absent from Xenophon, was meant to defend Socrates’ religion in a grander fashion than Xenophon’s more lawyerly argumentation ever could. But in both cases here, religious orthodoxy and the daimonion, Plato failed to supply Socrates with any positive forensic argument: this suggests that Plato, like Xenophon, did not believe that Socrates made an effort to defend himself at his trial. The oracle stories and Socrates’ mission Plato’s version of the oracle story can be retold quickly here. When Socrates’ friend Chaerephon returned from Delphi with the oracular response that no one was wiser than Socrates, Plato’s Socrates, puzzled at being singled out in this way, sought out and questioned leading politicians, poets, and craftsmen, looking for someone who was truly wise, something he knew he was not. He found no one wise in the most important matters, and concluded that the god’s message was that no human being knows the most important things; human wisdom therefore consists in recognition of the limits of our knowledge. This quest of the Platonic Socrates both attracted followers who enjoyed seeing prominent men refuted and angered those prominent men and their allies. Not knowing how else to attack Socrates, they turned to the ready-made charges against all philosophers: they charge him with investigating the natural world and teaching deceptive

Xenophon’s Apology 129 rhetoric. Such charges were spread anonymously and by the comic poets, and Plato’s Socrates says they had deeply biased the jury against him. But their origin lay not in any misconduct by Socrates but in the personal pique felt by the leading Athenians who had been humiliated by Socrates’ interrogations (Apology 18a-24b). So the oracle story is of vital importance for Plato’s Socrates. It not only explains the origins of the earlier and more important accusations against him but is the origin of his own divine mission. Thus while it does not play any direct role in defending Socrates against the legal charges, it is absolutely essential to the portrait of Socrates in Plato’s Apology. The oracle is far less important for Xenophon’s Socrates, but this is only the beginning of the differences between the two accounts. First of all, our authors give different reasons for why Socrates tells the story of the oracle. Plato’s Socrates went on an earnest quest to understand the oracle’s meaning,19 but thereby angered many leading Athenians, which led to the first accusations against him, accusations of the sort we see in Aristophanes’ Clouds. As we saw in the last chapter, Xenophon’s own defense of Socrates in the Memorabilia does respond to the first accusations, though it never gives voice to them. His most direct responses to them comes elsewhere. In the Oeconomicus (11.3) Socrates cites comic charges against him when saying he could hardly be capable of correcting Ischomachus, and in the Symposium (6.6-7.5) Socrates puts off Aristophanic attacks with humor. In the Oeconomicus Socrates also describes his habit of finding out who was knowledgeable in each form of expertise (2.16-18), and describes his effort to identify a true kalokagathos (6.13-17), a search which resembles Socrates’ search for a truly wise man in Plato’s Apology (Vander Waerdt 1993, 35-38). His sources went beyond Plato: some of the attacks on Socrates cited in the Oeconomicus derive from comedy rather than from Plato,20 and the search for the kalokagathos is rather different from the search for the wise man in the Apology. So Xenophon clearly enough had access to the material that Plato uses to construct his oracle story, yet chose not to integrate it into his account of the oracle. In Xenophon’s Apology, Socrates describes no quest, and gives no explanation for popular anger about him: he does not defend himself against this anger but instead provokes it. After Xenophon reports Socrates’ boast that he had never been proven wrong when sharing the advice from his divine sign, he introduces the oracle story as follows: When the jurors, hearing this, made an uproar, some not believing what had been said, others jealous that he received greater benefits from the gods than they did themselves, Socrates went on to say, “Come on and hear other things as well, so that those of you who want to doubt that I have been honored by the divinities (ὑπὸ τῶν δαιμόνων) may doubt still more.” (Apol. 14)

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Taken at face value, Socrates would be saying that what follows will be even less trustworthy than what he has just said. Certainly he recognizes, rightly, that his story about the oracle will provoke the jurors; as soon as he mentions the oracle, Xenophon remarks that “the jurors naturally enough made still more of an ruckus” (οἱ δικασταὶ ἔτι μᾶλλον εἰκότως ἐθορύβουν Apol. 15). Thus where Plato’s Socrates turns to the oracle story to explain why many in the jury are biased against him, presumably in hopes of removing some of that bias, Xenophon’s Socrates uses the oracle story to provoke the jury. Plato rather carefully introduces Socrates’ friend Chaerephon, the man who sought out the oracle, as an impulsive democrat (Apology 20e-21a); his democratic tendency provides an implicit political defense for Socrates, and his impulsiveness makes the consultation of Delphi seem less presumptuous. Xenophon provides no introduction for Chaerephon, perhaps because he expected his readers to already know the story; certainly he fails to use Chaerephon’s character or politics to defend Socrates. So this is one place where Plato scores forensic points in Socrates’ defense that Xenophon does not bother to make. Xenophon may also have arranged his sentence reporting the oracle in a way meant to tease readers of Plato: Chaerephon once asked in Delphi about me in the presence of many others and Apollo replied that no man was more free, more just, or more moderate (σωφρονέστερον) than me. (Apol. 14) Xenophon postpones saying how Socrates is unsurpassed until the end of the sentence—at which point he does not limit Socrates’ superiority to his wisdom, as in Plato, but gives three traits, with the one closest to wisdom coming at the very end. Xenophon’s Socrates also differs from Plato’s in not being puzzled by the flattering oracle. So he does not need to conduct interviews to understand what the god means. The only investigation Xenophon’s Socrates undertakes in response to the oracle comes in a string of rhetorical questions for his jury. Do they know of anyone more free, more just, or more wise than he is? Socrates’ company is sought out by citizens and strangers, who are eager to shower him with gifts despite the poverty which makes it impossible for him to give them anything material in return. This shows that “I did not labor in vain” (Apol. 17)—a possible allusion to the Herculean labors of the Platonic Socrates in his effort to find someone wiser than he (Apology 22a; Vander Waerdt 1993, 34n96). Why, Xenophon’s Socrates is so self-sufficient that when the city was under siege, and other people were full of self-pity, Socrates went about his life as if nothing had changed from the city’s happiest days (Apol. 18). Thus Xenophon’s Socrates essentially forces the entire jury to undergo the sort of refutation which won Plato’s Socrates so much enmity when he performed it on individuals. And here the refutation is capped by the claim

Xenophon’s Apology 131 that Socrates did not suffer when Socrates’ purported friends, the Spartans, had Athens under siege.21 Socrates concludes that he has been justly praised by gods and men alike—unless there is someone who can refute him to show that he is wrong. It looks for all the world like Xenophon took Plato’s oracle story, robbed it of any possible value to Socrates’ defense, and used it instead to intentionally offend the jury. But Socrates’ rhetorical questions are not only a boastful provocation to the jury: they provide a concise account of Socrates’ virtues. The rhetorical questions also force any jurors still struggling to figure out what they think of Socrates, jurors who wanted to doubt that he was honored by the gods but hadn’t quite convinced them to doubt him (Apol. 14), to come up with a reply to Socrates. Can they really deny the logic of his rhetoric, however arrogant it may sound? Even at his trial, Xenophon’s Socrates aims to teach any good he can to all those he speaks with (Apol. 26). He also aims, however, to secure a guilty verdict. To do so he must teach, but teach arrogantly. Socrates can infuriate the jury and goad them to vote to execute him while forcing them to consider his lessons as guidance for the pursuit of virtue. Socrates’ questions about the oracle show that the foundation of his character lies in his control over desire, and his self-sufficiency, which means he needs nothing from others, removing a prime motivation for injustice. Despite the precise wording of the oracle, which says nothing of wisdom, Xenophon’s Socrates does quickly enough include wisdom in the questions he asks about the oracle. His wisdom, the result of a lifelong pursuit of knowledge, has led others to him, and puts them in the position of debtors to him, despite his absence of material wealth. His psychic riches provide him with as much pleasure when Athens was under siege by the Spartans as when the city was at the height of its power (Apol. 18). So while Xenophon’s account of Socrates’ superiority is certainly broader than that provided by Plato, whose oracle says only that no one is wiser than Socrates, it culminates with Socrates’ intellectual virtue. That virtue is, however, described more positively than is the human wisdom of Plato’s Socrates, whose greatest knowledge lies in his knowledge that he knows nothing of great importance. The wisdom of Xenophon’s Socrates is also explicitly the result of a lifetime search, rather than an effort to understand a life-changing utterance from the Delphic oracle. This brings us to the greatest difference between the two oracle stories. In Plato, the oracle story not only explains the origin of the first accusations against Socrates, but marks a major transformation in Socrates’ life. Before the oracle, Plato’s Socrates appears to have had no notion of why he would be considered the wisest of men. After investigating the meaning of the oracle, he not only comes to understand that he alone, or at least he alone of all the men he has encountered, possesses human wisdom, but begins to think of himself as being on a divine mission to share his insights with his fellow men, particularly with his fellow Athenians (Apology 28d-30c).

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Socrates’ transformation in Plato’s Apology is often glossed in terms of his intellectual autobiography in the Phaedo (96a-100a): Socrates the Presocratic, with an interest in natural philosophy, was transformed into the man who called philosophy down from the heavens (Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.4.10). Vander Waerdt (1993; cf. 1994) argues that one motivation for Xenophon’s manipulation of the oracle story was to avoid any reference to Socrates’ controversial Presocratic phase. But Xenophon does elsewhere reveal that Socrates had a certain interest in natural philosophy (Mem. 1.1.11-15, 1.4, 4.3; Smp. 7.4); what he consistently avoids is any reference to a transformation in Socrates’ interests. There is, in fact, essentially no evidence for Socrates’ transformative divine mission outside of Plato’s Apology. The Phaedo does speak of a transformation, but in the Phaedo Socrates does not follow a divine command to exhort his fellow citizens but turns, without any divine inspiration, to inquiry based on Plato’s theory of the forms—he is transformed, in other words, from Socrates into Plato, at least on the conventional understanding of Plato’s development. The fact that Xenophon’s Socrates is not transformed from a Presocratic into a man on a mission may be taken as evidence that the historical Socrates never underwent any such transformation.22 But it is also reflects a larger truth about Xenophon’s Socrates. Xenophon does not wash away all of the strangeness of Socrates as we know him in Plato: Xenophon’s Socrates contrasts himself with the gentlemanly lifestyle of Ischomachus (Oec. 11.3), and Antiphon (Mem. 1.6) can still attack Xenophon’s Socrates for failing to live a lifestyle appropriate to a successful intellectual. Yet Xenophon’s Socrates is perfectly willing to offer advice on a wide range of practical topics. He certainly has his favorite ethical lessons—above all the fundamental importance of self-mastery (enkrateia)—but he does not turn every conversation into an effort at definition. He does not go around telling Athenians that they must concern themselves not with money or their bodies but with their souls, as Plato’s Socrates says he does in the Apology (29d-30a). Xenophon’s Socrates is in fact perfectly ready to provide advice on money matters (as at Mem. 2.7) and physical fitness (Mem. 3.12). He cannot, then, transform himself from one sort of philosopher into another because his activity has never been limited solely to philosophy. His advice is presumably based on his efforts to understand the virtues (Mem. 1.1.16; cf. 4.6); but he is happy to apply it to practical questions Plato’s Socrates cannot be bothered to address. The historical oracle Assuming there was a single historical oracular reply about Socrates, it cannot have been both “No man is wiser than Socrates” (or a simple “no” in response to the question whether any man is wiser than Socrates) and “No man is freer, more just, or more moderate than Socrates.”23 And it is

Xenophon’s Apology 133 hardly coincidental that Xenophon’s oracle praises Xenophon’s version of Socrates, with his freedom, self-control, self-sufficiency, and wisdom—wisdom which if not complete is at least ever increasing—while Plato’s oracle praises Plato’s version of Socrates, with his peculiarly human wisdom. Both authors, in other words, make what they want of the oracle. For readers hoping to uncover the historical Socrates, this divergence is a great disappointment. Plato and Xenophon agree only on the very basics of the story: Chaerephon went to Delphi and was told that no man was superior to Socrates. But two factors make the differences between the two oracle stories less surprising. The first is that it was entirely normal for Delphic oracles, at least in our literary sources, to generate diverging interpretations: the god at Delphi “neither reveals nor conceals but gives a sign” (Heraclitus frg. 93). The famous wooden wall oracle in Herodotus (7.139-143) is a case in point: we are told that some Athenians took it to mean that they were to trust in a wall around the Acropolis, while Themistocles convinced others to trust in the wooden ships of Athens. It is true that in the case of Socrates’ oracle there is disagreement not only about the meaning of the oracle but about its very words. But there was certainly debate about whether various oracles were legitimate or not in antiquity, and in the case of the wooden wall oracles we find modern scholars disagreeing radically about what actually took place at Delphi.24 Thus there was regular debate about the meaning of oracles in antiquity, debate which continues unabated to this day; this provides important context for the differences between Xenophon and Plato here. Second, both Xenophon and Plato interpret their own versions of the oracle very freely. Xenophon’s Socrates says that Apollo replied that he is more free, just, and moderate than anyone; but Socrates’ discussion of the oracle leads him to add that he is wise, that he draws people willing to do him favors with no expectation of material favor done in return, and that his psychic riches allow him to flourish even under the harshest circumstances (Apol. 14-18). Plato’s Socrates more radically transforms Apollo’s reply into a divine mission to exhort the people of Athens to better themselves. Thus Xenophon and Plato do not only offer different versions of the oracular reply: each freely develops his own oracle story in rather surprising ways. Neither felt particularly tethered to the precise words they attribute to the oracle. For both authors the oracle, whatever precisely it said, was more an inspiration for further thought about Socrates than a definitive account of what made Socrates unique. So we cannot be certain just what the Pythia said about Socrates, but this is not the sort of thing that we should expect certainty about. The interrogation of Meletus Athenian law allowed speakers to question one another, and Socrates naturally takes advantage of this provision. Both authors have him do so

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immediately after telling the story of the oracle. Plato’s Socrates makes the interrogation the start of his response to the formal legal charges (Apology 24b), and says that he has said enough about those charges when he finishes his questions with Meletus (28a). He thus suggests that the interrogation is the sum total of his response to the legal case against him. Plato’s Socrates does say things relevant to the formal charges elsewhere in his speech, but most of what comes before the interrogation (Apology 17a-24b) is directly about the early accusations, and most of what remains of Socrates’ first speech (Apology 28a-35d) is an account of Socrates’ mission. Some scholars have vigorously argued that the interrogation does provide a forensically effective defense, while others are less convinced.25 In my view, the fact that Plato’s Socrates neglects, in the key interrogation passage, to explicitly deny the charges against him, or to attempt a positive proof of his innocence, shows that he was not attempting to make a forensically effective defense. The interrogation would then serve other purposes, perhaps as a display of the Socratic elenchus, and one which shows Socrates’ eagerness to continue his philosophizing even in the face of death. This is, however, not the place to debate Plato’s account in detail, but rather to show how comparison with Xenophon, who was certainly interested in defending Socrates, even in his unapologetic Apology, can help us better understand what Plato’s account does and does not do. I will argue that Xenophon found Plato’s interrogation scene unsatisfactory as a defense of Socrates, and modified his Apology accordingly. The first thing to note is that Xenophon does not characterize the interrogation as the only direct defense of the legal charges. Xenophon had already dealt with the religious charges by asserting Socrates’ orthopraxy and orthodoxy (Apol. 11-13), and his account of the oracle story (14-18), with its emphasis on how Socrates’ character keeps him from injustice, had begun the defense of Socrates’ justice. He turns to Meletus with a question based on the character sketch given in the account of the oracle: “Do you nevertheless claim that I corrupt the youth by devoting myself to this sort of thing (i.e. the cultivation of virtue Apol. 19)?” Thus the interrogation scene has no special status, in Xenophon’s Apology, as the most direct response to the legal charges. Socrates’ next remark provides another contrast with Plato. “And yet we understand, surely, what sorts of corruption affect young men” (Apol. 19). Plato’s Socrates, on the other hand, repeatedly says that his goal in questioning Meletus is to show that Meletus has given no thought to how one corrupts the young (Apology 24c, 24d, 25c, 26b). He delights in an ironic pun on Meletus’ name, which resembles the Greek verb meaning “to be concerned about” (melein): corruption of the youth has never been a concern to Meletus (οὐδὲν τούτῳ πώποτε ἐμέλησεν 24c). Plato’s Meletus, then, certainly does not understand how the young are corrupted. Xenophon’s Socrates will instead argue that he himself has a reputation, apparently well-deserved, for being concerned about education, employing the same

Xenophon’s Apology 135 Greek verb as he does so (μεμεληκός Apol. 20). Thus Xenophon flips the argument around: instead of demonstrating that Meletus has never concerned himself with education of the youth, Xenophon emphasizes Socrates’ concern with education. After stating that he and Meletus know what corruption of the youth is, Socrates asks Meletus whether he can name anyone Socrates has made impious, hubristic, prodigal, prey to drink, lazy, or subservient to any foul pleasure, a typically Xenophontic list of corruptions (Apol. 19). Xenophon’s Meletus does not name any names, but says he knows some who were convinced by Socrates to listen to him more than they listen to their parents (cf. Mem. 1.2.49). Socrates grants that he prizes experts over relatives, but defends his practice, or rather that of the youths who listen to him. He gets Meletus to agree that listening to experts rather than relatives is customary and advantageous in the case of generals and doctors. Why not, then, in the case of education, the greatest good for human beings? Socrates concludes that it is amazing that he is on trial for his life while other experts are honored for what they do (Apol. 20-21). Thus ends the interrogation of Meletus in Xenophon’s Apology. None of the interrogation in Xenophon is immediately paralleled by the interrogation scene in Plato. But there are parallels elsewhere in Plato’s Apology. Plato’s Socrates does, toward the end of his first speech, invite Meletus to produce the testimony of anyone whom he has corrupted, or any family member who will testify that a relative was corrupted by Socrates; Socrates is so generous as to yield the floor to allow Meletus the chance to summon such witnesses if he forgot to do so during his own speech (Apology 33c34b). Plato’s Socrates precedes this offer with a list of his innocent associates, something Xenophon provides in the Memorabilia (1.2.48). We saw the rhetorical nature of this offer in the last chapter: had Meletus had such witnesses to hand, he would have already called them. But no selfrespecting Athenian was going to volunteer to testify that he himself, or a relative, had been corrupted by anyone. No wonder, then, that Plato’s Meletus remains silent when given the opportunity to suggest examples of Socratic corruption. Xenophon’s Meletus, on the other hand, does have a response when asked to name who Socrates has corrupted, even if he doesn’t name names: sons alienated from their fathers. Xenophon’s Meletus is not simply a ready-made victim for a Socratic elenchus, for he has some understanding of what corruption is, and he can provide an example of how Socrates has corrupted the young. Xenophon has Socrates address the charge about fathers and sons in the Apology with essentially the same argument he provides in the Memorabilia (1.2.49-55): we should listen those with relevant expertise, even if they are not friends or relatives (Apol. 20). In the Memorabilia Xenophon concludes with a positive note, that Socrates made such arguments in order to lead his companions to improve themselves in order to make themselves valuable companions for others; this is in keeping

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with Xenophon’s emphasis in the Memorabilia on the benefits Socrates provides. In the Apology, on the other hand, in keeping with Socrates’ boastful tone, Xenophon rather more clearly has Socrates lay claim to the status of an expert by contrasting his fate with the honor received by other experts (Apol. 21). While boastful, this is also a wise move for an advocate to make: mere concern with education cannot inoculate one against the charge of corrupting the youth, for it is precisely those who win a reputation as educators who have the greatest opportunity to corrupt. If it is reasonable for the Athenians to listen to Socrates as they listen to other experts, Socrates had better be an expert. Plato’s Socrates famously insists that he never teaches anything, but Xenophon’s Socrates makes much less fuss about this, and at times implies that he does indeed teach, so long as his teaching doesn’t amount to the teaching of kalokagathia (Mem. 4.7.1; cf. 1.6.13; Apol. 26). This difference over the extent of Socrates’ expertise is of course one of the greatest differences between Plato’s and Xenophon’s accounts of Socrates. But the first argument that Plato’s Socrates makes in his interrogation of Meletus also makes an implicit claim to expertise. Socrates argues that Meletus has not given any thought to education, inasmuch as he believes that all Athenians, save Socrates alone, make the youth better, a happy state of affairs for all but Socrates, but one contradicted by what we know of how animals are trained. For just as it is “some one person who is able to make horses better, or very few,” (Apology 25b) so too some one person, or very few, will be able to educate the youth. It is hard to imagine that anyone listening would have failed to conclude that Plato’s Socrates considered himself to be that one person, or among that small number of people, despite his claims to the contrary. Thus in both Xenophon and Plato the first part of the interrogation of Meletus implies that Socrates is an expert educator. Xenophon’s argument; however, does so more positively than Plato’s, by ending with strong language about Socrates’ high reputation for excellence in education, whereas Plato’s argument concludes that Meletus is confused. By giving Meletus a reasonable sounding objection, rather than the absurd claim that all Athenians other than Socrates benefit the youth, Xenophon does a better job of defending Socrates. He can do so because he is more open about crediting Socrates with expertise as an educator. In Plato, Socrates goes on to make two further arguments to Meletus that have little in common with the interrogation in Xenophon. A. No one would intentionally choose to make those he lives with evil, as evil companions are harmful; so Socrates cannot have intentionally corrupted the youth. Meletus has not thought through what his own charges mean (Apology 25c-26b). B. Meletus’ defines Socrates’ impiety as his teaching of atheism, but Socrates believes in divine things (daimonia), and so must believe in

Xenophon’s Apology 137 divinities themselves. Meletus is either testing the jury or at a loss to find any true ground to attack Socrates (Apology 26b-28a). It is easy enough to see why Xenophon may have omitted these arguments in his Apology. First, neither of them is particularly boastful: whereas the earlier argument in Plato’s interrogation implies that Socrates is the rare expert regarding education, these two only poke holes in Meletus’ argument. Second, neither of Plato’s arguments provides an effective defense for Socrates; this explains their absence not only from the brief Apology but from the lengthier Memorabilia. The argument purporting to show that Socrates would not have intentionally wronged his companions relies on premises well known to Xenophon’s Socrates, who believes that all men choose to do whatever they find advantageous (Mem. 3.9.4), and is aware of the paradox of deliberate wrongdoing (Mem. 4.2.19-20). But Xenophon may have recognized its inappropriateness for the current context: in Plato, Socrates’ argument proves not only that he did not intentionally corrupt the youth, but that no one ever would. In the argument about daimonia, Plato’s Socrates leads Meletus to narrow the corruption charge against him in two ways: Socrates corrupts the youth by impious teaching, and he is impious because he is an atheist. Both steps are forensically suspect. Plato himself does not consistently stick to this narrow interpretation of the corruption charge. He also implies, as we have just seen, that Socrates, far from corrupting the youth, was the best educator in Athens, and Plato’s argument against intentional corruption is also directed against all forms of corruption. And when Plato’s Socrates calls upon any of those he had corrupted to testify against him, he includes anyone whom he has given bad advice to, or done any wrong (Apology 3334b). This too hardly limits the possibilities for corruption to impious instruction. Meletus’ decision, in Plato, to define Socrates’ impiety as atheism also seems forensically inept, given that it would be far easier to convict Socrates of a less extreme sort of impiety. We have, however, seen that Xenophon addresses the charge of atheism in the Memorabilia, when he argues that Socrates’ belief in the validity of the daimonion must be based on belief in the gods (Mem. 1.1.5). This suggests the charge was in the air, and to this extent justifies Plato’s approach to the impiety charge: atheism was indeed one possible accusation against Socrates. But there is no reason to believe it was the only interpretation of Socrates’ impiety on offer at the trial.26 Plato’s Socrates admits as much, outside of the interrogation of Meletus, when he notes that Socrates’ daimonion (Apology 31c-d, Euthyphro 2b) landed him in trouble. Plato’s account of Socrates’ divine mission in the Apology is also clearly meant to show not only that he believed in some god or other, but that his whole life was devoted to divine service. It is Plato’s having Meletus reduce the impiety charge to atheism in Plato’s Apology that is the outlier here, not Xenophon’s broader account of the impiety charge.

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Plato’s account of Socrates’ interrogation of Meletus is brilliant in its own way, as a demonstration of Socrates’ elenchus at work. Xenophon’s Socrates is far less fond of the elenchus, though Xenophon grants it a certain role in taming know-it-alls (Mem. 1.4.1) and winning over new converts to Socrates (Mem. 4.2).27 More important than Xenophon’s lack of interest in the elenchus, though, is his interest in showing Socrates’ justice and piety, an interest maintained even in the Apology, despite Xenophon’s desire to show how Socrates’ boasting turned the jury against him. Xenophon appears to have rewritten the first section of Plato’s interrogation of Meletus, and suppressed the remaining two sections, because they failed to meet his goals. Those who argue that Plato meant the interrogation to defend Socrates have to come to terms with the fact that Xenophon provided a far better forensic defense. It does more credit to Plato to admit that he had no intention to provide Socrates with such a defense. The penalty phase The next two chapters of Xenophon’s Apology, chapters 22 and 23, are apparently not part of Hermogenes’ report, which picks up again in chapter 24, where Xenophon returns to indirect discourse. In chapter 22, Xenophon discusses the process of selection he employed in writing the Apology. To buttress his claim that Socrates wanted to display his justice and piety, and was not concerned with avoiding death, Xenophon notes that Socrates refused his friends’ offers to provide him with money to pay a fine, as doing so would imply that he was guilty, and that he refused to save his life by accepting their help in escaping from prison. Socrates’ refusal to escape from prison is familiar to us from Plato’s Crito. Xenophon spends but one sentence on Socrates’ decision, which is justified only by a joke: escaping Athens would not allow him to escape death (for the joke, cf. Plato, Apology 35a). Given the legal positivism Xenophon’s Socrates appears to endorse in Memorabilia 4.4, we might have expected some allusion to the sorts of arguments we find in the Crito, where Socrates explains his decision to face his punishment as part of his duty to obey the laws of Athens. In Xenophon’s compressed account, though, Socrates’ decision to face his punishment is taken to support his readiness to die, rather than to show his justice—which is instead shown by his unwillingness to accept a fine. It may also have been unbecoming of the arrogant Socrates of Xenophon’s Apology to proclaim his duty to obey anyone or anything.28 Socrates’ complete refusal to suggest a fine as an alternative penalty confronts us with another factual conflict with Plato’s Apology. Many Athenian laws, including that against impiety, mandated no penalty; in such cases both sides were to put forward a suggested penalty, and the jury had to choose one of these suggestions. The prudent defendant proposed something serious enough to win the votes of some of the jurors who had

Xenophon’s Apology 139 voted to convict him (Todd 1993, 134). Socrates does nothing of the sort in either Xenophon or Plato. Plato’s Socrates first responds by suggesting that what he deserves is a place of honor at public banquets, and he appears to rule out any punishment at all by ruling out any harmful penalty. Eventually he relents and agrees to pay a fine that will not harm him, a fine of one mina, which he then ups to thirty minas once his friends have volunteered to pay on his behalf—something that would also not harm him (Apology 36d-38b). Xenophon’s Socrates is still more obstinate. Xenophon tells us that Socrates neither paid anything himself nor allowed his friends to pay, since paying any penalty at all would amount to a confession of wrongdoing (Apol. 23). Allusion to the possibility of friends paying may reflect Xenophon’s knowledge of Plato, though it is a plausible enough scenario given that Socrates was poor himself but had many wealthy friends. Why do Plato and Xenophon differ, and how important is this difference? Xenophon explicitly connects Socrates’ reasoning about the fine not to his readiness to die but to his desire to show himself just. For Xenophon everything is straightforward: there’s no guilt, so no penalty is suitable, and as Socrates has no fear of death—rather the opposite—he has no motivation whatsoever to propose any alternative penalty. Plato’s various proposals (free meals, one mina, thirty minas) complicate matters. As with the rest of the trial, some scholars have argued that Plato’s Socrates does everything he can to win the jury’s votes, here by proposing a bona fide punishment, while staying true to his principles (Brickhouse and Smith 1989, 214–234; Reeve 1989, 169–176). But one can remain true to one’s principles without flaunting them, and a penalty that the condemned regards as doing him no harm is a very odd sort of penalty. If the one mina fine Plato’s Socrates offers on his own behalf was meant as a genuine effort to win the votes of the jury, he could have simply offered it without first arguing that he would not offer any penalty that harmed him. Diogenes Laertius (2.42), though not the most reliable of sources, reports that Socrates’ counterproposal cost him the votes of eighty jurors who had voted to acquit him. Certainly Socrates’ response in the penalty phase, whatever it was, did not win him many votes, at least if we can trust Plato’s report (Apology 36a) that Socrates was only convicted by thirty votes in the first place. So the ultimate effect in both authors is the same: Socrates does not make a serious effort to persuade the jury to choose a penalty other than death. Plato’s Socrates brilliantly ensures that the jury will vote against a proposed fine before he even introduces it. But as the scholarly controversy about the alternative penalty in Plato reveals, Plato’s Socrates leaves this somewhat ambiguous. Xenophon, in keeping with his intention in writing the Apology, makes Socrates’ intentions entirely clear. Which one comes closer to what Socrates actually said as his trial is difficult to say. Plato’s account is usually given precedence, as usual (so Denyer 2019, 138). But it is at least as likely that Plato chose to note his own willingness to help his friend while

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also gifting Socrates with a superbly ironic way of undermining a rich young man’s misguided effort to save his master from martyrdom.29 Five comparative claims I summarize this section with five comparative points about the Xenophontic and Platonic Apologies. 1. Xenophon clarifies Plato’s account by showing that Socrates’ boasting at his trial was designed to secure a guilty verdict. Xenophon does this most obviously by stating that this was Socrates’ intention, but he also puts a more boastful slant on shared elements like the oracle story and counter penalty. Where Plato’s Socrates uses the oracle story to explain why many were irritated by him, Xenophon’s Socrates irritates the jurors themselves with the rhetorical questions which prove his superiority. And Xenophon has Socrates reject any alternative penalty out of hand, the better to show Socrates’ justice and resolve. Most modern readers have also found Plato’s Socrates boastful, but some prominent voices have argued that he is not: Xenophon’s clarification is thus as relevant today as it ever was. 2. Xenophon’s account of the trial reflects his own understanding of Socrates. Xenophon’s departures from the account of the trial in Plato are not one-off differences of opinion about what happened at the trial, but reflect his distinct views about Socrates. Thus Delphi credits Xenophon’s Socrates with more than wisdom, and Xenophon’s Socrates more overtly lays claim to the status of expert educator. 3. Even in the Apology, Xenophon provides a more forensically apt defense of Socrates’ justice and piety than Plato does. Xenophon’s Socrates is not interested solely in securing his own execution, but in demonstrating his justice and piety. The only way for him to demonstrate his virtue while securing a guilty verdict is to boast. But for all his boasting, Xenophon’s Socrates directly rejects the charge of impiety by noting his orthopraxy and defending the orthodoxy of his beliefs about the daimonion, and he faces the wide import of the corruption charge. He thus avoids forensic flaws in Plato’s account. 4. Xenophon’s more effective defense shows that Plato had no intent to provide his Socrates with an effective defense against the legal charges in the Apology. If Xenophon, even while making it very clear that Socrates had no intention of securing his acquittal, has Socrates provide a better forensic defense in his short Apology than Plato does in his rather longer work, this is a powerful argument that Plato’s Apology was not designed to defend Socrates against the legal charges.

Xenophon’s Apology 141 5. Plato and Xenophon are in fundamental agreement about Socrates’ intentions at his trial. Xenophon criticizes Plato for failing to make Socrates’ intentions clear; this is distinct from disagreeing with Plato about what Socrates’ intentions actually were. Plato’s Socrates was also ready to die, but Plato chose to stress his courage in facing death rather than his readiness to meet his death. In both authors, Socrates approached his death in a way guaranteed to win him the eternal reputation he still enjoys, as a man unjustly executed by Athens despite his exemplary justice and piety. Plato’s Socrates dies in pursuit of a philosophical mission that Xenophon’s Socrates does not share, but Xenophon also believes that Socrates is the best guide for all who pursue virtue. Thus for all their disagreements, Xenophon and Plato agree that Socrates was after something more than acquittal. Socrates did not appeal to the jury but to posterity.

The historical trial We have made it thus far without devoting much attention to what Xenophon’s Apology can tell us of what actually happened at Socrates’ trial in 399. Unlike many others, I do not believe that this question is unanswerable in principle.30 Xenophon notes his source for Socrates’ trial, Hermogenes; he expects his readers to wonder how he knew about what was going on in Athens during his adventures with the 10,000. He also makes a historiographical remark at the outset of his Apology: given that all accounts agree that Socrates spoke boastfully, it’s clear that that’s how he actually spoke. If we are content to follow Xenophon’s lead, and take agreement among our sources as proof of historicity, the central issue will then be the extent to which Xenophon and Plato agree about what took place at the trial. On many of the broadest issues there is agreement. Our authors essentially agree about the wording of the charges against Socrates; both report that Socrates gave three speeches; both say that he spoke of the oracle and interrogated Meletus; both have him fail to propose an attractive alternative penalty, even if his friends wished him to; both show him unperturbed by the death sentence against him; both say that he was glad to escape the troubles of old age; and both depict him as being boastful in tone. But there are also significant differences, including the exact response of the oracle, Socrates’ absolute refusal to offer any alternative penalty in Xenophon, and Plato’s inclusion of the first accusers. I have suggested that the oracular response in Xenophon more expands on than contradicts the response in Plato, for Xenophon’s Socrates is also wise, and Plato’s Socrates is also free, just, and self-controlled, though the oracle did not tell him as much. And I submit that Plato’s Socrates, by suggesting a series of harmless penalties, was every bit as forensically self-defeating as was Xenophon’s Socrates, with his refusal to consider any alternative penalty. This leaves,

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however, one massive difference between the two Apologies: Plato devotes much of his Apology to discussing Socrates, divine, philosophical mission, of which there is no trace in Xenophon. One profitable way to start sorting through how these accounts may be analyzed in historical terms is to distinguish between the Apologies as accounts of the trial and the Apologies as introductions to Socrates—efforts to introduce readers to Socrates as an exemplary figure. Plato’s Apology clearly introduces Socrates as a philosopher on a mission, not just a defendant innocent of charges. And while Xenophon’s Apology opens with a narrow focus on one question about the trial—how Socrates’ boasting made sense—it ends with a broad claim about Socrates: For my part, when I consider the wisdom of the man and his nobleness I cannot help but think of him and, when I think of him, I cannot but praise him. If anyone else who longs for virtue has met anyone more useful than Socrates, I consider him to be the most blessed of men. This is language very close to the peroration in praise of Socrates that closes the Memorabilia. Xenophon’s imagining someone more useful than Socrates is a rhetorical flourish he is fond of throwing before the reader (cf. Mem. 4.8.11; Lac. Pol. 1.10, 2.14; Cyr. 8.8.27). So both Plato and Xenophon do more than account for Socrates’ defense speech in their Apologies: both put him forward as figure to be emulated. It is the balance between these two goals—defending Socrates and introducing him—that is rather different. My contention would be that the accounts of the trial in Xenophon and Plato are close enough that both could be considered to hew closely to the “overall content of what was actually said,” to employ one of Thucydides’ famous formulations for his approach to the speeches in his history (ἡ ξύμπαση γνώμη τῶν ἀληθῶς λεχθέντων Thucydides 1.22).31 This does not, of course, mean that Thucydides, Xenophon, or Plato aimed to provide anything like a transcript. Like Thucydides, the Socratics wrote for readers who would have had first-hand knowledge of their subject matter; as Thucydides’ readers were apparently content to hear many speakers deliver speeches in Thucydides’ inimitable style, so too the Socratics’ readers were content to hear Socrates speak with Xenophontic and Platonic accents. Whatever degree of historical constraint the Socratics felt, it certainly wasn’t a fine-grained devotion to reporting exactly what Socrates said, and only what he said. But even the differences about the precise response of the oracle (or precise question asked of the oracle) and the counter-penalty seem to me matters of rather little historical import, as neither suggests a substantial difference about the charges against Socrates, the case made against him, or Socrates’ own approach to the trial. On this last count Plato and Xenophon, I have argued, agree that Socrates was far more interested in his legacy than in securing an acquittal.

Xenophon’s Apology 143 But the divine philosophical mission, central for Plato and absent in Xenophon, is another matter. Here we are much closer to the contrasting approach to speeches Thucydides outlines: “what had to be said concerning the individual situations” (περὶ τῶν αἰεὶ παρόντων τὰ δἐοντα 1.22). Thucydides’ rival formulations have caused scholars endless trouble, as the second criterion suggests that Thucydides made his own determination about what the situation demanded, rather than attempting to convey what was really said. But his second approach may suggest a way of understanding the broader differences between Xenophon and Plato. It is also one that is still within the realm of ancient historiography, and in the only Classical Greek historian to make any claim for the authenticity of his speeches. In Socrates’ case, “what had to be said concerning the individual circumstances” may expand to include reflection not just on the charges but on Socrates’ entire way of life. Plato’s Socrates, who was a philosopher, had to justify his life spent in the pursuit of philosophy. Perhaps Plato reached the conclusion that Socrates had to do so by presenting the philosopher’s life as a divine mission—whether Socrates said so or not. Xenophon’s Socrates is an exemplarily virtuous man, but he is not a philosopher, or at least not only a philosopher. No divine mission is required to live a virtuous life. Not coincidentally, Plato was the founder of a philosophical school; Xenophon was not. I see no obvious way of judging which read more of his own life into Socrates’ life. This difference in how to characterize Socrates, large though it may be, need not fundamentally affect our ability to understand the historical trial. For Socrates’ divine mission, for all the inspiration it supplies in Plato’s Apology, seems to have played no role in the accusations against Socrates. Nor did it secure his acquittal. The divine mission need not even be central to our understanding of Plato’s Socrates, who never mentions it outside of the Apology. The wider issue of Socrates’ self-identification as a philosopher, however, does certainly affect the larger question of who Socrates was. Plato’s Socrates is decidedly stranger than Xenophon’s, less embedded in the Athenian community, and less interested in the sorts of practical questions about success in leadership positions or making a living that Xenophon’s Socrates is happy to discuss. This difference helps to explain why Xenophon felt the need to identify why Socrates was convicted more powerfully than Plato did. Plato was convinced that philosophers would be rejected as useless stargazers, who were more likely to be thrown overboard than to be listened to by those engaged in politics (Republic 6.488a-e). And while Plato does have Socrates claim to practice politics, he says that he does so in a singular way, and he says it precisely when predicting that he will be put on trial and condemned (Gorgias 521d). Thus Socrates’ trial was no surprise to Plato, at least in hindsight. But Xenophon shows Socrates readily giving political advice to many (Mem. 3.1-7), and has Socrates’ lay claim to training others to do politics (Mem. 1.6.15). Xenophon’s Socrates doesn’t solely πράττειν τά πολιτικὰ (“engage in public business”) as Plato’s

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does, by speaking the truth in order to better his fellow Athenians: he teaches men how to lead in the Athenian democracy. He does not appear to believe that the people will turn against and kill any decent man who speaks the truth in public life, as Plato’s Socrates does (Apology 31e). Xenophon remained amazed that the Athenians could have done such a thing as kill Socrates, so he explained how that happened, clarifying something Plato had left less clear: Socrates was ready to die, and he chose to speak bluntly and boastfully of his extraordinary virtues so as to leave a model behind for others to follow.

Notes 1 So, for example, Vander Waerdt (1993) and Dorion (2013, XXV–XXVI). 2 Brickhouse and Smith (1989; 2000, 39–40), Reeve (1989), Vlastos (1991, 291–293). 3 See also Pangle (2020, 145–172), which reached me too late to be addressed here. 4 As vain a man as Isocrates repeatedly notes the dangers of self-praise and envy in his Antidosis (8, 140–149, 244–249); Hau (2012) argues that arrogance in Xenophon all but universally leads to disaster; here, of course, Socrates welcomes disaster in the form of a guilty verdict. 5 Burnet (1924, 251) believed that the troubles (πραγάτων) were those of Socrates’ mission, but see De Stryker and Slings (1994, 395). 6 Contrast Waterfield’s claim (2012, 298–301; 2009, 202–204) that Socrates was a voluntary scapegoat. 7 Elsewhere Xenophon’s Socrates says only that the daimonion opposed him, not that it opposed him twice (Mem. 4.8.5; cf. Apol. 8). But is no strict contradiction here, as those passage do not say how many times the daimonion signaled to Socrates. 8 Contrast, with Danzig (2014b), Plato Apology 34c-35d, 38d-39a. 9 For more on this speech, see chapter two, note 26. 10 70 is made a natural limit in Solon frg. 27, and by Solon at Herodotus 1.32.2; on old age in Greece see Garland 1990, 242–287 and Falkner 1995. 11 On Plato’s death scene see Rowe 1993, 295 and Block 2001. For “bloodless crucifixion,” in which the victim was tied to a plank and strangled, see Allen 2003. 12 So Stokes (2012). Dorion (2011b, 243) provides further references for the chronology debate (which he wisely skips himself). Add Gray (1989, 137n6) to Dorion’s list of those believing the Apology came after the Memorabilia. 13 For this understanding of the daimonion, see chapter two, page 64. 14 For similarities and differences among these heroes, see Johnson (2019). 15 Xenophon’s account of Agesilaus in his account of the history of his times, the Hellenica and his encomium to Agesilaus, the Agesilaus, are another case in point. Amidst much repetition, including many nearly identical passages, Xenophon shapes his account in the Agesilaus to make the best defense of Agesilaus he can without altering the basic facts of Agesilaus’ career or contradicting himself (cf. Dillery 1995, 114–119). 16 We could secure a terminus post quem for Xenophon’s Apology if we had firm information about the later career of Anytus, whose death is mentioned at Apology 31. The tradition that had the Athenians execute Socrates’ accusers soon after the trial (Diodorus Siculus, 14.37.7) is apparently false, as Anytus

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17 18

19

20

21 22 23

24 25 26

was alive and well in Athens in 396 (Oxyrhynchus Historian 6.2; Nails 2002, 38). It is possible that the Anytus who appears as a dutiful grain inspector in Lysias 22 (22.8), a speech probably dating to 386, is our man, but neither the identity of Anytus nor the date of the speech are secure (Todd 2000, 237–239). Plato’s Apology is often thought to have been written before that, but its date is uncertain; De Strycker (De Strycker and Slings 1994, 16–21) argues tentatively for a date between 394 and 387, a date later than most but still before our last plausible reference to Anytus. Vander Waerdt (1993, 17), Ober (1998, 165–179), and Danzig (2010, 26) are among the recent authors who view Plato’s Socrates as arrogant. Hence Reeve (1989, 172), discussing Socrates’ claim that he deserves free meals in the Prytaneum, says that this “is arrogance only if the claim is unwarranted.” Compare Brickhouse and Smith 1989, 213: “Those who wish to cite such anger [from the jury] as evidence for Socratic irony or arrogance must show first that the claims Socrates made that aroused such anger must not be taken as the simple and literal truth and, then, that the risk of such a departure from direct simple sincerity is compatible with his principles.” Sometimes one does find oneself in the lucky if delicate position of being able to boast by telling the simple and literal truth. While many readers have considered Plato’s Socrates questioning the oracle to be impious (as Vander Waerdt 1993, 38, with references) there was nothing fundamentally impious about questioning the meaning of an oracle. Herodotus (1.91) famously tells how Apollo criticized Croesus precisely for failing to question the meaning of an oracle when he mistakenly took “You shall destroy a great kingdom” to mean that he would destroy Persia (cf. Flower 2008, 14, 235). Questioning the truthfulness of an oracle was another matter, and here Croesus was in the wrong (cf. Cyr. 7.2.17 with Flower 2008, 149). In Oeconomicus 11.3 Socrates says that he is thought to babble (ἀδολεσχειν) and measure the air (ἀερομετρεῖν), charges relevant to those made by Plato at Apology 19c, but stresses that the oddest thing is that he is called a poor man (πένης), a charge Plato does not directly address in the comic context (but cf. Apology 31b and Eupolis frg. 386). For Socrates’ connection with Sparta, see Crito 52e-53a, Birds 1281. For doubts about the historicity of Socrates’ mission, see Stokes (1992), Vander Waerdt (1993), and Danzig (2010, 19–68). For recent efforts to unravel how the oracle worked, see Bowden (2005) and Flower (2008, 215–239). Reeve (1989, 29), Vlastos (1991, 288–289), and Vander Waerdt (1993, 39n106) argue that Chaerephon probably consulted the oracle via cleromancy, a simple choice of lots for “yes” or “no” that may have been easier and less expensive for consultants to arrange than a fuller verbal response. Vlastos takes this to tell against Xenophon’s account of the oracle, while Reeve argues that Xenophon’s account actually supports cleromancy—despite the fact that Xenophon attributes words to Apollo. But our evidence for cleromancy at Delphi is exiguous, even by Delphic standards, whereas we have ample evidence for verbal responses. Contrast Bowden (2005, 100–107) with Flower (2008, 235, 238). Brickhouse and Smith (1989, 109–128) and Reeve (1989, 82–97) argue that Socrates’ confrontation with Meletus does absolve Socrates of the formal charges. De Strycker and Slings (1994, 106) are not convinced. Brickhouse and Smith (1989, 119) and Reeve (1989, 74–107) argue that Meletus, as prosecutor, had the authority to define his charge as he saw fit; but at Athens it was the jury that had the authority to define the law (Todd 1993, 61–62).

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27 For more on the elenchus in Xenophon, see Dorion (2011a, cxviii-clxxxii), Johnson (2005), Danzig (2017b), and Lachance (2018). 28 For a rather different effort to compare the Crito and Memorabilia 4.4, see Dorion (2018b). 29 Cf. Pucci (2002, 28–29 [citing Lesky 1966, 623] and 81). 30 For doubts about the Apology in particular, see Morrison (2000); Dorion (2011c, 2018a) makes the case for abandoning the Socratic Question as chimerical. But Stavru (2013) suggests that the historical Socrates is making a comeback. 31 For the comparison with Thucydides, see Vlastos (1991, 253). Vlastos argues that we have “even less reason for doubting the substantial veracity of the speech Plato puts into Socrates’ mouth” than we do the speeches of Thucydides, given that Plato was present for Socrates’ defense, while Thucydides was not present for most of the speeches he recounts. Vlastos’ observation would suggest that we ought to trust the eyewitness Plato more than the absent Xenophon; but Thucydides’ approach does not seem to have differed based on whether he was an eyewitness or not. Cf. Rusten (1989, 7–17), who suggests criteria for determining accuracy other than autopsy, and concludes by arguing that determining the degree of authenticity of a Thucydidean speech is “as difficult and as subjective” (16) as distinguishing between Plato and Socrates in the Apology. Xenophon does not make similar historiographical remarks about his own speeches; for one introduction to those speeches, see Baragwanath (2017).

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The moral psychology of Xenophon’s Socrates

I have argued that Xenophon, unlike Plato, does not present Socrates as a man with a unique philosophical mission. But Xenophon’s Socrates does have important philosophical views, views which develop largely out of Xenophon’s defense of Socrates. As we saw in chapter one, one basic structuring element of the Memorabilia consists in paired accounts of Socrates’ piety and his self-mastery (enkrateia). We’ve discussed piety as a theme in the trial of Socrates, and I’ve made an effort elsewhere to begin to draw together some major themes in Socratic religion as Xenophon un­ derstands it (Johnson 2017). But enkrateia is at least as important a topic in Xenophon’s Socratic works, so important that it is foundational for any serious study of his views on most other issues. So there is no better place to start to get a grasp on the philosophy of Xenophon’s Socrates than by studying his moral psychology. Study of moral psychology will also be essential to my claim that the philosophy of Xenophon’s Socrates is fun­ damentally compatible with that of Plato’s Socrates. Xenophon defends Socrates against the charge of corrupting the youth mainly by defending Socrates’ character (especially in Mem. 1.2.1–8). The basis of Socrates’ character is his self-mastery, and that concept is the cen­ terpiece of Socrates’ moral psychology as Xenophon understands it. This complex moral psychology addresses the roles of pleasure, desire, wisdom, and moral reasoning (dialectic), as well as enkrateia. The moral psychology Xenophon attributes to Socrates has been of great interest to those interested in what the Greeks thought of desire, including Michel Foucault (1985) and James Davidson (1997). It has, however, too often been neglected, and for the same reason that Xenophon’s account of the trial is often neglected: because Xenophon’s account appears to be incompatible with Plato’s. It is indeed true enough that Plato all but ignores enkrateia in his early dialogues to concentrate on the role of knowledge.1 Xenophon’s emphasis on enkrateia has been considered a defining difference between his Socrates and Plato’s, above all by the most prominent modern scholar of Xenophon’s Socrates, Louis-André Dorion (2013, XIX–XXIX). Recent work on the moral psychology of Plato’s Socrates, however, has complicated the traditional understanding of him as a strict intellectualist

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who saw no place for non-rational motivations.2 This brings Plato’s Socrates rather closer to Xenophon’s. I will argue that the moral psy­ chology of Xenophon’s Socrates provides us with some good reason to opt for these less strictly intellectualist readings of Plato’s Socrates, potentially resolving disputes among readers of Plato. Xenophon’s Socratic works also address topics in moral psychology that Plato’s Socrates ignores. Xenophon’s Socrates not only says much more about desire, but much more about how practical wisdom can be acquired and how it can be lost. Plato’s Socrates, who tends to regard wisdom as all but im­ possible to acquire, never gets around to discussing how it can be gained or lost. Xenophon’s Socrates may, then, both help us resolve disputes about what Plato’s Socrates means, and fill gaps in his moral psychology. We can thus combine the moral psychology of Xenophon’s Socrates with that of Plato’s to produce a Socratic synthesis that is greater than the sum of its parts. Xenophon’s account of enkrateia, pleasure, and wisdom is complex, and unrolls slowly over a number of passages in the Memorabilia. Successive passages amplify the teaching, adding new elements to what has come be­ fore.3 As Xenophon’s account becomes more complex, it also becomes more controversial, as we learn that his Socrates is not as hostile to pleasure as he may have seemed. Thus no single passage, taken in isolation, will reveal Socrates’ full understanding of enkrateia, pleasure, or wisdom; we must read them together, in sequence, if we are to understand his views, and how Xenophon’s presents them over the full course of the Memorabilia.

Enkrateia as a guarantee against wrongdoing (Mem. 1.2.1–8) Xenophon’s first detailed account of enkrateia comes as part of his defense of Socrates, and we have already discussed it in that context, where we saw that Socrates’ character removes temptations to wrongdoing and provides the basis for the positive example he gives to his followers. It also seems amazing to me that some believe that Socrates corrupted the youth. First of all, he was the most enkratic (enkratestatos) of all men regarding sex and food; second, he was the most enduring (karterikotatos) regarding winter storms and summer heat and all forms of toil; and in addition he was so well educated in moderating his needs (πρὸς δὲ τὸ μετρίων δεῖσθαι πεπαιδευμένος) that though he possessed very little he very easily had enough. (Mem. 1.2.1) We may distinguish three traits here: 1. Self-mastery (enkrateia), the ability to withstand the desire for food, drink, sex, and sleep;

Moral psychology 149 2. Endurance (karteria), the ability to withstand pain, including heat and cold, and the pain brought on by toil (ponos); 3. Self-sufficiency (autarkeia), the ability to make do with what is available, even if it is very little indeed. The distinction between enkrateia and karteria is similar to one Aristotle makes between one who is enkrates (enkratic) and one who is karterikos (“enduring”; Nicomachean Ethics 7.7.1150a13–15): enkrateia allows one to master pleasures, while karteria allows one to hold out against pains. But Xenophon does not always carefully distinguish between the two traits, and can use enkrateia to refer to the ability to master both desire and pain. At Memorabilia 2.6.22 and 4.5.9, karteria encroaches on enkrateia, whereas at 1.5.1, 2.1.3, and 2.1.7 enkrateia encompasses at least one element else­ where attributed to karteria (Edmunds 2018). I will therefore use enkrateia in this later, fuller sense, to refer to the ability to withstand both desire and pain. The final trait, self-sufficiency, is sometimes found in close company with enkrateia, as here and at Memorabilia 1.2.14. And at Memorabilia 1.6.10, Socrates tells Antiphon that needing nothing is divine and that needing as little as possible is the closest thing possible to the divine; Socrates’ freedom from want in that conversation is due mainly to his enkrateia. But elsewhere self-sufficiency is given an intellectual element, as the quality possessed by those with the knowledge to succeed in action (Mem. 4.7.1) or recognize the better course of action (4.5.10–11, 4.8.11; cf. Edmunds 2018, Chernyakhovskaya 2014, 39–50). Enkrateia is necessary for selfsufficiency, but not sufficient to acquire it, at least in all of its forms.

Hunger is the best sauce (Mem. 1.3.5–8) After another account of Socrates’ piety, Xenophon returns to Socrates’ enkrateia and self-sufficiency. Socrates had so well educated his soul and body that he could make do with almost anything: it’s hard to imagine anyone not earning enough to meet his needs. Hunger and thirst made his eating and drinking pleasant, and were the only seasoning (opson) he needed.4 When invited to a feast, Socrates easily managed to avoid eating and drinking more than enough to meet his needs, something others found difficult. Those who were less able he advised to be on their guard against anything that might persuade them to drink and eat even when they were not hungry or thirsty. For things that hurt the stomach and head also hurt the soul. From this apparent reference to a hangover we rise to a mytho­ logical comparison: Odysseus was able to frustrate Circe’s attempt to turn him into a pig thanks not only to Hermes’ warning but to his own selfmastery, which allowed him to avoid overindulgence. Two things are new here. The first is the fact that enkrateia enables us to take pleasure in the simplest fare, by allowing desire for food and drink to

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build up until they make eating and drinking the simplest fare very pleasant. Enkrateia is not the enemy of pleasure. Second, Socrates finds it easy to deal not only with scarcity but with plenty; he can also enjoy the most luxurious food and drink without danger, something others find hard. Those others are better advised to avoid temptation. The same lesson will apply to the re­ mainder of this chapter (Mem. 1.3.8–15), where Socrates advises Xenophon himself to stay clear of youthful beauties, avoiding even the sight of them—advice Socrates hardly followed himself.5 It is thus vital to distinguish between Socrates’ advice for those lacking enkrateia and his own conduct, which can follow different rules, as he does not lack enkrateia. Like Odysseus, Socrates can enjoy all Circe has to offer without losing himself.

Enkrateia, the foundation of virtue (Mem. 1.5) Memorabilia 1.4 presents us with a new beginning, and so Xenophon, again following his habit of pairing off piety and enkrateia, discusses Socratic piety in 1.4 and then turns to enkrateia in 1.5. Socrates begins 1.5 by pointing out that we want the people we make use of to have enkrateia: generals, guardians of our children, and even our slaves. But enkrateia isn’t only valuable in others; it is also essential for oneself, for the lack of en­ krateia harms one’s own body and soul. Isn’t it necessary that every man hold that enkrateia is the foundation of virtue and first acquire this in his soul? For without this who could learn anything good or concern himself with it in a worthwhile way? Or who would not, if he is a slave to his pleasures, get into a shameful state regarding both his body and his soul? (Mem. 1.5.4–5) Someone lacking enkrateia is slavish in the most literal sense, Socrates adds: he ought to pray to the gods to give him a good master. Socrates’ words on this theme were joined by his deeds, both in his control over the pleasures of the body, and his belief that had he taken pay he would have enslaved himself shamefully (1.5.5–6). This passage adds an emphasis on the social aspect of enkrateia: we look for the same qualities in others that we should choose for ourselves. The main argument here for showing that enkrateia is good for the person possessing it is its role in learning; one lacking enkrateia is unlikely to make the effort necessary to learn. This too is new, though we saw some hint of it at Memorabilia 1.2.4, where the lack of enkrateia hinders the effort to care for the soul; it will again be a major theme in 4.5.10–11. Xenophon’s Socrates is a teacher, above all, and hence it is entirely fitting that he em­ phasize the educational role of enkrateia. But the examples here suggest that we do not only need enkrateia in order to learn. We don’t avoid choosing drunkards to lead the army because we think they haven’t been able to learn

Moral psychology 151 enough to become skilled generals, but because we fear that they will be too drunk to take advantage of any skill they have. Hence, enkrateia is a foundation for virtue not only because it allows us to acquire virtue but because it continues to support it once it has been built, as we will see in more detail below.

The greatest pleasures (Mem. 1.6) Antiphon the sophist, because he wants to steal Socrates’ students, argues that Socrates is delivering a course in poverty-stricken misery rather than happiness. In response, Socrates argues that his own life is easier, more healthy, more beneficial, more pleasant, and, because it is self-sufficient, more divine. Socrates here tells us what he regards as the best sort of pleasure. What else do you think is more responsible for not being enslaved to one’s stomach, or to sleep, or to lust, than having other things more pleasant than these, which do not only gladden one when they are in use, but also provide the expectation that they will always be advantageous? And surely you do know this: those who think they are not doing well are not happy, but those who believe that they are making fine progress in farming or sailing or anything else they are working on are happy because they are doing well. Now, do you believe that any of this gives as much pleasure as that which comes from believing that one is improving and is acquiring better friends? (Mem. 1.6.8–9; cf. 4.5.10, 4.8.6) Socrates’ greatest pleasure comes in improving himself and his friends. He spells out how this works toward the end of this chapter. So I myself, Antiphon, just as others take pleasure in good horses, or dogs, or birds, I take pleasure—and rather more of it—in good friends. And if I have anything good to teach them, I do so, and I get them together with others from whom I believe they will benefit regarding virtue. And I go through the treasures of the wise men of old, which they wrote and left behind in books, reading them together with my friends, and if we see anything good, we pick it out. (Mem. 1.6.14) Enkrateia, then, allows us not only to hold out until our desire allows us to take pleasure in simple fare, but to hold out for the best sort of pleasure, one that involves awareness that one is improving oneself and one’s friends. So not all pleasures are alike: Xenophon’s Socrates is not a quantitative hedonist. We also learn here that Socratic self-sufficiency hardly requires a solitary life. And while his relationship with his friends is asymmetrical—he never

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explicitly says that he learns anything from them—he does not insist that they learn only from him, but is ready to send them to others who have things to teach them about virtue. In his discussion of reading with friends, moreover, he speaks of the joint discovery of valuable items in old books. Thus, not only Socrates’ friends but Socrates himself can learn something from wise old books. No doubt Xenophon hoped that his Memorabilia would live on to be such a book for readers to come.

Aristippus at the crossroads (Mem. 2.1)6 Our next evidence for Socrates’ views on enkrateia comes in two complex conversations between Socrates and Aristippus (Mem. 2.1 and 3.8). Aristippus was a companion of Socrates who lacked self-control, at least in Xenophon’s eyes.7 We lack much good evidence for the views of the his­ torical Aristippus, but what we have confirms the broad outlines of the view Xenophon presents of him, as a man who both valued pleasure and prided himself on his ability to find pleasure in any circumstances.8 His first conversation with Socrates falls into two parts: Socrates’ argument for the importance of enkrateia and the tale of Heracles at the Crossroads, one of the most famous passages in the Memorabilia. The first part of 2.1 is puzzling. Socrates limits his claim about the cen­ trality of enkrateia to those who would rule, which seems at odds with his claims elsewhere that all need enkrateia. Aristippus has an easy response to Socrates in any event: he does not wish to rule (Mem. 2.1.8). When con­ fronted with Socrates’ point that subjects do not live as pleasantly as rulers (2.1.10), Aristippus claims he seeks a middle path between ruling and being a subject, a life free from the demands faced by either (2.1.11). His desire to withdraw from politics bears a certain similarity to things said by Plato’s Socrates, who famously argues that a just man must stay out of politics or risk his life (Apology 31d–32a). Yet Plato’s Socrates remains a loyal citizen of Athens who served on the Athenian Council and was loyal to her laws even when they require his unjust execution. And Xenophon’s Socrates, accused of not participating in politics, points out that training others to practice politics allows him greater influence that he could get by doing politics himself (Mem. 1.6.15), and repeatedly give advice on leadership in the city (Mem. 3.1–7). Aristippus’ attempt to escape the bounds of political life is thus quite distinct from the course chosen by Socrates elsewhere in Plato or Xenophon. And rather than an argument on behalf of civic loyalty akin to that we find in Plato’s Crito, Xenophon’s Socrates here rules out any attempt to avoid public life by arguing that strangers, who lack the protection of the laws, are subject to the grossest injustice. Worse still, not only are traveling foreigners subject to violence: even within cities the strong prey on the weak. The world seems to consist of but two types of men, slaves and masters, and the only way to escape slavery is to be a leader, that is, a master in a city.9 One must either do

Moral psychology 153 injustice or suffer it, and it is better to do it. Xenophon’s Socrates seems to advocate the politics of a Thrasymachus or Callicles (Narcy 1995). The argument ends on a more positive note, but one it seems to reach only via a massive equivocation. At the onset, rulers are self-sacrificing public servants, slaves of the masses, in fact, in Aristippus’ critical view of the Athenian democracy (Mem. 2.1.8–9). We then shift to a radically dif­ ferent view of rulers and subjects, albeit one which simply switches around who is the master and who the slave: rulers treat their subjects as slaves, and indeed all who are stronger treat the weak as slaves (2.1.10–17). But then Socrates takes us back to a far more positive picture of political life, one that features men able to benefit themselves, their friends, and their coun­ tries through pleasant toil, taking pride in their achievements and winning praise from others (2.1.17–20). How can Socrates justify this more positive view of public life after the bleak account of it he shares with Aristippus? We can make sense of the argument if we treat the middle section (Mem. 2.1.10–17) as a refutation of the view of the best life promoted by Aristippus. It is Aristippus, after all, who introduces (2.1.9) and then re­ turns to (2.1.11) the master–slave relationship as his paradigm for ruling. Socrates turns this model against him. Aristippus is unwilling to work to provide for his own pleasure. But pleasure comes only through toil (ponos). The only way to get pleasure without toiling yourself is to have others toil for you. These others will not be leading good lives themselves, if toil is bad; those who enjoy the fruits of their labor are therefore treating them like slaves. It is precisely among people who seek to live not only pleasantly but easily that there will be only masters and slaves. Hence, the argument is an elenchus of Aristippus, as Xenophon will refer to it in 3.8.1. It is Aristippus’ version of hedonism that is shown to require the politics of a Callicles or Thrasymachus.10 Once he has shown the contradictions within Aristippus’ argument, Socrates presents a positive argument with two main themes: the pleasures available to those who toil, and reciprocity among those who do not aim to avoid having to work for their pleasures but instead work with one another. Those who toil with expectation of gaining some good result actually find their efforts pleasant: hunting is a characteristically Xenophontic illustra­ tion of this idea. Among such people toil is rewarded by praise from others, and by one’s own satisfaction at one’s good deeds (Mem. 2.1.18–19). What Socrates has refuted, then, is not hedonism per se, for he continues to make pleasure a goal of the good life. He has refuted a brand of hedonism that claims to make it easy. Such hedonists may hope to escape from the political hurly-burly by leading unassuming lives devoted to pleasure. But by aiming for this effortless form of hedonism they commit themselves to a brutal view of human interaction, in which the happiness of a few masters is conditioned on the misery of many slaves. For Xenophon, then, reciprocity is key to understanding the proper sort of politics. It is reciprocity that provides the true middle way between ruling and being ruled. Hence, after

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showing the folly of Aristippean master–slave politics, Socrates stresses that enkratic men are able to gain friends, and win the praise and admiration of others. The element of reciprocity is also crucial in the most famous part of this chapter, the tale of Heracles at the crossroads (Mem. 2.1.21–33). Socrates tells Aristippus that he is recounting a composition by the sophist Prodicus, as best he can remember. Whatever its precise debt to Prodicus may be, the tale is very well adapted to meet Xenophon’s purpose here, as it effectively continues the positive argument Socrates just made to Aristippus.11 Vice (a.k.a. Happiness) offers Heracles a life that is not only pleasant but easy. It is easy because Vice allows her followers to treat others as slaves by en­ joying the fruits of their labor without any compensation. She is the per­ sonification of the life Aristippus had attempted to promote in the earlier part of the chapter, at least as Socrates represented that view. Virtue re­ sponds with the hard truth that nothing good comes without effort. But virtuous toil wins one an honorable place in a community that is founded on reciprocity, and thus ultimately provides more valuable forms of plea­ sure than any offered by Vice.12 Virtue begins by noting the basic reciprocity that regulates human re­ lationships. This reciprocity starts with her own relationship to Heracles, for Virtue immediately notes that she will gain still greater repute if he chooses to follow her; the rewards she gives in return are the subject of the rest of her speech. Vice’s failure to mention her motives in winning Heracles as a fol­ lower is thus called into question. Similarly, to win the goodwill of the gods, or a city, or of all of Greece, Heracles must serve them well. Even the earth and animals must be cared for, if they are to provide sustenance. If Heracles chooses warfare over agriculture, he must learn the art of war from those who know—and presumably must win their favor to do so. Even Heracles’ body, if it is to be capable, must learn to serve his mind; there is a species of reciprocity even within each individual (Mem. 2.1.27–28). When Vice responds that Virtue is proposing a long and difficult road to pleasures that she could grant at once, Virtue argues that in reality Vice has nothing good to offer, as she has nothing truly pleasant to offer. Her fol­ lowers are sated before they begin to desire anything, and must therefore resort to artificial luxuries to provide even the semblance of pleasure. This explains why she has been cast out from the company of the gods and dishonored by men. She therefore is deprived of the most pleasant thing to hear, praise, and she also cannot enjoy the most pleasant sight, one’s own noble deeds. Virtue, on the other hand, is welcomed by both gods and men, and provides them with a ready source of pleasure: one need only hold off until one’s desires have naturally grown. Her followers take pleasure in their past deeds, and are befriended and honored by gods and men alike, even after their deaths (Mem. 2.1.29–33). Thus, Socrates’ first conversation with Aristippus adds to our knowledge of self-mastery in two major ways. First, it reveals that those who reject

Moral psychology 155 self-mastery are committed to a nasty politics of masters and slaves. Second, it fills out the positive picture of the enkratic life, one which wins one the best sorts of a pleasure, those gained from meeting desires which have been allowed to grow naturally, and those that come from the honor and praise granted by others. This adds to Socrates’ point about the pleasure of im­ proving oneself, a pleasure central to Socrates’ own self-presentation in the Apology. To be pleased at one’s progress one must be aware of it, and the best guide to one’s own improvement comes in the praise of friends. Selfmastery allows for a rich communal life based on reciprocity, rather than the master–slave dynamic of unbridled hedonism. Aristippus and we who have been allowed to overhear his conversation with Socrates are thus presented with what ought to be an easy choice: the solitary, selfish, and ultimately fruitless pursuit of easy, immediate pleasure, or the virtuous, enkratic life that gains one the best sorts of pleasure and does so in the company of others.13

The return of Aristippus (Mem. 3.8) At first glance, Memorabilia 3.8, despite the presence of the hedonist Aristippus, seems to have little to do with Socrates’ views about pleasure. But I will argue that this chapter is essential if we are to understand not only the beliefs about pleasure Xenophon attributes to Socrates, but why he presents those beliefs the way he does. Pleasure is a most problematic issue for someone who, like Xenophon’s Socrates, believes that enkrateia, control over desire, is the foundation of virtue. He thus must be very careful to distance Socrates from hedonism. In his account of Heracles at the cross­ roads, Xenophon brought Virtue on stage to make the case that a virtuous life was ultimately more pleasant than one devoted to the easy pursuit of immediate pleasures. No one could criticize such an elevated spokesperson, allowing Xenophon to make his case for the most pleasant life without appearing controversial. The situation is rather different for Plato, who does not deign to mention enkrateia in what are generally taken to be his most Socratic dialogues. In fact, in the Protagoras and the Hippias Major, Plato allows Socrates to appear to be a hedonist. Elsewhere, of course, most notably in the Gorgias, Plato’s Socrates attacks hedonism, and most modern scholars believe that neither Plato’s Socrates nor the historical Socrates was a hedonist. But there are influential modern dissenters,14 showing that Plato’s account of Socrates can be read in different ways. Once again Xenophon’s aim is to clarify something that Plato left ambiguous. In my view, Xenophon’s rhetorical strategy in 3.8 shows that he believed that Plato’s presentation of Socratic doctrine was not so much inaccurate as imprudent: while Socrates was not hostile to all forms of hedonism, it is pedagogically unsound to make him appear to be too open to hedonism. Xenophon’s evidence ought to be of considerable weight, then, whether we

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are interested in the historical Socrates, or in the reception of Plato’s Socrates. For if Xenophon criticizes how Plato presents Socrates while confirming what he says about Socrates, we have some evidence both for how a well-informed contemporary interpreted Plato and, given his agreement with the substance of Plato’s account, some evidence for the historicity of that shared account. This at least if we can take agreement among our best sources to be evidence for what the historical Socrates actually believed, as Xenophon says we can at the outset of his Apology. The context of 3.8 provides a hint that Xenophon is here addressing Plato. For at the beginning of 3.6, Xenophon had explained that Socrates was concerned about Glaucon (Plato’s brother), on account of Charmides (Plato’s uncle) and Plato. In 3.6, Socrates attempts to persuade Glaucon to stay out of Athenian politics, as he lacks the relevant knowledge. In 3.7, Xenophon has Socrates turn to Charmides, in an effort to persuade him to enter Athenian politics, presumably in order to channel Charmides’ poli­ tical interests into a more respectable, public channel than the secret oli­ garchic plotting that eventually led to his death fighting on the side of the Thirty Tyrants. Thus, Xenophon tells us what Socrates said to Glaucon, then what he said to one of the men on whose behalf Socrates was con­ cerned about Glaucon, Charmides. Surely Socrates was rather more con­ cerned about Plato. As Strauss (1972, 74) observed with his characteristic understatement, “it would not be wholly unreasonable to expect” a con­ versation with Plato in chapter 3.8. But we get Aristippus instead. I believe that Memorabilia 3.8 actually is an implicit conversation with Plato, though it is a conversation not between Socrates and Plato but be­ tween Xenophon and Plato. In 3.8 Aristippus, still smarting after Socrates’ refutation of him in 2.1, attempts to trip up Socrates by asking him to identify something that is always good.15 This request for some absolute standard of goodness is reminiscent of Platonic thought. Xenophon char­ acterizes Socrates’ response as follows: Socrates, as he wanted to benefit his companions, answered not like someone who was on his guard to prevent his argument from being thrown into confusion, but like one convinced that he must do what is necessary. (Mem. 3.8.1) So Socrates knew full well how to give an answer to Aristippus that would allow him to maintain a consistent position, but refused to do so, because he wished to benefit his companions. Instead he answers as one should answer any pest, by coming up with something that will most definitively put an end to the pestering (3.8.2). He thus refuses to speak of something good in general terms, and instead says that he neither knows nor needs to know anything that is good for nothing. When Aristippus shifts to asking whether Socrates knows anything beautiful (kalon), Socrates responds that he knows of many such things.

Moral psychology 157 Aristippus asks whether these beautiful things are alike, presumably ex­ pecting that Xenophon’s Socrates, like Plato’s, will agree. In that case, Socrates would need to come up with a single definition of the beautiful, which Aristippus could then refute. Aristippus thus has a pretty good idea of how Socratic dialectic is supposed to work (Rossetti 2008). But Xenophon’s Socrates avoids this trap: the beautiful things he knows are as unlike each other as can be. For a man who is fine (kalos) when it comes to running will not be a fine wrestler, nor is a round shield fine for what a spear is fine for. But this is the same answer you gave regarding the good! Yes, Socrates agrees, and he concludes the argument by saying that “ev­ erything good is fine regarding whatever it is good for, and everything bad is shameful for everything it is bad for” (Mem. 3.8.4–7). This argument apparently benefits Socrates’ companions and puts an end to Aristippus’ pestering, but at the cost of being less consistent than it could have been. Xenophon must be alluding to Socrates’ refusal to name any single thing that is always good or beautiful. Socrates does claim that the good and the beautiful are the same, but this doesn’t suffice to make his argument consistent in the relevant sense. Socrates’ argument resembles a long answer given by Protagoras when he was at a loss to answer similar questions from Plato’s Socrates (Protagoras 334a–c). Protagoras escapes form Socrates’ line of questioning, at least momentarily, by saying that the good is something varied and manifold. Protagoras was indeed a relativist, at least as Plato presents him in the Theaetetus, for whom this answer is not only a dodge. Is Xenophon’s Socrates just ducking the question here? To fully understand what Socrates does here, we need to understand the alternative Xenophon hints at. To do that we need to answer two questions. Just what is the benefit that Socrates provides to his companions in this conversation? And what is the answer that would have allowed him to be consistent, but prevented him from providing that benefit? Socrates’ benefit could, as is often the case in the Memorabilia, be doc­ trinal. Rather than addressing Aristippus in his own terms, Socrates uses this occasion to teach a lesson about the relativity of goods and beauties, and the identity of the beautiful and the good. He will give a similar lesson to Euthydemus later (Mem. 4.6.8–9). But Socrates may also be giving a lesson through his example. He here shows the way to get rid of a pest. After all, the lesson of this chapter is that we can judge what is good or fine only in its context, and the context here is pestering by Aristippus. But we will likely not be able to pin down what benefit Xenophon has in mind until we can pin down the answer Socrates refused to give, and can see how the relevant benefit would have been missed. Aristippus evidently believes that he has forced Socrates to make a choice of two poor options. Socrates can either answer in a way that will allow his argument to remain consistent, but will not, in Socrates’ view at any rate, benefit his companions, or Socrates can answer inconsistently, and thus be refuted by Aristippus. The consistent answer, in Aristippus’ eyes, would

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presumably be that in keeping with his own, hedonistic, position. Were Socrates to answer that pleasure is the good, Aristippus would not be able to refute him without being inconsistent himself. But Xenophon’s Socrates, with his emphasis on the mastery of pleasure, will not risk introducing his companions to hedonism in this direct a way. It is true enough that Socrates spoke of the pleasures to be had from the right sort of toil in his earlier conversation with Aristippus (Mem. 2.1), and reported Virtue’s point that her followers eventually experience the best sort of pleasure. But pleasant toil, and pleasure at the end of the long ascent to virtue, is a distinct from an out and out avowal of hedonism. Pleasure was there tied up with toil, and much of the argument was attributed to Virtue herself, the most respectable of advocates. More important still, Socrates advances his views in opposi­ tion to the arch-hedonist Aristippus, so could hardly be considered guilty of hedonism himself. Xenophon’s Socrates thus avoids the mistake made by Plato’s Socrates, who allowed himself to be drawn into a conversation as­ suming the validity of hedonism in the Protagoras. Thus, Xenophon’s prudence explains why he does not allow Socrates to choose the hedonistic horn of Aristippus’ dilemma. But it does not fully explain why Xenophon allows Socrates to give the answer he does give. After all, Socrates, of all people, should be able to maintain the consistency of his argument, regardless of what Aristippus thinks. Why not say, in keeping with general Greek belief, that the good is happiness? Or why not identify the good with wisdom, which Socrates elsewhere identifies as the greatest good (Mem. 4.5.6)? Well, it so happens that in the Memorabilia Socrates presents arguments purporting to show that neither wisdom nor happiness is always good (4.2.33–35). These arguments, however, come in the course of Socrates’ initial humbling refutation of Euthydemus, and I suspect that neither of them gives us the full story. In his conversation with Euthydemus, Socrates shows only that the possession of wisdom, like the possession of any other good, could result in one being mistreated by en­ vious rivals or kidnapped by rulers who want to put that wisdom to their own use.16 Elsewhere Xenophon’s Socrates insists that one with knowledge of justice, piety, and courage acts justly, piously, and courageously (3.9.4–5; 4.6.2–6, 10–11). And Xenophon’s Socrates never suggests that acting virtuously is not in one’s self-interest. In 4.2, Socrates’ argument against happiness shows only that happiness need not be good if we assume that to be happy means to possess beauty, strength, wealth, fame, and the like—the sort of goods that Aristippus could readily undermine, and which Socrates himself presumably does not believe are required by true happi­ ness. Thus, it seems to me that Socrates could defend these eminently Socratic claims against the arguments he makes himself in Memorabilia 4.2. If Socrates could have given a more “Socratic” answer, why did he not do so? How would such a defense fail to benefit his companions? Surely it would seem more beneficial than the relativism he delivers here. The key factor must be the presence of Aristippus. For, as a hedonist, Aristippus

Moral psychology 159 could push Socrates to refine his position. All right, if virtue and wisdom are unfailingly good, they do so because they promote happiness. But just what is happiness? Isn’t it pleasure? Xenophon’s Socrates does not want to an­ swer this question. He avoids answering it not because his answer differs from Aristippus’ but because it is too similar to that Aristippus would give—too close to be beneficial to Socrates’ followers. My account of the path not traveled by Socrates in the first part of 3.8 must remain rather speculative, as are most accounts of paths not taken. But I believe that the closing part of this chapter, a curious discussion of architecture which otherwise seems both banal in itself and unconnected with what comes before, actually confirms that pleasure has been the missing term in the first part of the conversation. Aristippus is apparently no longer Socrates’ target, and is here replaced by anonymous inter­ locutors.17 This suggests that Socrates may now say something he was not willing to say in a conversation in which he faced questioning by Aristippus. Xenophon introduces his account of Socratic architecture as follows: And by saying that the same houses were both beautiful and practical (χρησίμους) I think he taught how they ought to be constructed. He would look into it like this. “If one is going to have the right sort of house, must he arrange for it to be the most pleasant to live in and the most practical?” (Mem. 3.8.8) By saying that the same houses are both beautiful and practical, Xenophon provides a transition from Socrates’ argument that the same things are both beautiful and good. This justifies including this passage in the same chapter with Socrates’ discussion with Aristippus.18 After Socrates’ introduction, we might have expected architecture to provide us with a concrete example of the general teaching on the good Socrates had just outlined. Perhaps he will explain how different houses fit different climates, or different sorts of people, and show that one type of house is both beautiful and good for one set of circumstances, while another type is beautiful and good in another setting. But Socrates instead argues for a single design. And rather than proving that one and the same design is both useful (and hence good) and beautiful, Socrates instead shows that the same design is most pleasant year round. When a house has a porch on the south side, this allows the low winter sun to warm the house but provides shade when the sun is higher in the summer; the house should also be built higher on the south to catch the sun and lower on the north to avoid the cold winter wind. Paintings and embroideries, moreover, deprive one of more good cheer than they provide; Socrates thus explicitly rejects an aesthetic definition of the beautiful, re­ placing it with pleasure. Socrates then suggests that temples and altars should be placed in prominent but inaccessible locations, as it is pleasant for those who see them from afar to offer prayers and also pleasant to approach them in a holy manner—one must piously go out of one’s way to

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reach the shrine. One readily thinks of the many Greek temples located in elevated, scenic locales (Mem. 3.8.9–10). So this apparent digression into domestic architecture, interior décor, and the placement of shrines actually allows Socrates to make two important points. First, Socrates manages to identify a single house plan that is good in both winter and summer and a single location for shrines that is good both for those who see them from afar and for those who approach them. The previous argument had used examples of objects or conditions good for one function but bad for an opposing function—round shields would make poor spears, slight runners poor wrestlers, etc. So the relativism of the previous argument is tempered by these recommendations about houses and altars. It is possible to give more practical advice than the argument of the first part of this chapter implied. Second, Socrates emphasizes the pleasure such houses and shrines pro­ vide (cf. Sedley 2008, 332–335). There are eight terms relating to pleasure (seven versions of ἡδύς and cognates, plus εὐφροσύνας) in the last twenty lines of 3.8. He also notes that good houses are useful, but says little about this, other than to note that useful houses allow one to safely store one’s possessions. In a parallel passage in the Oeconomicus (9.1–5), on the other hand, the emphasis is reversed: there a southerly exposure is also re­ commended, but the stress is on features designed to allow one to best store, arrange, and preserve one’s possessions. In the Oeconomicus, the need to have ready access to one’s belongings explains why Ischomachus skips the embroideries; he presumably would prefer more practical shelves. But in our passage Socrates simply asserts, rather enigmatically, that eliminating paintings and embroideries provides more good cheer. Perhaps he means that such items, being expensive, require burdensome labor in order to acquire. When we turn to the placement of shrines, the emphasis on plea­ sure is even more striking; one would have expected that more obviously religious factors would predominate. The gist of this passage, then, is to say that the best houses and the best shrines are the most pleasant ones. So I suggest that the puzzles posed by this chapter—the mysterious answer Socrates will not give Aristippus, and the odd combination of architectural pointers with a conversation on the good and the beautiful—are neatly re­ solved if we understand that pleasure was the answer Socrates refused to give Aristippus, but which Xenophon provides with the apparently mundane business about houses and shrines. So Xenophon’s Socrates knew how to answer Aristippus directly, but he refused to do so. He refused because the direct answer would involve pleasure and, unlike Plato, Xenophon does not risk portraying Socrates as an out and out hedonist. So Socrates’ second conversation with Aristippus teaches us something about Socrates’ view of pleasure, but does so with a great deal of indirection. This indirection is fun­ damentally pedagogical in intent. Socrates believed the best way to protect his young companions from Aristippean hedonism was to refute Aristippus and provide a positive image of the pleasant, virtuous life, rather than to directly

Moral psychology 161 engage in abstract discussion of the human good that would foreground the importance of pleasure and potentially undermine his companions’ attachment to self-mastery. But if we read the passage closely, particularly when we read it in conjunction with passages that are less coy about discussing pleasure, we discover that Socrates had a more complex view about pleasure, and greater kinship with Aristippus, than we might have imagined.

Akrasia, sophrosunē, and wisdom (Mem. 3.9.1–5) Thus far, Xenophon’s Socrates has not mentioned one of the central para­ doxes of Plato’s Socrates, the denial that anyone suffers from the “weakness of will” that allows one to act contrary to one’s own judgment about the best course of action. Moderns often refer to this as akrasia, but for Xenophon, the Greek word akrasia (ἀκρασία) refers to a psychic condition, that opposite to enkrateia, rather than to a psychic occurrence, the overcoming of knowledge (or opinion) by pleasure. Xenophon never uses akrasia in the latter sense, which first occurs in Aristotle.19 I will follow Xenophon’s usage here, using akrasia to refer to the absence of enkrateia, with “akratic” as the adjectival form. I will use “weakness of will” to describe what (putatively) happens when someone acts against their judgment about the best course of action. It would be natural to assume that it is concern about weakness of will that motivates Xenophon’s emphasis on enkrateia. Why worry so much about mastering one’s desires and pains if they will never lead one to act contrary to one’s best judgment? But we are now in for an intellectualist surprise. He did not separate wisdom and sophrosunē, but judged people both wise and moderate when they recognize what is fine and good and do it and when they know what is shameful and avoid it. When asked next if he considered that those who know what is necessary to do but do the opposite are both wise and akratic, he said “no more so than they are both foolish and akratic. For I believe that all choose what they believe is most advantageous to themselves from the possible options and do it. So I consider that those who do not act correctly are neither wise nor moderate.” (Mem. 3.9.4) This passage raises a myriad of textual and interpretive difficulties. To avoid prolixity, I will present my interpretation without attempting to reject all other possibilities.20 Socrates believes that one cannot separate so­ phrosunē from wisdom. An objector gives Socrates a case in point: Don’t people sometimes do the wrong thing despite knowing better? In the ob­ jector’s mind, this must show that sophrosunē is distinct from sophia. The objector takes sophrosunē to be a non-intellectual or at least not entirely intellectual trait that enables one to do the right thing despite temptation to

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the contrary; that’s why the objector doesn’t buy Socrates’ line that so­ phrosunē can’t be distinguished from sophia. For the objector, a person can know the right thing to do—can be wise—but fail to do what they should, if they are akratic. So one can have sophia but lack sophrosunē. It is the objector who assumes that being akratic is the same thing as lacking sophrosunē; it is the objector, then, who identifies sophrosunē and en­ krateia. This does not show that Socrates does so. Socrates responds that people acting as the interlocutor has described are no more wise and akratic than they are foolish and akratic. That is, they are neither wise nor foolish; in this context, wise and foolish exhaust the gamut of possibilities, so Socrates is saying that this is not a real case. He explains why in his next comment: all people do whatever they believe is most ad­ vantageous for themselves. Knowledge and ignorance, wisdom and foo­ lishness, aren’t the decisive factors, actually, as we always follow our beliefs about what is in our interest, whatever their basis. In any event, Socrates denies that anything like the objector’s case transpires: there is never a case when one who knows the right thing to do, but fails to do it. Socrates has not made a positive case to demonstrate that sophrosunē cannot be separated from sophia, but he has ruled out an obvious objection. In so doing he has enunciated a position akin to the famous denial of weakness of will by Plato’s Socrates. In fact, Mem. 3.9.4, whatever its other obscurities, provides clearer evidence for psychological egoism, the thesis that we always do what we think is best for ourselves, than any passage in Plato.21 In what follows, Xenophon’s Socrates spells out the central importance of knowing what is best, given our unfailing pursuit of it. He said that justice and all the rest of virtue is wisdom. For just deeds and all other things done by means of virtue are noble (kalon) and good. And those who know these things would not choose anything in place of them, nor are those who don’t know them able to do them. Rather, even if they do attempt them, they fail; so the wise do what’s noble and good, while those who are not wise cannot, but fail even if they try. Since, then, just deeds and everything else noble and good is done by means of virtue,22 it is clear that justice and the rest of virtue is wisdom. (Mem. 3.9.5) There has been considerable debate about just what Xenophon’s Socrates means by sophia. What seems undeniable is that while Xenophon often uses sophia in the common but unPlatonic way, to refer to most any form of human knowledge (as at Mem. 1.4.2–3, and when defining the term at 4.6.7), he does also recognize that at least some forms of sophia have an extra dimension: we always act on them.23 Let us call all such forms of wisdom “practical wisdom,” given that we infallibly put them into practice. The definitions of justice, piety, and courage in 4.6 make it clear that each is a matter of knowledge, and that those in possession of the relevant

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knowledge always act on it. At Memorabilia 4.2.23, Socrates speaks of a sort of wisdom which, unlike the knowledge of craftsmen, distinguishes one from a slave. As this wisdom allows one to identify what is beneficial to oneself, it presumably also differs from other forms of knowledge in always being advantageous in use. Later in the same conversation, Socrates notes that the possession of wisdom can get one in trouble, but this, as noted above, is distinct from the use of wisdom.25 No wonder, then, that at Memorabilia 4.5.6 Socrates says that wisdom is the greatest good. But if wisdom suffices, and Xenophon’s Socrates denies weakness of will even more unequivocally than Plato’s Socrates, what are we to make of Xenophon’s emphasis on enkrateia? Shouldn’t practical wisdom be enough?

Enkrateia, akrasia, and dialectic (Mem. 4.5) Enkrateia and freedom This brings us to Xenophon’s final and most extensive treatment of this theme in the Memorabilia. At the outset of Memorabilia 4.5, Xenophon emphasizes once again the slavishness of those who lack enkrateia. But he here does rather more to spell out the sort of freedom enkrateia delivers. For while it is easy enough to characterize desire as a sort of tyrant, one who doubts the value of enkrateia can, as Aristippus did, readily enough claim that someone who controls himself is every bit as slavish as one with an external master (2.1.17–18). “So when people are ruled by the pleasures which come through the body and they cannot, because of them, do what is best, do you consider them free?” “Least of all,” he [Euthydemus] said. “For perhaps doing what is best appears to you something befitting a free man, and so you consider it slavish to have things which prevent one from doing such things?” “Absolutely,” he said. (Mem. 4.5.3) So freedom is not the ability to do whatever appears best, but the freedom to do what is in fact best. Plato’s Socrates, at any rate, appears to argue that what we all want is what is really best for us (Gorgias 467c–468d), though we are often mistaken about what this is; in this sense anything opposing that fundamental but often unconscious desire restricts our freedom. While Xenophon’s Socrates does not spell this out, what he does say is in keeping with that strand in Plato’s thought.

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Table 4.1 Memorabilia 4.5.6 (a) “Don’t you think that akrasia, by keeping wisdom, the greatest good, away from people, throws them in the opposite direction? (b) Or don’t you think that it hinders one from paying attention to what is profitable and fully understanding it, dragging one off toward what is pleasant, (c) and many times, though they perceive what is good and what is bad, it stuns them and makes them choose the worse in place of the better?”

σοφίαν δὲ τὸ μέγιστον ἀγαθὸν οὐ δοκεῖ σοι ἀπείργουσα τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἡ ἀκρασία εἰς τοὐναντίον αὐτοὺς ἐμβάλλειν; ἢ οὐ δοκεῖ σοι προσέχειν τε τοῖς ὠφελοῦσι καὶ καταμανθάνειν αὐτὰ κωλύειν, ἀφέλκουσα ἐπὶ τὰ ἡδέα, καὶ πολλάκις αἰσθανομένους τῶν ἀγαθῶν τε καὶ τῶν κακῶν ἐκπλήξασα ποιεῖν τὸ χεῖρον ἀντὶ τοῦ βελτίονος αἱρεῖσθαι;

Weakness of will? But while we have learned a bit more about enkrateia as a means to freedom, we have still not seen how Xenophon squares his emphasis on enkrateia with his denial that one ever acts against one’s better judgment. He attempts to do precisely this in Memorabilia 4.5.6 (Table 4.1). It is not surprising that in praising enkrateia, Xenophon here notes the power of akrasia, the absence of enkrateia. But in doing so he seems to envision a case where akrasia trumps wisdom—that is, he appears to grant that weakness of will is possible. Some scholars simply grant that Xenophon here contradicts himself, granting the possibility of weakness of will where previously, following the Socratic doctrine familiar from the Protagoras, he had rejected it (Bevilacqua 2010, 141–146; Waterfield 1990, 14–15). This is a desperate and uncharitable approach. Vlastos (1991, 100–101) argues that ἀκρασία here means “intemperance” in Aristotelian terms (the vice opposed to sophrosunē) rather than “incontinence,” the absence of self-control. But Vlastos’ argument would render Xenophon’s argument circular, as those lacking temperance (sophrosunē) lack the relevant wisdom, so of course are separate from it; and they hardly need to be dragged toward pleasure. It is also an ad hoc interpretation of the term ἀκρασία that runs roughshod over Xenophontic usage (cf. Dorion 2013, 113n54). Jones and Sharma (2018, 81n9) follow Henderson’s Loeb translation (2013) in translating what I label section (c) below as “often so stuns their perception of good and evil that they choose the worse instead of the better.” This renders the passage innocuous insofar as worries about weakness of will, as it suggests that the people involved do not in fact sense what is good and what bad. But it is an odd translation of the participle αἰσθανομένους, and is particularly unlikely given the parallel construction in Protagoras 355b, where weakness of will is at issue.

Moral psychology 165 Dorion (2011b, 37n6; 2013, 107–110) argues that here, as elsewhere, enkrateia is necessary in order for us to acquire virtue, but not to exercise it. He thus takes the passage to be about a failure in the educational process; the people involved have never acquired the relevant knowledge, so there is no weakness of will. Xenophon’s Socrates does certainly stress the importance of enkrateia in acquisition of knowledge elsewhere (as at Mem. 1.5.5), and Dorion’s view could make sense of the first two-thirds of 4.5.6 (steps a and b above). Akrasia could keep us from wisdom in the sense of never allowing us to gain any wisdom in the first place (a). It would do so, on Dorion’s reading, by preventing us from paying attention to and hence understanding what is profitable—that is, by preventing us from understanding the good in some general sense (b). Dorion’s reading would resolve the apparent tension be­ tween this passage and 3.9.4–5 as follows: as enkrateia is required to gain wisdom, only the enkratic possess wisdom. There is therefore never a case in which one is wise but akratic, making weakness of will impossible. But Dorion’s reading is decidedly hard to square with the final bit of the passage (c), in which akrasia stuns us and makes us choose the worse in place of the better, despite perceiving beneficial and harmful things. Xenophon’s language resembles the teaching of the many as outlined by Socrates in Plato’s Protagoras: You say that often a person recognizes (γιγνώσκων) bad things as bad, but nevertheless does them when it is possible not to, as he is led and stunned (ἐκπληττόμενος) by pleasures. (Protagoras 355b) Just a bit earlier, Plato’s Socrates says that, in the view of the many, it is the knowledge of akratic people that is dragged around. The many think of knowledge as being something like this, not some­ thing strong, or dominant, or ruling; and they don’t consider it to something of this sort. Instead, they think that often someone has knowledge but the knowledge doesn’t rule him. No, they think it’s something else, sometimes anger, sometimes pleasure, sometimes pain, sometimes lust, often fear. They think about knowledge as if it were a slave that was dragged around (περιελκομένης) by all these other things. (Protagoras 352b–c) Aristotle would similarly say that Socrates rejected the possibility that knowledge could be dragged around like a slave (Nicomachean Ethics 7.2.1145b23–24). Aristotle’s language may reflect his reading of Plato ra­ ther than direct knowledge of Socrates, but it shows that this particular formulation was well known. The vigorous imagery does not fit the situa­ tion Dorion has in mind, a distraction from one’s lessons about wisdom, for there is no need for violence to drag one from knowledge one does not yet

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possess. This is not to say that Xenophon’s teaching here is identical with that of the many: there are important differences, as we shall see, in how he understands the effects of akrasia. But he is pretty clearly responding to the same basic experience, and participating in the Socratic conversation about it. That experience doesn’t fit Dorion’s interpretation of 4.5.6. There are also more general problems with Dorion’s view. First, it is spec­ ulative: Xenophon never makes the distinction between acquisition and use of virtue that Dorion considers so central, and thus never suggests that enkrateia is needed only for the acquisition of virtue. Second, Dorion’s theory begs a rather central question by assuming that enkrateia is never lost. For if enkrateia can be lost, it would be entirely possible for an enkratic individual to acquire wisdom, only to lose enkrateia later and then possess wisdom without it. Such an individual would seem to be a perfect candidate for weakness of will. And Xenophon does suggest that enkrateia can be lost. At Memorabilia 1.5.3, Socrates warns masters against becoming akratic (cf. Chernyakhovskaya 2014, 59–64). Xenophon says rather more about the possibility that so­ phrosunē can be lost. And the reason for its loss seems to be the absence of enkrateia. The context here is the corruption of Alcibiades and Critias; some who claim to do philosophy deny that sophrosunē cannot be lost (Mem. 1.2.19), but Xenophon disagrees. He compares, among other things, those who were good enough men before being dragged down by desire for drink or lust. One loss is in their ability to manage money. And once they’ve spent all their money, they no longer stay clear of forms of gain that they had previously held off from, because they considered them shameful. So how is it not possible for one to be moderate first and then not be moderate and to be able to do what is just first and then not be able to do so? For I think that all things that are noble and good require practice, not least among them sophrosunē. For pleasures, implanted in the same body along with the soul, persuade the soul not to be moderate, but to indulge both them and the body as quickly as possible. (Mem. 1.2.22–23) Thus, pleasure, if unchecked, can destroy sophrosunē; this is presumably the fate of those who gain sophrosunē but falter in enkrateia. The loss of sophrosunē will not be immediate. Xenophon argues that just as one needs to train the body to retain bodily strength, so too one needs to train one’s soul to keep it functioning well (1.2.19). Loss of enkrateia and sophrosunē will thus presumably come over the course of time, as people in top physical condition will deteriorate over time if they do not get enough exercise. First enkrateia is lost, and the pleasures regain the ability to persuade the soul to follow their bidding, despite its previous commitment to sophrosunē. This in turn undermines sophrosunē. People on this downward slope will ex­ perience something very much like the experience described in 4.5.6. Thus,

Moral psychology 167 enkrateia is necessary not only for the acquisition but for the use and preservation of virtue. Dialectic to the rescue How, then, are we to distinguish Xenophon’s teaching from that of the many in the Protagoras? To do so, I suggest we turn to the end of Memorabilia 4.5, where Xenophon closely connects enkrateia with dia­ lectic. Xenophon’s spare remarks on this topic are difficult to interpret, and his conception of dialectic appears to be idiosyncratic. But it is vital for his understanding of the role of enkrateia. Socrates argues that only the en­ kratic are able to deliberate properly. “For whenever someone does not search for what is best (τὰ κράτιστα),” he said, “but seeks by all means to do what is most pleasant, how does he differ from the most senseless of beasts? No, only the enkratic are able to search for the best course of action (τὰ κράτιστα τῶν πραγμάτων), making distinctions by type (κατὰ γένη) in word and deed, and to choose the good and hold off from the bad.” And he said that this was how men became the best and the most happy and the most capable of engaging in dialectic. And he said that “dialectic” (διαλέγεσθαι) was derived from people coming together and deliberating in common by dividing (διαλέγοντας) actions by type. So it is this that one must attempt above all to prepare oneself for and one must concern oneself with this above all. For this is how men become most virtuous, most able to lead, and most able to engage in dialectic. (Mem. 4.5.11–12) The “this” referred to in the last two sentences is somewhat ambiguous, with some commentators arguing that it refers to enkrateia, the topic of the entire chapter, and others that it refers to dialectic, the topic of the last part of the chapter.26 It seems to me better to be inclusive: in order to gain the ability to do dialectic, one must start with enkrateia, but one must also practice dialectic to learn what’s best and succeed in one’s actions. In the next chapter, Socrates makes his companions better at dialectic by providing them with definitions, and presumably also with the ability to reach definitions on their own. I will also try to say how he would make his companions more dialectical. For Socrates believed that those who know what each thing is can also explain it to others. But he said it would not be surprising if those who don’t know both fail themselves and cause others to fail. For this reason he never ceased considering with his companions what each thing is. (Mem. 4.6.1)

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It looks, then, like dialectic for Xenophon includes at least two different types of task: classification of actions by type (from the end of 4.5) and definition (the beginning of 4.6). Presumably the definitions, though they are introduced second, are what enables one to do the classifying. Xenophon explicitly connects enkrateia with the process of classification. But it is no doubt also required to keep one’s attention to the search for definitions in the first place, given Xenophon’s emphasis on the importance of enkrateia for learning. Enkrateia then continues to be required as one turns to classify. Just what does Xenophon have in mind when he speaks of classifying things this way? The repeated phrase “by sorts” (κατὰ γένη), a phrase we find in Plato’s dialogues employing the method of diaeresis (Sophist 253d, Statesman 271d), suggests that Xenophon has something fairly abstract in mind. There is been considerable debate about Xenophon’s debt to Plato here, and whether or not he understands Plato aright: but we should first to try to understand Xenophon’s conception of dialectic in its own terms.27 We may well find an example of such classification embedded in 4.2, where Euthydemus attempts to classify actions as just or unjust (Natali 2006, 11–12 and Dorion 2011b, 40n3); much of the onus of the classification there also rests on whether a given action is good or bad. This is however a dangerous example, as Euthydemus conspicuously fails in this endeavor, which forms the first part of Socrates’ elenchus of his future student. At least part of the initial lesson seems to be that action types at a certain level of abstraction (deceit, or even deceiving one’s friends) cannot simply be classified as just or unjust. But perhaps Euthydemus fails because he at­ tempts to classify before he has definitions at hand; the final section of the chapter indeed shows that he cannot define happiness, democracy, or poverty (Mem. 4.2.34–39). In this event Socrates’ procedure would be less perverse—he would not be asking for an impossible sort of classification, but rather showing the folly of trying to classify without knowledge of the relevant definitions. But the classification at the end of Memorabilia 4.5 also differs from that in 4.2, as well as from the definitions of 4.6, inasmuch as it is closely connected with action. Given the wide range of meanings of the Greek term πράγματα, my translation of τὰ κράτιστα τῶν πραγμάτων above as “the best course of action” is not terribly secure.28 But the distinctions made “by type” are also made “in word and deed” (καὶ λόγῳ καὶ ἔργῳ), a strange use of that common Greek expression if action is not involved. Distinctions “in deed” are presumably distinctions that are manifested in deeds, as Socrates displays his understanding of justice through his deeds (4.4.1–4, 10–11) as well as his words. One makes these distinctions, in any event, in order to choose (προαιρεῖσθαι) good actions and avoid bad ones: so we are not simply doing classification in the abstract, but making decisions.29 So too Xenophon’s attempt to define dialectic (διαλέγεσθαι) speaks of men coming together and making distinctions (διαλέγοντας) in order to deliberate

Moral psychology 169 (βουλεύεσθαι). Deliberation is aimed not at abstract classification of actions as types but at decisions about what action to take. Finally, the contrast with “the most senseless beasts” at the outset of 4.5.11 makes far more sense if we are contrasting how enkratic people decide to act with how beasts decide to act; it makes little sense to contrast how people engage in abstract reasoning with how beasts engage in abstract reasoning—for beasts do not engage in abstract reasoning at all. Thus Xenophon uses “dialectic” to span three types of activities: definition (Mem. 4.6); classification of actions by types (4.2); and decision-making based on these prior distinctions (4.5). If wisdom is to be a relatively stable trait, we must be able to say that one can be wise before fully completing the process from definition, through action types, to concrete individual deci­ sions. Presumably the wise person has the right definitions, and has classified an adequate number of action types in accord with these definitions to be ready to apply them in the real world. Yet enkrateia is still required for the last phase of this process, making the concrete choices faced in deliberation—and Xenophon in fact emphasizes the need for enkrateia at the very end of process. It is one thing to define and classify things in the abstract, and something else altogether to keep one’s focus on determining the most prudent course of action in the face of alluring pleasures. Let us now see how Xenophon’s three-stage conception of dialectic can inform Xenophon’s teaching on akrasia. Even the wise need enkrateia, because they need to be able to “pay attention to what’s advantageous and thoroughly understand it” (προσέχειν τε τοῖς ὠφελοῦσι καὶ καταμανθάνειν αὐτὰ 4.5.6, step b above). Abstract wisdom isn’t enough: if we lack en­ krateia, our desires can drag us off to what is pleasant. In other words, Xenophon recognizes the possibility of pre-deliberative weakness of will. What he doesn’t allow is post-deliberative weakness of will (Seel 2006). For people always do what they think is best for them (3.9.4). Thus, when Xenophon says that people who know what’s fine and good always do it (3.9.5), he means that people who know what’s fine and good in the par­ ticular set of circumstances in which they find themselves always do it. To know what’s fine and good in one’s circumstances, you must first know how to define the fine and the good, and know what sorts of actions count as fine and good; but this abstract knowledge will not suffice if you are not enkratic. For if you are not enkratic, you will not apply this knowledge properly in your deliberations about the specific situation you face: you will instead act like a senseless beast. You must be enkratic to gain this abstract knowledge in the first place; this means that as a matter of course those with wisdom will generally also be enkratic. But enkrateia can be lost, or perhaps not be all-inclusive30; in such cases, abstract wisdom will not suffice for right action. Xenophon’s Socrates thus remains an intellectualist inasmuch as he believes that wisdom, properly applied, always results in correct ac­ tion; but, human nature being what it is, enkrateia is required to prevent desire from keeping us from applying our wisdom.

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Aristotle on Socrates and weakness of will Xenophon’s view of weakness of will is similar to that of Aristotle in the Nicomachean Ethics. There Aristotle says that there is a sense in which Socrates’ denial of weakness of will (which he calls akrasia) is actually correct, despite being in conflict with “what clearly takes place” (Nicomachean Ethics 7.2.1145b28). Aristotle here describes how the last premise in reasoning about action works in the case of an akratic agent. Since the last premise is both a belief about something perceived and is in control over our actions, either someone does not have it when under the influence of emotion, or he has it in a way that doesn’t, as we’ve seen, amount to knowing it but merely to saying it, like the drunk man reciting Empedocles. And since the last term does not seem to be a universal or a matter of knowledge as the universal is, it appears that we end up with what Socrates was looking for. For it is not knowledge in the fullest sense that appears to be present when the emotion occurs, but perceptive . Let this suffice con­ cerning knowing and not knowing, and how it is possible to undergo akrasia while knowing. (Nicomachean Ethics 7.3.1147b9–19) Aristotle seems to defend the primacy of knowledge, in support of Socrates’ position, in several different ways. First of all, when we suffer from weakness of will, we do not lose the universal knowledge that certain types of things are bad for us. If that were the case, knowledge in the fullest sense would indeed have been overcome, the result that Socrates found so terrible. Second, even our failure to grasp the last premise is not a clear-cut defeat for knowledge. For Aristotle says we either fail to grasp the last premise at all (in which case there would be no relevant knowledge to overcome) or we grasp it “in a way that doesn’t amount to knowledge.” Moreover, this last premise is a peculiar sort of knowledge, perceptive knowledge. So what we fail to grasp or only grasp imperfectly is not knowledge of an abstract sort but knowledge that is wrapped up in perception, knowledge, we might say, that requires us not merely to remember what we know but “to pay attention and fully un­ derstand” what is in front of us, to revert to Xenophon’s language at Memorabilia 4.5.6.31 To see how close Memorabilia 4.5.6 is to Aristotle let us contrast it with the account of weakness of will Socrates attributes to the many in the Protagoras in the passage we examined a bit earlier. and many times, having stunned (ἐκπλήξασα) those perceiving (αἰσθανομένους) good things and bad ones, it makes them choose the worse in place of the better. (Mem. 4.5.6, step b above)

Moral psychology 171 often a person recognizes (γιγνώσκων) bad things as bad, but never­ theless does them when it is possible not to, being led and stunned (ἐκπληττόμενος) by pleasures. (Protagoras 355b) Thus, Xenophon speaks of perceptions being overcome, rather than the more cognitive grasp of particulars the many supposedly see being over­ come: in Xenophon’s account, we merely sense good and bad things rather than recognizing that bad things are bad. Xenophon seems to be partici­ pating in the same conversation about weakness of will as that in the Protagoras, but has carefully modified some of the terms. We can now, with help from Xenophon’s account of dialectic and Aristotle’s account of weakness of will, read Memorabilia 4.5.6 as an ac­ count of a single episode that illustrates the general power of akrasia to keep us from wisdom. Let us examine two examples Xenophon presents to Aristippus early in their conversation in Memorabilia 2.1. Socrates has argued that enkrateia is required if one is to learn the sorts of skills required to surpass one’s rivals, including the ability to withstand thirst, hunger, lust, and fatigue. Xenophon then transitions rather abruptly to hunting, de­ scribing how otherwise cautious animals can be caught. “For surely some of these [creatures] are lured by bait for their stomachs, and though they are generally very timid, they are led on to the bait by their desire to eat and captured, while others are trapped by drink.” “Quite so,” he [Aristippus] said. “So too aren’t others caught by lust, like quail and partridges, and don’t they fall into traps when they are drawn toward the call of the female by their desire and hope for sex and are prevented from judging danger?” (Mem. 2.1.4) Here it is worth noting that the birds are prevented from calculating danger (ἐξιστάμενοι τοῦ τὰ δεινὰ ἀναλογίζεσθαι). That is, even quail and par­ tridges, at least in this example, do not suffer from full-on weakness of will, as they are prevented from judging the risks of their actions. The first ex­ ample is a bit vaguer—there beasts that are generally shy or timid are nonetheless drawn to bait. Xenophon now applies the same reasoning to the case of the adulterer. Doesn’t you think it is shameful if a man experiences the same things as the most senseless beasts? In this same way adulterers enter women’s quarters, knowing the risk for the adulterer, and what the law threatens them with suffering: being trapped, caught, and treated with contempt. And when so much harm and disgrace awaits the adulterer, though

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Moral psychology there are many ways to sate the desire for sex without fear, isn’t rushing into these risks (εἰς τὰ ἐπικίνδυνα φέρεσθαι) nonetheless the sign of someone completely out of his mind (παντάπασι κακοδαιμονῶντος)? (Mem. 2.1.5)

Here an adulterer well understands the risks of adultery, but rushes into harm’s way, rather as the akratic individuals in 4.5.6 are stunned and dragged to what is sweet. Xenophon does not fully explain the thinking of the adulterer, making it hard to pin down just how much deliberation he engaged in before acting. But while the adulterer clearly understands the general risks of adultery, he may not have applied his general knowledge of the risks to his particular case. And he may not understand (or be thinking of) the many alternative ways of sating his lust without risk. The more general point is that akratic men in the thrall of lust act like beasts, that is, they act in accordance with passion rather than reason. The point, then, is not that they know full well why they shouldn’t indulge their passions in the precise circumstances in which they find themselves, but that their passions are so unchecked that they simply fail to consider those circumstances. Thus, Xenophon’s account of how the akratic go wrong can be squared with that in Aristotle, and distinguished from that Plato’s Socrates attri­ butes to the many in the Protagoras. Xenophon’s Socrates recognizes the possibility of pre-deliberative weakness of will, but does not recognize the possibility of post-deliberative weakness of will. Enkrateia, sophrosunē, and wisdom We return now to a short argument we skipped when examining the con­ nection between dialectic and enkrateia. In this argument, Xenophon connects enkrateia and sophrosunē very closely—so closely that it has been taken to treat the two terms as synonyms (Dorion 2011b, 38n2). “Who, Euthydemus, will have less to do with sophrosunē than the akratic? For surely the results (ἔργα) of akrasia are the exactly the opposite of those of sophrosunē.” “I agree with this too,” he said. “Do you think that anything prevents us from concerning ourselves with the right things more than akrasia does?” “No, I don’t,” he said. “Do you think there is anything worse for a person than that which makes us choose the harmful in place of the beneficial, persuades us to concern ourselves with the harmful and ignore the beneficial, and compels us to do the opposite of what those with sophrosunē do?” “There’s nothing worse,” he said. “Now enkrateia is presumably responsible for the opposite sort of results for people than those akrasia is responsible for?”

Moral psychology 173 “Absolutely,” he said. “And that which is responsible for the opposite sort of things would be an excellent thing?” “Presumably so,” he said. “So presumably enkrateia is a most excellent thing for a person?” “Presumably it is, Socrates,” he said. (Mem. 4.5.7–8) As Seel (2006, 37) notes, if enkrateia and sophrosunē were synonymous for Xenophon, the argument would have no point, as there would be no need for him to show that enkrateia is an excellent thing, given that the argument as­ sumes that sophrosunē is an excellent thing. Rather, Socrates starts by showing that akrasia leads to results opposite to those of sophrosunē. It does so because it prevents us from giving our attention to what we should, and leads us to choose the harmful over the beneficial, and hence to act in a way contrary to how those with sophrosunē act. Enkrateia is the opposite of akrasia, so will lead to the opposite results, which will make it a very good thing indeed. That said, the argument could be taken to equate enkrateia and so­ phrosunē using logic similar to that Socrates applies in Protagoras 332a–333b.32 But Xenophon does not draw that conclusion. And while enkrateia and sophrosunē are responsible for the same results, they are responsible in different ways. Enkrateia is necessary but not sufficient for proper action. It is a most excellent thing because it is necessary if we are to acquire and make use of the best thing, wisdom (Mem. 4.5.6). Wisdom and sophrosunē, on the other hand, are both necessary and sufficient, at least in some sense. General practical wisdom suffices unless both of two un­ fortunate conditions are met: the presence of an attractive but dis­ advantageous pleasure, or a painful condition like cold or heat, and the absence of enkrateia. And even in that case, we ought not to speak of so­ phrosunē or sophia as being ineffective, but as being pushed from the scene by akrasia. Akrasia is described in the same active sort of language we saw above, as something compelling us to ignore the things we should consider most. In such cases, it seems to refer not solely to the absence of enkrateia but to the unchecked compulsion of desire. Thus, it seems most likely that here too akrasia prevents us from utilizing sophrosunē, from considering what is harmful and what beneficial in particular circumstances. After all, akrasia is said to persuade us to ignore what is beneficial: those without any pre-existing knowledge of what is beneficial presumably do not need to be persuaded to ignore this knowledge and fail to apply it to the circumstances in which they find themselves. If the akratic are persuaded to ignore their knowledge of what is beneficial, then akrasia in Xenophon’s sense can evidently co-exist with some amount of sophrosunē in the form of general practical knowledge, knowledge of definitions and categories of action. Enkrateia and sophrosunē therefore are not synonymous. One may have been enkratic long enough to acquire sophrosunē, only to have lost one’s

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enkrateia; in that case sophrosunē would be of no avail, and would ulti­ mately be lost, presumably as the result of multiple failures to apply general knowledge to particular circumstances (cf. Mem. 1.2.19–23). Just how are we to define sophrosunē and thereby distinguish it from enkrateia? The closest Xenophon’s Socrates comes to defining sophrosunē is when he says that it is not to be separated from wisdom (Mem. 3.9.4). The argument of that compressed passage, however, did not completely clarify what this meant, save to rule out the counterexample of an in­ dividual who knew the right thing to do but failed to do it. At 3.9.5, Xenophon says that “justice and all the rest of virtue is wisdom.” This sounds rather like Plato’s doctrine of the unity of the virtues. But in 4.6, where Xenophon provides quick definitions of justice, piety, and courage, each is defined in terms of knowledge of some particular subject matter: piety is knowledge of the nomoi concerning the gods (4.6.2–4), justice that of the nomoi concerning men (4.6.5–6), and courage is knowledge of how to deal with fearful and dangerous things (4.6.10–11). This implies that piety, justice, and courage are species of wisdom (Figure 4.1). Perhaps there is a middle ground between the identity of the virtues and making all the virtues species of wisdom. Donald Morrison (2010) suggests that for Xenophon’s Socrates, while justice, piety, and courage are species of wisdom, sophrosunē is identical to practical wisdom as a whole, the wisdom that is the best thing for human beings (Mem. 4.5.6). As Morrison notes, at the outset of 3.9.4 sophrosunē and sophia are both glossed as knowledge of the fine and the good (τὰ καλά τε κἀγαθά); that certainly sounds pretty inclusive. Morrison grants that it would be odd for sophia to be used to mean “forms of wisdom” in the final sentence of 3.9.5 (“justice and all the rest of virtue are “forms of wisdom”) while it applies to virtue

Wisdom Genus

Technical wisdom Genus

Justice nomoi re men

Figure 4.1 Types of Wisdom.

Practical wisdom a.k.a. sophrosune-

Piety nomoi re gods

Courage fear & confidence

Moral psychology 175 entire, as a singular entity, at the outset of 3.9.4 (“he did not separate wisdom and sophrosunē”). But Xenophon’s usage of sophia is clearly flexible: it applies to various sorts of non-moral, technical knowledge, that is, knowledge that one needn’t act on, as well as the kinds of knowledge that one does unfailingly act on. Even in 4.6, while defining the virtues, Xenophon defines sophia in a way that does not restrict it to practical knowledge: one cannot know everything, so no one is wise tout court. The wise are wise insofar as they are knowledgeable: so not only the virtuous but any other expert can be wise in one sense, but no one is altogether wise. This suggests the typology on the previous page (Figure 4.1). In some of these cases, sophia is solely a genus term, the sort of wisdom defined at 4.6.7, and not a term for a coherent body of knowledge that one can possess as a whole. But on other occasions, Xenophon does speak of a prac­ tical wisdom that allows one to make unfailingly correct choices, at least in those areas where human knowledge suffices for correct choice. This is the sort of sophia Xenophon has in mind at 3.9.4, where it is identified (as we can now say) with sophrosunē; at 4.5.6, where this wisdom is said to be the greatest good; at 4.2.22, where Socrates speaks of the sort of wisdom that distinguishes free men from slaves; and at the close of the Memorabilia, when Xenophon says that Socrates was so prudent (phronimos) and self-sufficient (autarkes) that he never erred about the right thing to do (4.8.11). Sophrosunē thus compromises a coherent body of knowledge that could be mastered in itself, but also has individual components: justice, piety, and courage. There are limits to what human beings can know, according to Xenophon’s Socrates. But at least in some substantial range of actions, Xenophon’s Socrates is every bit the intellectualist that Plato’s is. This raises the question of how Xenophon’s Socrates would characterize and ground this moral knowledge. Seel (2006, 39–47) argues that Xenophon has an “official posi­ tion,” in which Socrates is a deontologist, because he believes one can identify which types of action are unfailing good and which are unfailing bad. Morrison (2010, 237) similarly notes that Xenophon’s emphasis on law (Mem. 4.4, 4.6) suggests a deontological picture. But Seel adds that Xenophon lets slip a position that Seel considers that of the historical Socrates, as con­ firmed by Plato, in which Socrates is a prudentialist, for whom there are no such unfailingly good or bad action types, as every action must be judged by its results. The refutation of Euthydemus in Memorabilia 4.2, in Seel’s view, shows the folly of establishing any fixed rules for actions that are correct in all circumstances. But 4.2 is an elenchus of a man who had failed to form correct definitions before attempting to classify actions. To my mind the unwritten laws of 4.4.19–25 suggest a way of squaring this circle: certain actions are always to be shunned (or chosen) precisely because they unfailingly lead to negative (or positive) results.33 There is therefore no need to distinguish be­ tween deontological and prudentialist understandings of practical wisdom. In addition to what may be called the form of this practical knowledge, we may also wonder about its content. Xenophon appears to believe that

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sophrosunē is a name for practical wisdom as a whole, and he doesn’t take the obvious step of defining sophrosunē in terms similar to those he em­ ploys for justice, piety, and courage, as the knowledge that allows one to deal with pleasure and pain. This may be because sophrosunē has a broader scope. If practical wisdom as a whole has an identifiable subject matter, we would have to call it the fine and the good; but Xenophon’s Socrates refuses to define the fine or the good (Mem. 3.8). I have connected his reluctance to do so with the fact that pleasure lies in the holy of holies for Xenophon’s Socrates. If pleasure is what is fine and good, or at least is somehow in­ extricably linked to the fine and good, then the virtue that deals with it would indeed be the chief virtue. Sophrosunē as the part of wisdom dealing with pleasure would in fact be the highest part of wisdom, or even wisdom entire. Saying that sophrosunē is not to be distinguished from wisdom is perhaps the closest Xenophon could bring himself to saying that Socrates was a hedonist, which brings us to a final passage in Memorabilia 4.5.34 Socrates, moderate hedonist? Memorabilia 4.5.9 provides one last passage on the relationship between enkrateia and pleasure, and thus an occasion to attempt to sum up Socrates’ beliefs on the management of pleasure. “And here’s something, Euthydemus—have you ever considered it?” “What?” he said. “That akrasia cannot deliver pleasure to people, though it is the only thing it is thought to deliver, while enkrateia provides more pleasure than anything else does.” “How?” he said. “Akrasia does not allow one to endure either hunger or thirst or the desire for sex or a lack of sleep, the only things that allow one to pleasantly eat and drink and have sex; nor does it allow one to pleasantly take one’s rest and fall asleep, by waiting and holding out until these can take place as pleasantly as possible. And it thus prevents one from enjoying in any significant way (ἀξιολόγως) the most necessary and most continuous (τοῖς ἀναγκαιοτάτοις τε καὶ συνεχεστάτοις) pleasures. “Enkrateia, on the other hand, is the only thing which makes one endure these things we’ve mentioned, and the only thing that makes one enjoy the pleasures we’ve mentioned in a way worth remembering (ἀξίως μνήμης).” (Mem. 4.5.9) Xenophon here, near the end of the Memorabilia, has Socrates articulate in his own words the thinking he earlier attributed to Virtue (Mem. 2.1.21–34). It is not akrasia but enkrateia that is able to lead us to pleasure,

Moral psychology 177 for it is impossible to enjoy eating, drinking, sex, or sleep unless one desires them, and one cannot withstand desire and thus allow it to grow without enkrateia. Evidently some pleasures are necessary; presumably this includes natural desires for food, drink, sleep, and sex, but would not include desires for luxurious food and drink, more sleep than is needed, and sex beyond that required to meet one’s needs. And some desires, perhaps these same natural ones, are said to be most continuous. Presumably this is not because we always experience these desires (otherwise there would be no need for enkrateia to allow them to grow), but because they naturally recur, and do not require artificial stimulation. Finally, Xenophon chooses to say that the pleasure gained through enkrateia is the only sort that is worth re­ membering; such pleasures lead to no unpleasant second thoughts, and in fact provide one with pleasant memories. Compare Virtue’s point that while the followers of Vice are ashamed of what they have done, her fol­ lowers enjoy the recollection of their prior deeds (2.1.31, 33). Enkrateia is therefore compatible with a form of hedonism which evaluates pleasures over the long run. Whether this makes Xenophon’s Socrates an advocate of “moderate hedonism,” as Gosling and Taylor suggested (1982, 38–40), will depend on just what one means by a moderate hedonist. Certainly, as we have seen, Xenophon’s Socrates is quite willing to argue that one way of life is preferable to another because, in the long run, it leads to more pleasure (Mem. 1.6.4–10, 2.1, 4.5.9). Socrates’ own life is both the best life and the most pleasant one (4.8.6). Even the gods have taken care to arrange things to make things pleasant for humans, arranging for our tongues to enjoy the pleasures of taste (1.4.5; cf. 4.3.5–6), placing the anus at the furthest remove from eyes and nose so as avoid displeasing us (1.4.6), and arranging for sex throughout the year, not only for a single mating season (1.4.12). As Sedley has ob­ served, hedonism is baked in to the natural order for Xenophon’s Socrates (2007, 81–82; 2008, 333–334). It is likely that Xenophon moderated the hedonist strand he recognized in Socrates for pedagogical and apologetic reasons. Xenophon’s Socrates is above all a teacher, and he realizes that his students need enkrateia first, if they are ever to enjoy what is ultimately the most pleasant sort of life. To beginners on the path toward virtue, enkrateia will seem to be the enemy of pleasure; best, then, not to emphasize the hedonistic nature of one’s goal. Secondly, hedonism, at least in certain forms, has always been considered discreditable, and it seems to have contributed to the discrediting of Socrates, at least if he was thought to have informed the thinking of his Aristophanic associate, Inferior Argument, with his unabashed hedonism (Clouds 1071–1082). Both Xenophon’s apologetic agenda, then, and his pedagogical purpose led him to downplay Socrates’ hedonism. As I argued above, these motivations likely lie behind the otherwise puzzling structure of Memorabilia 3.8. They also help explain why Xenophon brings Prodicus’ Virtue onstage, rather than attributing her teaching directly to Socrates. He

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thus distances Socrates from the hedonism in Virtue’s teaching, while at­ tributing that teaching to a most respectable source. But even if I am right to argue that Xenophon had a motivation to moderate Socrates’ views on hedonism, this does not justify our moving to the opposite extreme, and assuming that his Socrates identified pleasure as the good. In Socrates’ view, the relationship between pleasure and the good may be more complicated than that, while close enough to still risk mis­ leading those he wanted to help. Xenophon’s Socrates never suggests any­ thing like the hedonistic calculus of the Protagoras. In that way of thinking pleasures differ only quantitatively (356a–c), and it is the task of the measuring art to correct for distortions. On the contrary, Xenophon’s Socrates appears to recognize that there are different sorts of pleasure. He says that the most pleasant life is led by those who are aware that they are improving themselves (Mem. 4.8.6). We learn similarly that the most pleasant sound is hearing oneself praised (2.1.31), and the most pleasant sight is gazing upon one’s own good works. But if praise is the most pleasant sound, then presumably no amount of the sweetest music will give one more pleasure: pleasures differ qualitatively, not only quantitatively. In 3.8, Socrates notes that the various beautiful things are not beautiful in the same way, being in fact most unlike one another (3.8.4). But beautiful things are also good, and good things useful; if Socrates were a quantitative hedonist, then they ought all to be useful for pleasure and in that sense resemble one another. We may compare the argument in the Philebus (12c–14a), a dialogue Xenophon may well have known, which shows the dissimilarity of pleasures.35 Socrates’ hedonism is thus complex and limited, another reason it takes some teasing out to uncover it.

Xenophon’s Socrates on moral psychology: conclusion I wrap up this account with a series of categorical claims based on what has come before. • • •

•

• •

Enkrateia removes a major motivation for wrongdoing. Enkrateia allows one to wisely manage luxury as well as deprivation. Enkrateia increases pleasure, and allows one to pursue the best sorts of pleasure, which include those arising from awareness of one’s improvement and self-worth, an awareness furthered by praise from friends. The attempt to pursue pleasure without enkrateia, à la Aristippus, lands one in a nasty world of masters and slaves, and fails even on the individual level as it produces only artificial pleasures. Enkrateia is required for all three stages in Xenophontic dialectic: definitions, classification by type, and deliberation. Within the realm of actions human beings are capable of evaluating (i.e., things we can understand without divination), one who has both

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•

• •

general practical wisdom (sophrosunē, one type of sophia) and enkrateia will unfailingly apply that general knowledge to particulars, and choose the best course of action. There is no such thing as post-deliberative weakness of will. The akratic, however, will often fail to make use of any general practical wisdom they possess and thus fail, despite that practical wisdom, to choose the right thing to do in the specific circumstances in which they find themselves. Practical wisdom (one form of sophia) is equivalent to sophrosunē, while the other virtues are species of practical wisdom. Sophrosunē is equivalent to practical wisdom as a whole because pleasure is intimately connected with the good.

Xenophon and Plato Non-rational desires While enkrateia and the related traits of character are central to the ethics of Xenophon’s Socrates, they are hard to spot in the conversations of Plato’s Socrates, at least in Plato’s early dialogues. In the Charmides, Plato’s most detailed discussion of sophrosunē, Socrates makes no mention of any non-intellectual aspect of self-mastery, though he tells us of his need to master his desire when he was confronted with an over-stimulating view of Charmides’ bodily charms (Charmides 155c–d). The attempt to define so­ phrosunē instead centers on a puzzling account of self-knowledge as knowledge of knowledge. The difference here between Xenophon and Plato appears very stark indeed. Even the term enkrateia never appears in Plato’s early dialogues (at least if we make Gorgias 491d post-early). And on the standard reading of Plato’s Socrates, we are dealing here not only with a vast difference in emphasis but with a fundamental contradiction. For the standard view of Plato’s Socrates does not allow non-rational desires any direct role in motivating action.36 This amounts to a complete rejection of the notion of non-rational desires, as it is difficult to understand how one could have a desire that had no impact on one’s actions. For Plato’s Socrates, on the standard view, all error is due simply to false belief, a failure to properly measure the overall balance of good and evil in a given decision. If Socrates rejected non-rational desires in this radical a fashion, enkrateia would not only be superfluous, but impossible, for there would be no non-rational desires to control. Xenophon’s Socrates, however, admits the presence of such non-rational forces, perhaps most clearly in his ac­ count of the loss of sophrosunē. For pleasures, implanted in the same body along with the soul, persuade the soul not to be moderate, but to indulge both them and the body as quickly as possible (Mem. 1.2.23).

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If Xenophon’s Socrates differs from Plato’s in this fundamental a way on this fundamental an issue, this would indeed show the two to be radically dif­ ferent figures, as Dorion has argued (Dorion 2006; 2013, XIX–XXX). But there is another view of Plato’s Socrates, one which recognizes non-rational desires. If such desires exist, there would be a need to control them, and the difference between Xenophon and Plato would no longer appear as radical. Daniel Devereux (1995) has forcefully pointed out the contradiction between Xenophon’s emphasis on enkratiea and the standard reading of Plato. Devereux, however, makes rather little of the contradiction with Xenophon, instead making much of a conflict with Aristotle, who argues in the Eudemian Ethics (2.11.1227b12–19) that some fail to adequately distinguish between enkrateia and virtue; the “some” here are generally taken to include Socrates. However exactly we interpret the difficult passage from Aristotle, his view of Socrates seems far closer to Xenophon’s Socrates than to the standard hard-core intellectualist interpretation of Plato’s Socrates. In Devereux’s view, there is a major Kantian strand in Socrates’ ethics: even the virtuous person will often be conflicted about the right way to act. Devereux cites Laches 191c–e, where Socrates speaks of courageous people fighting desire and pleasure, and Gorgias 507b, where the moderate person must stand fast and endure. Like Kant, but unlike Plato and Aristotle, Devereux’s Socrates denies that to be virtuous one must have one’s desires in line with one’s beliefs. Thomas Brickhouse and Nicholas D. Smith (2010) agree with Devereux that Socrates recognized non-rational desires. In addition to the passages discussed by Devereux, Brickhouse and Smith make much of the doctrine of punishment laid out in the Gorgias; the punishments there, which take place via bodily pains, are most easily understood as aimed at checking nonrational desires. Even the well-educated or properly punished individual will retain non-rational desires, they argue, for certain objects will retain the “power of appearance” (Protagoras 356d), the promise of pleasure. But Brickhouse and Smith argue that Devereux makes Socrates too Kantian. The Gorgias passage Devereux cites is itself part of an argument stressing the importance of self-mastery (which Plato there refers to as sophrosunē rather than enkrateia); once one’s desires are properly disciplined, they argue, there will be little place for conflict. The Laches passage, for its part, need not describe any intense inner turmoil. They note as well that the measuring art of the Protagoras is said to put the soul at peace (356e); this peace appears to be incompatible with the Kantian model. In the virtuous person, then, nonrational desires will be so weak as to have lost any power to compel one to follow their lead. For Brickhouse and Smith, strong non-rational desires are incompatible with the possession of moral knowledge. The difference between Devereux’s view and that of Brickhouse and Smith resembles the question raised above about whether enkrateia is necessary only for the acquisition of virtue or also for the exercise of virtue. I concluded that, for Xenophon, enkrateia must continue to be employed even by the

Moral psychology 181 virtuous, and that it was necessary therefore both for the acquisition and for the exercise of virtue. Hence, Xenophon provides some support for a position that shares features of both Devereux’s and Brickhouse and Smith’s accounts of Plato’s Socrates. Inasmuch as Xenophon allows enkrateia a continued role even for a virtuous person, Xenophon’s Socrates resembles Devereux’s Socrates, who must struggle to do the right thing. But there is no hint in either Plato or Xenophon to support Devereux’s view that Socrates viewed this inner conflict as admirable. There is rather some evidence to the con­ trary, starting with the very passage from the Gorgias that both Devereux and Brickhouse and Smith cite (507e–508a), in which an orderly soul is compared to the order of the cosmos. Xenophon’s Socrates, for his part, finds it easy to resist temptations like those of a luxurious banquet (Mem. 1.3.6; Smp.) or attractive young beauties (Mem. 1.3.14). But Socrates’ ease on such occasions was not simply the result of philosophizing about the proper place of pleasure, but of a regimen applied to body and soul (Mem. 1.3.5), a re­ gimen Socrates continued in order to maintain his equanimity. This con­ tinued training in enkrateia seems a rather more plausible account of how one maintains virtue than the simple assertion that moral knowledge is in­ compatible with strong non-rational desires—an assertion that is not parti­ cularly well grounded in the text of Plato in any event. The role of knowledge What, then, of the role of knowledge? Here too, on the standard reading of Plato’s Socrates, the divide between Plato and Xenophon is stark indeed. For Plato’s Socrates, knowledge appears to be ever-lasting and all-powerful; Xenophon’s Socrates, while believing that wisdom is the greatest good, also believes it can be lost, and suggests that we can fail to apply general knowl­ edge if our lack of enkrateia leads us to be distracted by pleasures or pains. First to the long-term stability of knowledge. Xenophon argues, in his own name and in direct opposition to anonymous others who “claim to philosophize,” that knowledge, including sophrosunē, can be lost (Mem. 1.2.19–23). Xenophon asserts this as part of his defense of Socrates’ re­ lationship with Alcibiades and Critias. There and elsewhere the analogy between bodily and psychic exercise illustrates how exercise continues to be necessary even after the desired psychic health is acquired, and Xenophon spells out how innate pleasures can persuade the soul to abandon so­ phrosunē. It is often thought that Xenophon is here responding to Antisthenes, who is credited with the belief that virtue is inalienable, though there is room for doubt about Antisthenes’ view on the subject.37 Xenophon’s decision to make the argument about the loss of virtue in his own voice, rather than attributing it directly to Socrates, suggests the possibility that Xenophon worked out this issue for himself, rather than taking it over directly from Socrates. But a strong authorial voice is part of the rhetoric of the defense of Socrates, and it is in the defense of Socrates

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that the possibility of the loss of virtue arises most directly in the cases of Alcibiades and Critias. Xenophon’s Socrates himself says things elsewhere that imply virtue can be lost. In Memorabilia 3.5, he speaks of Athens’ lost virtue, though there we are speaking of the virtue of many people rather than one, and of virtue being lost across generations. In the same chapter, Socrates notes that virtue is something that requires training (askesis) and practice (meletē) in addition to knowledge (3.5.14). Socrates never quite makes clear that such efforts are required not only to attain virtue but to retain it. Still, the preponderance of the evidence suggests that not only Xenophon himself but Xenophon’s Socrates believed that virtue can be lost, and that it is a failure to train or practice that leads to this loss. Plato’s Socrates never discusses the possibility that virtue can be lost. Commentators tend to argue that his Socrates believes that virtue cannot be lost, citing passages like Protagoras 356d–e, Meno 97c–98a, and Euthyphro 11b–c. Penner cites these passages and notes that “This science [virtue, the science of measurement], like all other sciences is, in its finished state, absolutely stable” (2011, 272n20). But while these passages say that knowledge can be our salvation (Protagoras) or note its superiority to be­ lief, they do not address the question of whether it can be lost. On the other hand, we do find one explicit statement to the contrary, Diotima’s teaching that even knowledge can be lost, through forgetting, whence the need for us to continue to study what we know (Symposium 207e–208a). Diotima’s teaching may of course be more Platonic than Socratic, and is part of her theme that the only human access to immortality is via reproduction. But in the absence of countervailing evidence from early Platonic dialogues, it does at least call into question the standard view of the absolute stability of knowledge. So much for the possibility of losing knowledge once and for all. What about the possibility of a momentary loss of knowledge due to weakness of will? Commentators on Plato often make a distinction between weakness of will that trumps belief and weakness of will that trumps knowledge. They argue that while Plato’s Socrates allowed for the possibility of predeliberative weakness of will overcoming belief, he did not believe that predeliberative weakness of will could overcome knowledge.38 This would appear to distinguish Plato’s Socrates from Xenophon’s, as in Memorabilia 4.5.6 Socrates describes someone who is kept from their wisdom and led to choose the pleasant over the good. Evidence for the invincibility of knowledge comes above all from the Protagoras. Socrates here asks Protagoras a characteristically leading question. The two of them have been discussing the popular view that knowledge is often overpowered by desire or emotion. “So is this what you think about it as well, or do you think that knowledge is both something fine and is able to rule a person, and that if one indeed recognizes what is good and what bad, he would not be

Moral psychology 183 overpowered by anything so as to do something other than what knowledge bids, and that understanding (phronesis) is capable of assisting a person?” “I think,” he said, “it’s as you’re saying, Socrates, and moreover it would be disgraceful if I, of all people, were not to say that wisdom and knowledge were the most powerful of all human things.” “That’s a fine answer,” I said, “and a true one.” (Protagoras 352c–d) Socrates and Protagoras, for all their disagreements, share a commitment to the power of knowledge. But note that even this argument contains a key conditional phrase: knowledge (epistemē) suffices only “if one indeed re­ cognizes what is good and what is bad” (ἐάνπερ γιγνώσκῃ τις τἀγαθὰ καὶ τὰ κακά). That is, one must not only be knowledgeable in general, but knowledgeable about the particular case at hand. And knowledge about which of the choices before one is better comes as the result of deliberation. Moreover, in the course of the argument about weakness of will, Socrates often argues not only that knowledge is never overcome, but that belief is never overcome (Protagoras 358b–e). Such passages undermine the view that knowledge has some special power qualitatively distinct from belief, and thus suggest that there is no justification for distinguishing Plato’s Socrates from Xenophon’s on this issue. There need not, then, be any significant distinction between the views of Plato’s Socrates and Xenophon’s Socrates on either the power of nonrational desires or the power of knowledge. I cannot, in a few paragraphs, resolve the complexities of early Platonic moral psychology. But I do think it is clear that Xenophon ought to play a larger role in debates about Socratic moral psychology, which have heretofore centered on the same few passages scattered in early Plato, together with sparse and obscure Aristotelian re­ miniscences of Socratic thinking. In the absence of clear evidence, interpreters sometimes fall back on thought-experiments and their own moral intui­ tions.39 Yet Xenophon says far more about non-rational motivation than Plato ever does in his early dialogues. He also says far more about how virtue can be acquired and lost, matters Plato’s Socrates is naturally silent about, given that he’s never met anyone who is virtuous, and defines virtue in such a way as to make its acquisition all but impossible. We cannot assume, of course, that Xenophon’s Socrates and Plato’s Socrates agree about moral psychology, and twist the evidence to find agreement. But if we aim not just for rational reconstruction of Socratic thought, but at some form of historical reconstruction—even if it is reconstruction of Plato’s Socrates rather than the historical Socrates—the extensive evidence from another first-generation Socratic is a valuable and underutilized resource. Xenophon’s attempt to explain Socratic moral psychology is at least culturally closer to Plato’s, and thus more likely to be right, even as a guide to Plato’s Socrates, than the moral intuitions of contemporary scholars.

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Notes 1 On the conventional dating of Plato’s dialogues, enkrateia and cognates are absent prior to Gorgias 491d. 2 Devereux (1995); Brickhouse and Smith (2010, 2012, 2013). 3 On amplification, see Gray (1998) and pages 54–55 in chapter one. 4 The Greeks conceptualized of food as consisting of two parts: the staple, sitos, most often bread, and the untranslatable word opson, which literally refers to something roasted, often meat, but could apply to anything eaten in addition to the staple (whence translations like “sauce,” “seasoning,” “delicacy”). For the role of opson in Greek thinking about food, see Davidson (1997, 20–26). Dorion (2000, 127n200) argues that opson here means “food” rather than “seasoning” or “delicacy;” but this misses the point of the argument, which is to show that desire makes food most pleasing, not to claim that Socrates didn’t need to eat anything, which would be absurd. The same point is made at Memorabilia 1.6.5 and Cyropaedia 1.5.12; cf. Memorabilia 3.14. 5 For more on Socrates’ teaching on sexual morality, see chapter five. 6 My account of the two chapters with Aristippus (2.1 and 3.8) is a revised version of Johnson (2009). 7 Xenophon’s wording at the outset of 2.1 is somewhat ambiguous. “Recognizing that one of his companions was rather unrestrained in such matters, he said, ‘tell me, Aristippus,…’” Some (as O’Connor 1994, 159n10, Pangle 2018, 64) take the unrestrained companion to be someone other than Aristippus; in this reading it would not be Aristippus but the anonymous unrestrained companion who would benefit from overhearing the conversation, as do other bystanders in Memorabilia 1.3.8, 2.5.1, and 4.2.2. But in those cases, unlike 2.1, we are ex­ plicitly told that others were present. Given Aristippus’ reputation, it is hard to see how a reader could avoid identifying him with the unrestrained companion, and Socrates closes the chapter by calling upon Aristippus to accept the teaching of Virtue, showing that it is indeed Aristippus who is the target of Socrates’ teaching. So also Narcy (1995, 78n17); Dorion (2011a, 115n2). 8 Thus Lampe, while noting that Xenophon had his own, apologetic agenda, makes extensive use of Memorabilia 2.1 and concludes that “Xenophon’s tes­ timony is our best guide to the overall impression made on his contemporaries by Aristippus’ behavior” (2015, 210). For a recent attempt to defend Aristippus from attacks not unlike those in 2.1, see Ustad (2018). 9 Danzig (2013, 376) argues that Socrates recognizes a third group, those who serve the rulers; I would assimilate these to the ruled, who are treated as slaves. 10 Compare Danzig (2013, 375–377) and Danzig (2018, 460–461). Danzig argues that Socrates’ portrayal of politics here applies only to most real-world regimes, which are corrupt. But Danzig’s reading leaves us with no explanation for why Socrates fails to mention this salient fact in 2.1; I instead argue that Aristippus’ politics are driven by his hedonism, which is alluded to in the passage. Nor does Danzig’s skepticism about the prevalence of decent real-world regimes help us see how Socrates can function effectively in Athens, a non-ideal regime, even if Socrates is a sort of leader, as Danzig argues. 11 Sansone (2004) and Tordesillas (2008) emphasize the passage’s debt to Prodicus; Gray (2006) and Dorion (2013, 219–246) argue that the passage is Xenophontic in language and content. 12 Higgins (1977, 26–28 and passim) well stresses the communal nature of the best life in Xenophon’s view. 13 Reciprocity is also a fundamental theme in Xenophon’s account of Socratic friendship, a topic discussed with great insight by Tazuko van Berkel (2010, 2018, 2020).

Moral psychology 185 14 For arguments that Plato’s Socrates (or at least Plato as he wrote the Protagoras) was a hedonist, see Gosling and Taylor (1982, 58–68); Irwin (1995, 85–87); Rudebusch (1999). Contra: Zeyl (1980); Brickhouse and Smith (2000, 129–132); Weiss (2018). 15 There is a dispute about the cross-reference at the outset of 3.8: “When Aristippus tried to cross-examine Socrates as he had been cross-examined by him earlier” (Ἀριστίππου δὲ ἐπιχειροῦντος ἐλέγχειν τὸν Σωκράτην ὥσπερ αὐτὸς ὑπ’ ἐκείνου τὸ πρότερον ἠλέγχετο). Dorion (2011a, 334n6) doubts that this refers to 2.1 on two grounds: 2.1 was not a true elenchus, and the imperfect ἠλέγχετο ought to apply to multiple refutations. The first argument would re­ quire that ἐλέγχω be restricted to a technical meaning (more or less that of Vlastos 1994, 1–37), but Xenophon often uses the verb in other senses. The second rests on a misinterpretation of the imperfect tense, which can but need not refer to multiple occasions of anything. We have here a “stage-setting” use of the imperfect, common with verbs of speaking, where the imperfect prepares us for the reaction to a prior speech act (CGCG, 428–429). 16 As was pointed out by Morrison (2010, 231–232), who thus provides a more promising explanation than mine in Johnson (2005, 67–68). 17 συμφαῖεν at Mem. 3.8.9 is plural, and more likely refers to a multitude of speakers conceding Socrates’ point than to agreement between Socrates and a single interlocutor. 18 The chapter divisions in the Memorabilia are not original to Xenophon, but 3.8–10 have a much closer relationship with what comes before than with what follows (a discussion of courage). 19 Nicomachean Ethics 7.2.1145b22–26. For Xenophon’s usage, see Dorion (2013, 118). Denyer (2008, 183) notes that Plato uses ἀκρασία and cognates much as Xenophon does. 20 In addition to Dorion’s notes on the passage, see Seel (2006, 35–38); Weiss (2018, 300–304); and Jones and Sharma (2018). 21 Morrison (2003, 32; 2010, 228). For doubts, see Weiss (2018, 300–304) and Jones and Sharma (2018). The doubters see 3.9.4 as being about the distinction between other-regarding action and self-regarding action; I do not think that distinction is salient in this text. Rather, psychological egoism is a premise in an intellectualist argument meant to show that virtue is wisdom. For qualifications on Xenophon’s intellectualism, see my treatment of Mem. 4.5 below. 22 I translate the ms. text rather than accepting Reiske’s emendation of ἀρετῇ to σοφιᾷ as Dorion and Bandini and Bevilacqua do. 23 On this much Morrison (2010) and Dorion (2013, 123–146) agree. The rest of the account I give here is far closer to that of Morrison. 24 Memorabilia 4.6.5–6 adds an argument that those who know the nomima concerning human beings are just, i.e., will always do what is just. As the ar­ gument appears to make the denial of weakness of will a premise rather than a conclusion, does not explicitly involve sophrosunē or enkrateia, and is itself extremely compressed, I omit consideration of it here. 25 Symposium 3.3.4 provides another case where sophia in the sense of practical wisdom appears ambivalent. Antisthenes says that there are times when it seems that courage and sophia can harm one’s friends and one’s city, while justice always stays clear of injustice. The easiest way to extricate Antisthenes from this statement is to say that “there are occasions when it seems” (ἔστιν ὅτε… δοκεῖ εἶναι) implies that this is only an appearance; this is one possibility outlined by Prince (2015, 275). The context is informal and conversational, and Antisthenes would have a motive both to praise Callias’ selection of justice and to do so in an

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29 30 31 32 33 34

35 36 37 38 39

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insincere way, given how flimsy Callias’ claim to justice is. He may thus make use of conventional beliefs rather than Socratic ones. Dorion (2011b, 40n5) outlines the options and argues that “this” means en­ krateia here. Kahn (1996, 76–77) and Patzer (2010) attack Xenophon’s account here as a tra­ vesty of Plato, but make no real effort to understand Xenophon’s account itself. Dorion (2011b) translates the final sentence of 4.5.11 very differently indeed: “Seuls le homes maîtres d’eux-mêmes peuvent examiner les sujets les plus im­ portants et sont en mesure, en les répartissant selon leur genre grâce au rai­ sonnement et à l’expérience, de choisir les biens et de s’abstenir des maux.” Contrast Dorion’s “most important subjects” with my “best course of action” and his rather interpretive “thanks to reason and experience” with my “in word and deed.” For this two-stage account, cf. Natali (2006, 19), Gourinat (2008, 150–155), and Dorion (2011b, 40n10). Dorion (2013, 94n3) well observes that Xenophon never explicitly imagines a case in which one is enkratic in one area but not in another—but neither does he rule it out. My reading of the Aristotelian passage is indebted to that in Brickhouse and Smith (2010, 221–231). I, however, find even more common ground between Aristotle and Socrates than they do. In the Protagoras, Socrates argues that because wisdom (sophia) is the opposite of folly (aphrosunē), and sophrosunē is the opposite of folly, wisdom and so­ phrosunē must be identical, given that each thing has one and only one opposite. On this passage, see also Johnson (2017, 186–195). Christopher Moore has recently argued that for Xenophon sophrosunē is “re­ cognizing, understanding, and fitting oneself to the determinatively best ways to live, and to do so in the acknowledgement of the personal value in doing so” (2018a, 505). Moore aims to connect sophrosunē closely with self-knowledge (cf. Moore 2015), and to broaden its scope well beyond the management of desire. His view resembles mine in broadening the ambit of sophrosunē, but I retain more of a connection with desire given my view of the importance of desire and pleasure in Socratic moral psychology. Dorion (2000, CCL and 36n245) identifies a possible parallel between Mem. 1.4.8 and Philebus 29a ff.; Kahn (1996, 395–396) also finds a possible parallel between Mem. 3.9.8 and the Philebus (48b, 49c, 50a). Varieties of this standard view appear in Penner (1990, 2011); Vlastos (1991, 148–15); Irwin (1995, 51–53, 75–76); Reshotko (2006); and Wolfsdorf (2008, 29–59). D.L. 6.105 (= Antisthenes SSR VA.99) credits Antisthenes with the position that virtue is inalienable (ἀναπόβλητον), but for complications, see Prince (2015, 341). Brickhouse and Smith (2013, 191) characterize this as the consensus position among students of Plato’s Socrates. For a thought experiment, consider the chocolate tart that Brickhouse and Smith repeatedly return to (2010, 216–217; 2012, 235–236; 2013, 196–197). Their example introduces a plotline that crucially affects their analysis: an individual who originally passes on desert after a filling dinner but later, having digested a bit, chooses the tart despite doctor’s orders to the contrary. Singpurwalla (2007) rather similarly criticizes Weiss for trusting her own moral intuitions over the comparative evidence of Xenophon and Aristotle; cf. Weiss (2007, 2018).

5

Xenophon’s Symposium

We have thus far considered Xenophon’s largely non-dialogic Socratic works, the Apology and Memorabilia. In the next two chapters, we turn to the Symposium and Oeconomicus, Xenophon’s two bona fide Socratic dialogues, which feature all the drama and characterization that we expect from that literary form. In this chapter, I will argue that in the Symposium Xenophon uses the tools of the dialogue form to produce a coherent dramatic whole with a clear philosophical message. As Xenophon’s Apology responds to Plato’s Apology by clarifying Socrates’ approach to his trial, Xenophon’s Symposium responds to its Platonic equivalent by clarifying Socrates’ sexual morality. We will see that a clear teaching on sexual morality emerges from the Symposium and Xenophon’s other Socratic works, a teaching far more direct and ethically clear cut than the grand teaching on eros in Plato’s Symposium and Phaedrus. Xenophon’s Socrates, as it turns out, is a far better advocate for what we call Platonic love—love without sex—than Plato’s Socrates ever is. Xenophon’s Socrates argues that the highest sort of erotic relationships between men should remain unconsummated, but he also claims to retain an erotic element in sexless but affectionate and mutually beneficial long-term friendships. Abstinence is not an end but the means to something more. As is true with the Apologies, Xenophon’s contribution is essentially additive, as he and Plato do not fundamentally disagree about Socrates’ sexual morality; the difference is that Xenophon deigns to explain and justify Socrates’ sexual morality.1 In the Symposium, Xenophon’s Socrates presents his teaching on sexual morality in the midst of a sexually charged drinking party that features a historical couple whose love affair would prove scandalous. Socrates must somehow manage to teach abstinence in this most unpromising venue while remaining a charming guest. Socrates not only manages to present his case without angering its target, but soothes over possible tensions amongst a group whose members would end up on opposite sides a few years later during the civil war at Athens. One of those guests, Lycon, despite praising Socrates at this party, would prosecute him in 399. Socrates’ charm, I will argue, is part of Xenophon’s message: it was not Socrates who stirred division at Athens, for Socrates brilliantly delivered his teaching in a way

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designed to deliver difficult lessons with a minimum of offense. Socrates’ success is, however, short-lived, as the guests prove quite receptive to a sexy floor show at the end of the work, and their historical afterlives show that Socrates’ teaching did not take. But the failure was all due to Socrates’ interlocutors, who lacked not only his seriousness but his charm. Where Xenophon defends Socrates in his Apology by making his death a glorious victory, in the Symposium Xenophon takes a lighter tack, pointing out the ridiculous inadequacy of the sort of men who criticized Socrates.

Character, sexual morality, and irony Xenophon begins the Symposium by saying that where kalokagathoi are involved, it is not only serious deeds but playful ones that are worth recounting. He thus suggests two important themes for his work: play and noble character. Xenophon tells us that he came to his conclusion after attending a dinner and drinking party thrown by the wealthy Callias. One highpoint of the work, chapters three and four, is taken up by a round of speeches in which the guests display their wisdom (Gray 1992), or at least their greatest pride and joy. The point of the exercise, though, is not simply to show off one’s strong suit, but to do so cleverly. So the speeches reveal character in two senses: Does one have any quality worthy of display, and can one display it suitably in a sympotic setting—with wit, and without boasting? Proper behavior at symposia was indeed a major theme in sympotic literature, and Socrates’ charm in both Xenophon’s Symposium and Plato’s shows him to be a far more winning character than the shabby curmudgeon of Aristophanes’ Clouds.2 Xenophon’s Symposium is often praised, faintly, for its light tone and vivid, naturalistic portrayal of a conversation (Waterfield 1990, 220–221). It certainly does range over a great variety of topics, including what women can be taught; whether wealth makes men just, or the lack of money frees one from public pressure and true wealth is found in the soul; and whether true beauty attracts and inspires others, or the most beautiful bodies are those best suited for their functions. But eros provides the unifying thread, and the charming display of Socrates’ austere sexual ethic is the central goal of the work. Eros was present from the outset of this party, given its occasion, Callias’ desire to honor his beloved Autolycus, and Autolycus’ entrance, with his modest youthful beauty, strikes all present with a sort of erotic awe (Smp. 1.9–10). Eros resurfaces when Critobulus prides himself on his own beauty and its power to inspire those who love him to noble deeds, as he is inspired by his beloved Cleinias (4.10–18); Critobulus’ obvious infatuation with Cleinias leads to discussion of Socrates’ failure to wean him from Cleinias—and Charmides’ half-serious charge that Socrates is himself prey to erotic obsession (4.19–28). Socrates’ claim to skill in pimping (4.56–64) then prepares the way, if in ironic fashion, for his long speech on chaste eros in chapter eight. In Socrates’ account of pimping, the

Xenophon’s Symposium 189 pimp is to make his charges attractive to others, which would culminate in making them attractive to the whole of the city. The most elevated sort of pimping is that which promotes love for the soul rather than love of the body, and Socrates displays it by pimping Callias to Autolycus in chapter eight. Eros then remains front and center in the erotic display by the slave performers acting as Dionysus and Ariadne in the closing chapter of the Symposium. So while the conversations of Xenophon’s Symposium are more free-flowing than the rather formal circuit of speeches in Plato’s Symposium, eros is the central topic in both. In the case of Xenophon’s Callias and Autolycus, we appear to be seeing the beginning of a beautiful friendship, one which will benefit not only Callias and Autolycus but their friends and their city. But, as we shall see, it is extremely unlikely that Callias and Autolycus’ relationship met these high ambitions. And while Socrates’ long speech in chapter eight addresses the relationship that provides the occasion for Callias’ party, it also complicates structural and thematic analysis of the Symposium. It is far longer and far more serious than any to come before it, and Xenophon characterizes it as a new or perhaps even novel speech (καινοῦ λόγου κατῆρχεν 8.1). Chapter eight also contains the clearest references to Plato’s Symposium. Thus, Thesleff (1978) and Danzig (2005) dispute the consensus view that Xenophon wrote the whole of his Symposium after Plato wrote his, and argue that only chapters eight and nine were composed, or substantially rewritten, after Xenophon had read Plato’s Symposium, resulting in a work that is not an integral whole. When Xenophon read Plato’s Symposium, they argue, he saw that Plato left Socrates vulnerable to a charge of sexual immorality. He therefore revised his prior work to have Socrates clearly and emphatically reject physical consummation in love affairs between men, whereas Plato’s Socrates, while abstinent himself, was far less clear on this point. There is something disproportionate about chapter eight, which does not smoothly fit into the overall organization of the Symposium. But this, I will argue, does not reflects a change of heart on Xenophon’s part, but the fact that this chapter ironically undermines the premise upon which the rest of the work is built, the assumption that Callias’ love for Autolycus is right and proper. I agree that Xenophon intended to correct Plato precisely as Thesleff and Danzig believe he did, by overtly defending Socrates against the belief that he himself corrupted his followers sexually or encouraged them to corrupt one another. But Socrates’ speech about eros is an integral part of Xenophon’s Symposium. Callias’ party was meant, after all, to honor his boyfriend. Socrates’ speech does not, however, deliver a message that most lovers want to hear: Callias is told that for his relationship to be ennobling, it must not be physical. Hermogenes, Callias’ half-brother, suggests that Socrates, while appearing to praise Callias for his chaste relationship, is in fact giving him advice on how he ought to act (Smp. 8.12). So chastity had not been Callias’ plan. Socrates must therefore make use of

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all his skill as a pimp to make his intervention in Callias’ relationship palatable to Callias—he must employ the pimp’s skills to convince a lover to be chaste. And in the course of the Symposium Socrates demonstrates, time and again, his ability to smooth over difficulties among the guests. Socrates’ charm is contrasted with the rudeness of Antisthenes, while his core seriousness is contrasted with the superficiality of the other guests. So the whole of the Symposium is a demonstration of Socratic self-pimping, and of Xenophon’s pimping of Socrates—a playful demonstration of kalokagathia, precisely what the first line of the work promises us. Socrates’ claim to skill in what Plato calls erotics (Symposium 177d8) and Xenophon calls pimping (Smp. 3.10, 4.56–64) raises numerous questions, including questions about his own sexual morality. The most common scholarly view is that Xenophon’s Socrates, despite his comfort with pederastic banter, simply rules out sex between men.3 But Socrates flagrantly fails to follow his own advice about avoiding beautiful young men, and some of his suggestions are rather more permissive than the “abstinence only” stance usually attributed to him. One response to this is to suggest that Xenophon disagrees with his Socrates on such matters, a disagreement that results in Xenophon’s Socrates sometimes promoting celibacy and sometimes advocating a more permissive view that is closer to Xenophon’s own (Hindley 1999, 2004). Another is to suggest that both Xenophon and his Socrates are actually more permissive, but that Xenophon leaves this unclear for apologetic reasons (Thomsen 2001; Danzig 2004; 2005; 2010, 151–199). I will argue that the revisionists are right to point to evidence that allows for sex between men, but that Socrates’ position is consistent with his overt teaching in Symposium 8, once we make two distinctions: that between lovers with adequate selfmastery and those without it, and that between beloveds who are dangerously attractive and those who are not. This teaching on sexual morality will raise questions of its own, but it is more in keeping with ancient ideas than the abstinence only teaching usually attributed to Xenophon’s Socrates, more consistent than the view that Xenophon sometimes confuses his own views with those of Socrates, and more defensible than the conclusion that Socrates does not practice what he preaches. I shall argue, then, that the Symposium is a unitary work that culminates in Socrates’ speech on eros in chapter eight, a speech which articulates a view of sexual morality that is consistent with what Socrates says and does elsewhere in Xenophon. There is, however, a remarkably ironic strand running through the Symposium. It seems very likely that Socrates’ advice to Callias in Symposium 8 fell on deaf ears. More important still, Socrates lays claim to the ability to pimp men before the city, that is, to enable them to win popular support (Smp. 4.59–60). Yet Socrates would himself be put to death by a democratic jury, in part through the actions of the father of Autolycus, Lycon, who praises Socrates in the Symposium (9.1) but would prosecute him in 399. The trial is also alluded to in chapter five of the

Xenophon’s Symposium 191 Symposium, where the beauty contest between Socrates and the lovely Critobulus is loaded with legal language (5.2, 5.8–10). Socrates proves that his aesthetically wanting but highly functional features make him more beautiful (kalon), but he still loses the contest, as Critobulus’ beauty corrupts the jury (5.10).4 Finally, after Socrates has delivered his austere speech on the superiority of chaste love between men, a Syracusan impresario, whose shows rival Socratic discourse for the center of attention at this party, has his lovely slave boy and girl enact a passionate encounter between Dionysus and Ariadne, a scene which inspires most of the guests to gallop off home to their wives. So Socrates fails to convert Callias into a chaste lover; he loses the beauty contest, just as he lost his trial; and the erotic display at the end of the Symposium has a greater impact on the guests than does Socrates’ speech on love for the soul. Socrates’ inability to teach Callias and Autolycus sexual morality is part of the larger pattern in which Xenophon and Plato show and thereby defend Socrates’ failures rather than his successes: Alcibiades, Critias, and Charmides play large roles in both authors. “Socratic method” means many different things, but its historical origin arguably lies in Socrates’ failures, which demonstrate, to the Socratics, that it is the student who is fundamentally responsible for any lessons learned or lost. Where the Apology shows that the trial of Socrates was no defeat by demonstrating that it was a stirring victory, the Symposium shows that Socrates’ death was no tragedy by portraying it as a comedy in which we are to laugh not at Socrates, as Aristophanes would have us do, but at the men who show themselves risibly incapable of following Socrates’ lead.

Outline As my analysis of the Symposium will follow themes and characters rather than preceding in order through the work, I begin with an outline. Chapter 1 The rich Callias is returning home with his beloved Autolycus; Autolycus’ father, Lycon, one of Socrates’ future accusers; and Niceratus, son of the famous Athenian general Nicias. Callias is holding a party to honor Autolycus for his victory in the boys’ pankration of 422. Callias and his group run into Socrates, who is accompanied by: the handsome, newly married Critobulus, son of Crito; Hermogenes, Callias’ illegitimate half-brother and Xenophon’s source for the Apology; Antisthenes, who would go on to be a major Socratic in his own right; and Charmides, Plato’s uncle and the titular character of one of his dialogues. Callias invites Socrates and his group to the party; they are reluctant to come along, but politely agree to do so when Callias is insistent. Once the party begins, the guests are struck by Autolycus’ noble beauty. Philippus, a

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“laughter-maker,” appears, apparently uninvited, and eventually raises a laugh. Chapter 2 A Syracusan impresario presents his troupe of performers, whose exploits lead to conversation on virtue, learning (including women’s capacity for learning), and dancing (including Socrates’ dancing). Chapter 3 Socrates suggests that the noble guests can entertain each another better than the Syracusan’s shows, and asks Callias to display his wisdom. It is agreed that each guest will display what he is most proud of; the guests quickly stake their claims, most aiming to demonstrate some paradox or wit. Chapter 4 Each guest displays and defends his special gift, with some changes in the order and participants announced, which we will examine below. Most claims are subject to more or less serious scrutiny by the other guests, particularly by Antisthenes. Chapter 5 Socrates had doubted that Critobulus was more beautiful than he; a beauty contest is now arranged, with the Syracusan’s boy and girl as judges. Socrates wins an argument about who is more beautiful, but the judges vote for Critobulus. Chapter 6 Socrates criticizes Hermogenes for being silent, and the Syracusan, jealous that Socrates has hijacked the party, attacks Socrates in Aristophanic terms. Socrates maintains comity by tempering Antisthenes’ effort to counterattack. Chapter 7 Socrates suggests the Syracusan provides a dance that will please the guests and not burden the dancers. Chapter 8 Socrates gives a long speech arguing for the superiority of love of soul over love of body, and promoting this ideal for Callias and Autolycus.

Xenophon’s Symposium 193 Chapter 9 Lycon departs with his son, after praising Socrates. An erotic display by the Syracusan’s charges leads married guests to rush home to their wives. Socrates and a few others join Callias to accompany Autolycus and Lycon on their walk home.

Socrates vs. Antisthenes One way Xenophon shows Socrates’ charm is to contrast him with Antisthenes. Antisthenes is clearly a devoted follower of Socrates, and he is fully capable of defending Socratic positions, and questioning those who dispute them. But he is also a flawed messenger for Socratic views, and the contrast between his rudeness and Socrates’ charm helps show the importance of that charm. Socrates’ relationship with Antisthenes includes, at least in Socrates’ telling, a shared interest in pimping. Given that the Symposium culminates in Socrates’ advocacy for chastity, it is certainly ironic that Socrates claims pimping as his métier when he is called upon to identify what he prides himself on (Smp. 3.10). Socrates stakes his own claim to pimpery with a very supercilious expression (μάλα σεμνῶς ἀνασπάσας τὸ πρόσωπον 3.10)—one example of the combination of seriousness and ridiculousness (spoudogeloion) that characterizes the Symposium (Huss 1999a, 34–37). In chapter four, Xenophon’s Socrates explains his claim by explaining how the pimp makes his charges more appealing to others (4.56–64). He does so in a remarkable parody of Platonic dialogue. And he [Socrates] said, “Let us first agree on what it is that the pimp does. Don’t hesitate to answer all my questions, so we may know everything we agree on. Does that seem good to you?” he asked. “Absolutely,” they said. And once they’d said “Absolutely,” all gave this answer for what followed as well. (Smp. 4.56) And thus the other guests, who have apparently read Plato, unanimously reply with the same reply formula, “absolutely” (πάνυ μὲν οὖν), seven times until Socrates asks them a question which does not admit of a yes or no answer. By that point some of the guests are clearly no longer paying attention, so merrily reply with “absolutely” even when asked a disjunctive (if leading) Socratic question: Who is the best pimp, one able make someone attractive only to one person, or one who can also make that person attractive to many? The guests who are paying attention say that the pimp able to pimp his charge to many is better. They then all confirm in superlative terms (“Clearly, by Zeus”) that the man able to make someone attractive to the whole of the city would be an absolutely good pimp.

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While other authors certainly use the same Greek combination of particles I render as “absolutely,” it is hard to imagine this parody aimed at anyone other than Plato, who not only uses it often but employs it in clusters, though nowhere as ridiculously as the seven in a row we get here.5 Behind the little Platonic parody may lie a more serious point, that securing agreement in abstract arguments is not the most impressive form of pimping, for the sorts of arguments made by the Platonic Socrates are not all it takes to make oneself, or one’s arguments, attractive. This hypothesis would help explain why Socrates suddenly upends matters by saying that pimping, upon which he supposedly prides himself, is actually Antisthenes’ forte (Smp. 4.61). For in Xenophon’s Symposium it is Antisthenes who most often resembles the Platonic Socrates in his efforts to refute the other guests. Xenophon’s point, as we shall see, is probably that Antisthenes is not really a good pimp but a poor one, a criticism Xenophon may well have thought applied to the Platonic Socrates as well. Antisthenes may well have been the most prominent of the Socratics in the years immediately after Socrates’ death; he is certainly the most prominent follower of Socrates in Xenophon.6 It was once widely believed that Antisthenes was the source for much of what Xenophon attributes to Socrates. Given our paltry knowledge about Antisthenes, this belief is rightly regarded as too speculative today (Cooper 1999). It is true, however, that Antisthenes’ views, as Xenophon portrays them, are close to those of Xenophon’s Socrates. In Memorabilia 2.5, Antisthenes supports Socrates in noting that different friends differ in value, a point Socrates uses to urge all to make themselves as valuable as possible. In the Symposium itself, Critobulus says that he fears that the wealth (i.e., wisdom) of Socrates and Antisthenes will corrupt the judges of the beauty contest (Smp. 5.8). Critobulus thus assumes that Antisthenes shares Socrates’ wisdom despite the fact that Antisthenes has played no role in the arguments of the beauty contest itself. He is presumably drawing on Antisthenes’ argument that true wealth lies in the soul, not in the body or in external goods, from the previous chapter (4.34–44). Xenophon’s Socrates is too urbane to indulge in open praise of spiritual rather than material wealth himself, especially at a party hosted by the rich Callias; by giving praise of psychic wealth to Antisthenes, Xenophon can praise Socratic values without making Socrates himself too boastful in this sympotic setting (Danzig 2004, 37–38). So while Antisthenes’ views are Socratic enough, he lacks Socrates’ finesse in expressing them, which makes him a foil for Socrates (Higgins 1977, 16–20; Danzig 2004, 36–37). Antisthenes fails to understand that harsh refutations are out of place at a symposium, and Socrates must repeatedly intervene on behalf of those Antisthenes would refute. In such cases it is usually clear enough that Socrates shares Antisthenes’ point of view, but objects to Antisthenes’ heavy-handed approach. Thus, when Niceratus prides himself on knowing Homer by heart, Antisthenes, who wrote a number of works on Homeric interpretation, attacks him by comparing him

Xenophon’s Symposium 195 to dimwitted rhapsodes. Socrates comes to Niceratus’ rescue, but in terms that make it clear enough that he agrees with Antisthenes that Niceratus is richer in cash than in wisdom. “For it’s clear,” said Socrates, “that they (the rhapsodes) don’t understand the inner meanings (ὑπονοίας). But you have given Stesimbrotus and Anaximander and many others a lot of money, so nothing of much value has escaped your notice.” (Smp. 3.6) What we are to think about bought knowledge of this sort is clear enough from the contrast between Callias’ payments to sophists and Socrates’ hardearned wisdom at the outset of the dialogue. There Callias himself recognizes that Socrates and his friends have made more intellectual progress all by themselves than he has with all of his paid help (1.4). When Socrates says that Niceratus must have a deep understanding of Homer precisely because he’s paid so much money, the irony should be clear enough (Huss 1999, 189–191; Prince 2015, 586–587). When the time comes for Niceratus to expand on what he’s learned from Homer, Antisthenes attacks again, asking him to define kingship and explain what made Agamemnon a good king. Niceratus puts him off by managing to make a comic segue, via chariot-racing, to onions. Here both Charmides and Socrates come to Niceratus’ rescue by eagerly discussing how well onion-breath will conceal any kissing or luxurious dining they do at Callias’ party (Smp. 4.6–9). The contrast between Antisthenes’ heavyhandedness and Socrates’ good humor is again clear. Socrates also blunts Antisthenes attack on Callias when Antisthenes employs “a very refutative tone” (μάλα ἐλεγκτικῶς 4.2) to question Callias’ claim that he makes men more just by giving them money. Callias admits that his gifts do not make their recipients treat him fairly; many of his beneficiaries actually become hostile to him. But he calls Antisthenes a sophist and argues that his own case is not unusual: while he cannot make men more just to himself, so too some carpenters and builders are unable to build houses for themselves, and live in rented homes instead. Callias’ riches blind him to the fact that some builders do not have enough money to purchase a home of their own. But Socrates defends Callias by noting that seers, too, are said to be unable to foresee their own futures (Smp. 4.2–5). Socrates probably refers to a saying critical about seers (Huss 1999a, 210–211), but given Socrates’ respect for divination elsewhere, we should limit the saying to bad seers: contrast the seers who famously saw their own deaths coming at the battles of Thermopylae (Herodotus 7.228) or Munychia (Hell. 2.4.18–19). Socrates’ example thus manages to help Callias escape from Antisthenes while still leaving it clear enough that Callias’ supposed skill at improving others is bogus.

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Later in the Symposium, when the Syracusan levels Aristophanic attacks on Socrates, Antisthenes defends Socrates by comparing the Syracusan to a boor, and summons Philippus to come up with another rude comparison for him. But Socrates tells Philippus to hold back, with the comment that even comparing the Syracusan to a complete kalokagathos would seem rude (Smp. 6.6–10). The unstated premise is that the Syracusan is no kalokagathos, but by leaving it unsaid, and even forbidding the comparison itself, Socrates manages to retain the veneer of civility Antisthenes would have torn away. Antisthenes, then, is “a fundamentally unfriendly man” (Higgins 1977, 16), and this makes it all the more surprising that it is Antisthenes who Socrates credits with the art of the pimp (cf. Morrison 1994, 198–203; Prince 2015, 54). But we have reason to doubt how successful Antisthenes was in that regard. Certainly Antisthenes himself is surprised and angry when Socrates says he is not only a pimp (mastropos) but a procurer (proagogos), a man who leads clients to prostitutes (Smp. 4.61). When Antisthenes balks at being called a procurer, Socrates provides some curious examples of Antisthenes’ success at that art. “I know,” he said, “that you acted as procurer for the wise Prodicus and Callias here, the one a lover of philosophy, the other in need of money. And I know that you did the same for Hippias of Elis, from whom Callias learned the memory system. It’s from this that he has become still more erotic, since he never forgets anything beautiful that he’s seen.” (Smp. 4.62) If “the wise Prodicus” isn’t enough to lead one to suspect irony, then surely the comment that Callias is so erotic that he never forgets anything beautiful should suffice. We have here a parallel to the Don Juan level of Diotima’s ladder in Plato’s Symposium (210b), the love of all beautiful bodies, something completely out of keeping with Callias’ presumed devotion to Autolycus. But Antisthenes’ procuring doesn’t stop here. Socrates adds that Antisthenes introduced him to “the stranger from Heracleia,” whom Socrates calls a complete kalokagathos, and a certain Aeschylus of Phlius, for whom he has developed quite a passion. But the value of Antisthenes’ procuring work on Socrates’ behalf is called into question by the fact that we cannot identify either of these individuals.7 While the argument from silence is always risky, it is seems likely that we would be able to identify these men if either really had a major impact on Socrates. Socrates ultimately soothes Antisthenes by saying that good procurers can form alliances between cities and arrange marriages, making them very valuable. Antisthenes says that he is no longer angry with Socrates: “For, if I can do that, I will be completely crammed with wealth in my soul” (Smp. 4.64). Antisthenes now sees procuring as a profession that provides psychic

Xenophon’s Symposium 197 wealth or is based on psychic wealth. But he does so with a conditional sentence which implies that he may not have the needed skill. At any event, neither the specific examples of Antisthenic procurement nor his behavior in the Symposium itself show him to be an expert in pimping or procuring. If there is a good pimp in the Symposium, it is Socrates himself. There is, finally, the matter of Antisthenes’ love affair with Socrates, which provides material for some bickering at the beginning of chapter eight. Socrates says that all at the gathering are devotees of Eros, including Socrates himself, who is always in love with someone or other (cf. Mem. 4.1). But Socrates suggests that Antisthenes, presumably thanks to his characteristically unfriendly behavior, may be the only guest not to be in love. “Are you, Antisthenes, the only one who isn’t in love with anyone?” “But I am, by the gods,” he said, “very much in love with you.” And Socrates, playing coy, said, “Don’t bother me just now, since, as you can see, I’m busy with something else.” And Antisthenes said, “Oh, you’re blatantly pimping yourself, just like always. Now you make the daimonion your excuse not to talk with me, now your desire for someone else.” And Socrates said, “By the gods, Antisthenes, just stop cutting me up. I can deal with your sharp edges otherwise, and will continue to do so, in a friendly way. But,” he said, “let’s keep this love of yours hidden, since it isn’t for my soul but for my beauty.” (Smp. 8.3–6). This exchange is explicitly said to be playful, at least on Socrates’ part, but it also shows something about Socrates’ relationship with Antisthenes: Socrates does not reveal everything to him. Socrates similarly advises the hetaira Theodote to be chary with her favors in Memorabilia 3.11, where he also characterizes Antisthenes as one of his “girl-friends” (philai 3.11.16). So too Socrates has only teasingly revealed his mastery of pimping in the course of the Symposium. Here Socrates responds to Antisthenes’ comment by saying that Antisthenes loves only his outer form, not his soul. The joke is at least two-fold, as Antisthenes prides himself on riches of the soul, not the body, and as Socrates was famously ugly, as the beauty contest of the Symposium had just reminded us. But Socrates also suggests that Antisthenes’ appreciation of him remains incomplete. For Socrates is holding something back. As Antisthenes himself put it, Socrates freely gave him all the wisdom he was able to bear (Smp. 4.43)—but perhaps he could only bear so much. The lovers’ banter between Antisthenes and Socrates here is comparable with that between Alcibiades and Socrates in Plato’s Symposium (212e–223a; Huss 1999a, 364). Both men describe themselves as spurned lovers, and both have a certain insight into Socrates. Antisthenes, as we

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have seen, has internalized some of Socrates’ fundamental lessons. Plato’s Alcibiades shows himself profoundly moved by Socrates’ presence, and has glimpsed the beautiful images (agalmata) within Socrates’ ugly Silenic exterior. But Socrates’ influence wanes when Alcibiades is apart from him, whereas Antisthenes stays close by Socrates to learn all he can (Xenophon Smp. 4.44). It is ironic that Xenophon has Socrates claim that Antisthenes had a skill, pimping, that Antisthenes distinctly lacked but that Alcibiades, who was quite capable of making himself attractive to the city, had in spades. If Xenophon meant readers to compare Antisthenes and Alcibiades, he perhaps had something like this in mind: Plato’s Socrates is connected to a scandalous lover, the vainglorious Alcibiades, whereas the lover of Xenophon’s Socrates is a bona fide Socratic who enjoyed a deeper relationship with Socrates (Lampe 2010). Yet even that Socratic lacked the art Socrates prides himself on here, pimping. In this case Xenophon would be trying not just to one up Plato by showing Socrates with a better student lover, but to double up by noting that even that genuine student had his limits. Socrates and Antisthenes, then, form a classic good cop, bad cop partnership. One way that Socrates is able to maintain both his principles and his charm is to leave the more direct attacks on other guests to Antisthenes. The one attack Socrates will deliver himself is the most significant of all, his criticism of Callias’ relationship with Autolycus, a relationship this symposium was meant to glorify. Before Xenophon has Socrates launch his critique of conventional pederasty, however, he raises the stakes by repeated allusions to Socrates’ trial.

Xenophon’s sympotic defense of Socrates Like all of Xenophon’s Socratic works, the Symposium is a defense of Socrates. Here Xenophon cunningly defends Socrates by splitting the opposition into two characters: the Syracusan impresario, who makes Aristophanic charges against Socrates, and Lycon, one of the men who would prosecute Socrates in 399. Xenophon thus works in references to the trial while depicting a party that took place twenty three years before the trial, all while having Socrates remain largely above the fray himself. If the Apology shows Socrates intentionally ruining his defense by boasting, the Symposium shows how charmingly Socrates could defend himself when he chose to do so. We will examine this charm defensive by looking first at Socrates’ interactions with the Syracusan, then at his apparently warm reception by Lycon. Socrates vs. the Syracusan Before running into Socrates and inviting Socrates and his companions with their “purified souls” to dinner (Smp. 1.4), Callias had arranged for a

Xenophon’s Symposium 199 Syracusan impresario and his troupe of three lovely young slaves to provide after-dinner entertainment. In chapter two, the daring feats of the dancing girl and beautiful dancing of the boy lead to various remarks on whether virtue can be taught, and droll remarks about how Socrates himself dances.8 At this point Socrates himself puts off philosophical debate in order to allow the dancers to finish (2.7). But at the outset of chapter three, Socrates tries to sideline the Syracusan and his troupe. These people, gentlemen, clearly seem to be capable of entertaining us. But I know that we consider ourselves to be their betters by far. Wouldn’t it be shameful if we did not even try, while we are gathered together, to provide each other with some profit or good cheer? (Smp. 3.2)9 If Socrates succeeds in convincing men like Callias that kalokagathoi should entertain and profit one another rather than paying others to entertain them, the Syracusan will be out of business. The Syracusan and Socrates are rivals. To replace the outside entertainers, the guests agree to a round of speeches in which each explains his point of pride. In chapter three, the topics are announced. The Syracusan is naturally enough not included in this series of announcements, which are supposed to be examples of the gentlemen at the party entertaining themselves without any help from the likes of him. But in chapter four, Charmides reintroduces the Syracusan into the conversation, suggesting that he must pride himself on his lovely boy—to whom Charmides has apparently taken a liking (cf. Smp. 3.1). Thus, Charmides, though arriving with Socrates, effectively promotes the Syracusan to gentlemanly status, providing him with a place of honor amongst the other guests. The introduction of the Syracusan is one of several changes between the announced points of pride in chapter three and the discussion of them that follows in chapter four (Table 5.1). Table 5.1 Sympotic points of pride Points of pride (chapter three)

The round of speeches (chapter four)

Callias improves men Niceratus knows Homer Critobulus’ beauty Antisthenes’ riches Charmides’ poverty Socrates’ pimping Philippus’ comedy Lykon’s son Autolycus’ father

Callias improves men by enriching them Niceratus knows Homer Critobulus’ beauty inspires others Charmides’ poverty frees him Antisthenes’ psychic riches free him Hermogenes’ friends, the gods Philippus profits from fools Syracusan: not his boy or flesh but fools

Hermogenes’ friends

Socrates’ pimping

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Two sets of speeches switch places. In the original order of announcements, Antisthenes makes a puzzling but no doubt well-considered claim to wealth of a non-material sort; Charmides then boasts about his poverty, which is perhaps a spur of the moment joke in response. In chapter four, we first hear from Charmides, who claims to be happy to have lost his wealth because this means that he is no longer targeted by the Athenian demos (Smp. 4.29–32). We learn just serious Charmides was in his praise of poverty when the rich Callias asks Charmides if he’d be willing to risk being wealthy again, and Charmides grants that he would be willing to give it a try (4.33). After Charmides is done, Antisthenes then praises his psychic riches, received from Socrates, showing just how far Charmides is from being a true follower of Socrates. The second switch is to move up Hermogenes’ speech and give the closing position in chapter four to Socrates. Hermogenes’ puzzling claim to have powerful friends (despite his disadvantaged position as an illegitimate son)10 ended chapter three with a riddle, but his earnest paean to religiosity (Smp. 4.46–49), inspired in some part by Socrates’ belief in the power of divination, fittingly follows Antisthenes’ praise of Socratic psychic wealth. Socrates’ account of his pimping gets pride of place by going last, and is also prepared for by the comic claims of Philippus, and the give and take with the Syracusan. Thus, these two chiastic rearrangements both give the conversation a more informal air and serve clear enough literary goals. The addition of the Syracusan to the cycle of speeches is more surprising. The exchange with the Syracusan (Smp. 4.52–55) replaces the speeches we may have expected from Lykon and Autolycus. The proud father and his lovely son had announced in chapter three that their greatest pride was in each other, but they do not speak in chapter four. It is not terribly surprising that Autolycus does not speak again, as even his shy remarks in chapter three were singled out as being noteworthy. And there was nothing paradoxical in Lycon’s pride in his son, leaving little to be explained further in chapter four. But their replacement by the Syracusan is no accident, as there are parallels between the Syracusan and his beautiful boy and Lycon and his beautiful son. While the girl dancer has if anything played a larger role in the dialogue so far, it is the boy whom Charmides’ singles out by suggesting that he is the Syracusan’s pride and joy. “You there,” said Charmides, “Syracusan, what do you take most pride in? It’s obviously your boy, isn’t it?” “No, by Zeus,” he said, “not at all. In fact I’m terribly afraid about him, because I can see that there are some who are plotting to ruin (διαφθεῖραι) him.” When Socrates heard this, he said, “Herakles! What great harm do they think the boy has done them, so as to want to kill him?”

Xenophon’s Symposium 201 “No,” he said, “they don’t want to kill him but to persuade him to sleep with them.” “And you, it seems, think that if that were to happen, he’d be ruined?” “Yes, by Zeus,” he said, “utterly ruined.” “So you yourself,” he said, “don’t sleep with him?” “No, by Zeus,” he said, “I do that every night, all night long.” “By Hera,” said Socrates, “you’ve got a great gift, as you were born with the sort of flesh that prevents you alone from ruining those you sleep with. You should be proud of your flesh, if nothing else.” “No, by Zeus,” he said, “it’s not that I’m proud of.” “Well, what is it then?” “Fools, by Zeus. For they provide me with a living when they watch my puppets.” (Smp. 4.52–55) Socrates begins by deliberately misunderstanding the sort of ruin the Syracusan had in mind, a droll bit of intentional cluelessness that befits his effort to keep the conversation on a higher plane. The Syracusan quickly enough confirms what all knew all along, that the corruption here is sexual in nature (Huss 1999a, 300). We are dealing with the same Greek verb (diaphtheirō) used in the charge that Socrates corrupted the youth. The verb’s root meaning is to harm or destroy something; the form of that harm naturally depends upon the object, but when a boy or woman was the object, the verb frequently refers to seduction.11 In his Apology, Plato decorously if implausibly restricts the corruption charge to teaching atheism (Apology 26b). But Athenian law recognized the dangers of sexual predation on youths at schools and gymnasia (Aeschines, Against Timarchus 9–11), precisely the sort of venues Socrates frequented. Sexual immorality is a major theme in the Clouds, in which both of the personified arguments who emerge from Socrates’ school show themselves to be untoward models for sexual ethics (961–1104). In Memorabilia 1.2.1, Socrates’ self-mastery regarding sex is one guarantee of his innocence, as is his mastery over hunger, cold, heat, and toil.12 Socrates could have corrupted others sexually in various ways. First, he could lead his followers to ruin themselves through the obsessive pursuit of beloved boys. This was a risk run by Critobulus and the young Xenophon himself (Mem. 1.3.8–13; Oec. 2.7). In the Symposium, we are told that Crito, Critobulus’ father, urged Socrates to wean Critobulus from his obsession with Cleinias (Smp. 4.21–26), a goal he seems to have been distinctly unsuccessful in achieving. Or Socrates could be held responsible for the harm inflicted on the boys pursued by his followers. This is presumably part of why Socrates harshly criticized Critias’ pursuit of the young Euthydemus, a passage we met in chapter two (Mem. 1.2.29–30). Socrates criticizes Critias for acting like a beast; his conduct presumably violated the norms of gentlemanly pederasty, and not only debased himself but

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threatened to corrupt Euthydemus. And while Critias was probably not yet in power, his conduct there is assimilated, prospectively, to the sexual misconduct so often attributed to those wielding tyrannical power. Socrates could also have corrupted more directly, by seducing young followers himself. Socrates notes to the lovely Euthydemus that many have been corrupted (διαφθείρονται) on account of their beauty (Mem. 4.2.34); this is presumably the risk Euthydemus faced when pursued by Critias, and Socrates’ non-bodily, philosophical seduction of Euthydemus shows how differently he went about things. Socrates’ relationship with Alcibiades no doubt raised eyebrows; Plato arranges to have Alcibiades drunk enough to speak frankly about what it did and did not involve in his Symposium. Xenophon tells us that Alcibiades would be hunted by many grand ladies because of his beauty (Mem. 1.2.24), which contributed to his corruption; his sex life was multivalent and notorious, and transgressive of democratic values (Wohl 1999). Alienation of affection is yet another corrupting impact of seduction. This explains why it was considered worse to persuade a respectable woman or boy to have sex than to force them to do so: persuasion led them to switch their loyalty from their husbands or fathers to their seducers (Lysias 1.32–33). Xenophon’s Socrates will say something similar of the man who desires the body rather than the soul of his beloved boy. And he is all the more to be hated if he does not use force, but persuades. For the one who uses force demonstrates his own bad character, while the one who persuades corrupts (διαφθείρει) the soul of the one he wins over by persuasion. (Smp. 8.20) The charge that Socrates led sons to prefer him to their fathers (Mem. 1.2.49–55; Apol. 20; cf. Cyr. 3.14–31, 38–40) is part of the same pattern, though of course bodily seduction is probably not the way that Socrates would have made his companions more fond of him than of their fathers. In this context, Socrates’ claim to pimping is astoundingly provocative: he raises the issue of sexual morality in the most direct way. And the Syracusan’s worry that someone will corrupt his boy channels one of the charges against Socrates. No wonder, then, that in the order of speakers he replaces Lycon.13 Socrates responds by noting the Syracusan’s hypocrisy. After all, had the Syracusan slept with the boy as Socrates slept with Alcibiades, as one might innocently sleep with one’s father or brother (Plato, Symposium 219d), the joke about the Syracusan’s magically noncorrupting flesh would have no point. The hypocrisy of the Syracusan is the first line in Xenophon’s defense against the charge of corrupting the youth: instead of having an upright father complain of Socrates’ dalliance with his son, we have the Syracusan hypocritically demanding sole sexual access to his slave boy. Compare how Xenophon defangs the charge that Socrates

Xenophon’s Symposium 203 taught one how to make the lesser argument the greater by having it made by Critias and Charicles (Mem. 1.2.31–38). But this defense would be woefully incomplete without chapter eight; Xenophon would have raised the charge of sexual corruption against a man who prided himself on his pimping, and provided only an indirect defense. This is another argument for the unity of the Symposium. The Syracusan fades from the scene again until chapter six, where, irked that the guests are entertaining themselves, he levels a series of Aristophanic charges against Socrates (Smp. 6.6–8). Socrates is “the one called ‘the Thinker’” (ho phrontistēs); he studies things on high, the meteorological and celestial matters better left to the gods; and he is interested in the most useless things. Socrates counters with jokes: better to be a thinker than thoughtless; celestial thoughts are divine; and thinking of the things on high is highly valuable, given the gods’ gifts of light and rain. This light-hearted response is in keeping with Socrates’ efforts to avoid contentious debate. The Syracusan next asks him to say how many flea-feet a flea can jump (cf. Clouds 831). At this point Antisthenes attempts to come to Socrates’ defense by enlisting the aid of Philippus, who could attack the Syracusan via a comparison. As we saw above, Socrates aborts Antisthenes’ efforts to escalate the conflict while at the same time implicitly criticizing the Syracusan by saying that even a flattering comparison would point to his lowly character (6.9–6.10). While Xenophon says that this put an end to one bout of drunken excess (paroinia 6.10), Socrates’ interaction with the Syracusan continues into the next chapter. As some at the party are still trying to provoke Philippus into making a comparison for the Syracusan, Socrates tries to start a group song (Huss 1999a, 347). Before anyone can join him, though, a potter’s wheel is brought out for the girl to do tricks on. Socrates says he may really be a thinker, for he has some thoughts on how the Syracusan’s entertainers can comfortably provide the group with the most pleasure: dangerous and strenuous tricks may be wonderful, but they provide no more pleasure than the simple sight of young beauties at rest. Moreover, wonders are a dime a dozen, even in the present setting: Why does a lamp’s bright flame produce light, while bright bronze only reflects things? And why does liquid oil increase fire, while liquid water quenches it? But dances to the sound of the aulos, like those the Graces, Seasons, and Nymphs are shown performing in art, would leave the dancers more comfortable and make the party more charming. The Syracusan says that he is delighted by this proposal and will provide a spectacle that will cheer one and all (Smp. 7.1–5). But the show he eventually puts on is not exactly what Socrates had in mind, as we shall see. What are we to make of the Syracusan’s Aristophanic attacks here, and Socrates’ rejoinders? Xenophon’s Socrates, let us recall, does not explicitly respond to what Plato calls the “first accusations” in his Apology, though Xenophon discusses Socrates’ interest in natural philosophy in the

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Memorabilia (1.1.11–15; 1.4; 4.3; 4.7.4–7). Here, as in the Oeconomicus (11.3), Xenophon explicitly raises these charges, but gives a relatively oblique response. Socrates does not deny that he has an interest in celestial matters; he in fact makes observations about the natural world that reveal a certain level of familiarity with such questions. He notes in passing the benefits given to us by the gods in sunlight and rainfall (Smp. 6.7), but dismisses further discussion of natural wonders here because they would not please the guests: they are useless, at least in the present context. In the Memorabilia, Socrates similarly engages with natural philosophy enough to reveal the contradictions among the Presocratics (Mem. 1.1.11–15), makes the argument from design (Mem. 1.4, 4.3), and advises his charges to study mathematics and natural philosophy only insofar as they are useful (Mem. 4.7.1–8). Thus, Socrates’ informal response to the Syracusan here is entirely in keeping with Xenophon’s fuller treatment of these issues elsewhere: Socrates was interested in questions about nature, but only as part of his larger interest in the “human questions” about the best way to live (Mem. 1.1.16). Xenophon thus uses the Syracusan impresario not just to add naturalistic variety to the drinking party but to raise many of the charges that resulted in Socrates’ execution in 399. Xenophon undermines the charge of sexual corruption by having Socrates prosecute that very charge, in a suitably witty way, against the Syracusan. And he deflects charges about dabbling in natural philosophy by having Socrates treat natural questions as trivialities. Where Xenophon defends Socrates with defiance in the Apology, he uses wit in the Symposium. Socrates vs. Lycon Socrates’ use of charm is so successful that he wins over one of his future accusers, Lycon. Lycon is only one of several characters in the Symposium who were involved in the bitter controversies at Athens in the years before Socrates’ trial. These characters include not only Socrates and his accuser Lycon but two future victims of the Thirty (Autolycus and Niceratus), and Socrates’ companion, Charmides, who would be a leading supporter of the Thirty.14 Both Plato (Apology 32c–e) and Xenophon (Mem. 1.2.31–38; 4.4.3) were at pains to distance Socrates from the Thirty, with whom he was clearly associated in the popular mind (as at Aeschines, Against Timarchus 173). Yet at this party friends and enemies of democracy and friends and enemies of Socrates mingle comfortably enough. Xenophon’s aim, Bernhard Huss argues, was to call to mind a Socratic Golden Age, an idealized vision of harmony among Athenians who in history ended up as fatal enemies (Huss 1999a, 38–49). Huss argues that when the Athenians rescinded Xenophon’s exile and Xenophon returned to Athens in the 360’s, Xenophon thought that it was better to seek reconciliation about Socrates’ case. Hence, in Xenophon’s Symposium even Lycon himself praises

Xenophon’s Symposium 205 Socrates (9.1): “By Hera, Socrates, in my view you are a noble and good person” (Νὴ τὴν Ἥραν, ὦ Σώκρατες, καλός γε κἀγαθὸς δοκεὶς μοι ἄνθρωπος εἶναι). But I suspect that Socrates’ charming treatment of Lycon has fooled Huss into thinking that Xenophon no longer held Lycon’s prosecution of Socrates against him. While Xenophon is often said to have been a panhellenist, that is, a supporter of greater harmony among Greeks from different cities, Huss cites no specific evidence elsewhere in Xenophon for his claim that Xenophon wanted to promote reconciliation within the parties at Athens itself. Nor do we know whether Xenophon ever in fact returned to Athens, or even whether his exile was ever officially lifted, though it is true enough that he often seems to write with an Athenian audience in mind. But if Xenophon wanted the Symposium to promote reconciliation about the fate of Socrates, we would have to explain why there is little hint of anything reconciliatory in Xenophon’s Memorabilia, and why the Apology is so confrontational. The Symposium could have been written much later than these works, of course, at a time when Xenophon’s attitude toward the trial of Socrates could have mellowed. But we have no evidence for the relative chronology of Xenophon’s Socratic works. Huss does, however, offer something more than biographical speculation: the curious episode of the Armenian sophist in Xenophon’s Cyropaedia (3.14–31, 38–40). This Armenian has many Socratic traits, and meets a death like that of Socrates: he is executed because the king of Armenia blamed him, wrongly, for turning his son against him. Xenophon has Cyrus the Elder, founder of the Persian empire and protagonist of the Cyropaedia, say that the execution of the Armenian sophist was a “human mistake” (Cyr. 3.1.40), and that the son should forgive his father. If, as is often believed, Cyrus is Xenophon’s mouthpiece, then Xenophon could have invented the episode in order to urge readers to forgive Athens for executing Socrates. But much recent scholarship on the Cyropaedia has questioned the belief that Cyrus is meant to be an unerring role-model. It is more plausible to argue that Cyrus advises forgiveness out of a more pragmatic motive: he recognizes that the Armenian king, precisely because he has been humiliated, will be a useful ally. Cyrus thus is happy to overlook not only the relatively minor matter of the execution of the Armenian sophist but the fact that the Armenian had just been in open revolt against Cyrus’ uncle Cambyses, the king of Media, who was still Cyrus’ superior at this point in the narrative. The least that can be said is that the evidence from the Cyropaedia is too ambiguous to drive our reading of the Symposium.15 The most important evidence for or against Huss’s hypothesis must come in the portrayal of Lycon in the Symposium itself. His praise of Socrates is so surprising that some have doubted that this Lycon is the same man as Socrates’ accuser.16 But Lycon praises Socrates for promoting chastity at a gathering where Lycon is chaperoning his son (8.11). What else would we

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expect a father to say? Lycon has just heard Socrates speak in praise of Callias’ love for his son, a love which is, Socrates says, directed only toward his son’s soul, not his body. And it’s a good thing that Callias doesn’t actually have any interest in Autolycus’ beautiful young body, as Socrates has vehemently argued that a physical relationship between lovers like Callias and Autolycus would be degrading to Autolycus. Hermogenes more truthfully points out that Socrates’ praise of the relationship is actually advice about how Callias ought to behave, not a description of how Callias is in fact behaving (8.12). But even if Hermogenes is right to imply that Callias needed this advice, he only gives Lycon another reason to be thankful to Socrates, as this shows that Socrates’ advice was artfully presented as praise so as to not demean Autolycus. Whether or not Callias and Autolycus already had a physical relationship known to Lycon, and whatever Lycon’s own views about sex between Callias and his son, he could hardly disagree openly with Socrates. No father could. Even Plato’s Pausanias, the advocate for idealized but consummated pederasty, stresses the efforts Athenian fathers made to limit lovers’ access to their sons (Symposium 183c–d). Yet Autolycus’ relationship with Callias, as we shall see, was notorious. Lycon’s praise of Socrates is therefore highly ironic, given the way the relationship would turn out. When praising Socrates, Lycon swears by Hera, an unusual oath for a man, one so mild and feminine that it often marks feigned admiration, as when Socrates uses it in response to the multiple oaths by Zeus sworn by the Syracusan in the discussion about his amazingly uncorrupting flesh (Smp. 4.54).17 Lycon’s use of the oath may signal that he understands the game Socrates is playing, and that, while he recognizes that he must play along, he may not always be so amenable. Goodness gracious, Socrates, you are a fine fellow! Lycon may, that is, eventually turn on Socrates for Socrates’ ironic presentation of his son’s relationship with Callias, though for present purposes he must appear blind to the irony. At any rate, Lycon’s presence at the Symposium hardly serves to justify his “human mistake” in prosecuting Socrates: it rather emphasizes that he of all people had no good reason to charge Socrates with corrupting the youth, given Socrates’ vigorous efforts to defend Autolycus from Callias’ carnal intentions. We might rather ask why Lycon failed to protect his son himself, especially given that Callias took pains to allow Lycon to be present when he was seeing his son (8.11). The best guess as to Lycon’s motivation for participation in the prosecution of Socrates is that Lycon blamed Socrates for the death of his son at the hands of the Thirty, whom Socrates was taken to support (Nails 2002, 189). Socrates’ care for Autolycus here would undermine that claim. Rather than showing that Xenophon thought we should forgive the Athenians for putting Socrates to death, then, Lycon’s presence here gives us all the more reason to conclude that the Athenians were profoundly wrong about Socrates. Xenophon thus cunningly has the hypocritical Syracusan replace Lycon to raise the charge of sexual corruption of the youth, and then has Socrates’

Xenophon’s Symposium 207 prophylactically meet that charge through his efforts to protect Lycon’s son from corruption. Xenophon’s Socrates can have his cake and eat it too. He both attacks the charges against him by attacking the character of the Syracusan, as he had attacked Critias, author of the charge against teaching the art of speech, and shows himself to be such a perfect gentleman that one of his prosecutors had every reason to praise him. The Symposium is no effort at letting bygones be bygones: it is a sophisticated defense of Socrates that shows precisely the sort of charm and indirection that was expected of a kalokagathos in a sympotic setting.

Eros Thus far we have considered how Xenophon’s Symposium defends Socrates while showing him a charming guest. We turn now to the central theme of the work, Socrates’ views on eros. Callias and Autolycus Callias was, at least at one point during his long life, the richest man in Athens; he was also among the most notorious.18 Callias is important to Xenophon’s account of Socrates not only because he hosts the Symposium but because, as we will see in the next chapter, he would play a scandalous part in the future life of the demure young bride of Ischomachus, Socrates’ instructor in the Oeconomicus. Callias was also a favorite character of other Socratics, hosting the gathering of Plato’s Protagoras, and serving as the title character for a dialogue by Aeschines. The education of his sons (one of them his son by Ischomachus’ wife) seems to have been of peculiar interest to the Socratics: Plato’s Socrates has them play the role of youths to be educated in the Apology (20a–c), and Aeschines makes the education of one of those sons the occasion for his Aspasia. Nor would Callias have faded from the memory of Xenophon’s readers, as he continued to play a prominent role in Athens until his death sometime after 367. Thus Xenophon’s original readers, at least those in Athens, would have known a good deal about Callias, and this knowledge would have helped shape their reading. Callias was born around 450. About the time of the dramatic date of the Symposium (422), Callias’ father, Hipponicus, left him the silver mines and estates that made him so rich, and the post as “torchbearer,” the second most important priesthood of the Eleusinian mysteries. But by 390 Callias’ property, which had once brought in more than six talents of income a year, had been reduced to but two talents in value (Lysias 19.48). It is impossible to say how much of this loss was due to the devastation caused by the Peloponnesian War and how much to Callias’ profligacy. But Plato credits him with having spent more money on the sophists than everyone else put together (Apology 20a; compare Xenophon Smp. 1.5), and we have other evidence of improvident expenditures.

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Callias’ financial and personal troubles did not prevent him from having a prominent public career. He fought at Arginusae in 406, and was one of the leaders in a famous Athenian victory against the Spartans in 390 (Hell. 4.5). Callias served as one of a number of Athenian emissaries to Sparta in 371 (Hell. 6.3.3–6). Callias’ speech, however, contains as much self-praise as it does arguments to the Spartans, and Xenophon archly introduces Callias with the observation that he was a man who was “no less pleased at being praised by himself than at being praised by others.” Callias’ high position and apparently low character also provided the comic poets with good material. He is said to have been “wealthy and horny and plundered by whores and with a stable of flatterers” (Cratinus frg. 12). Not only Callias but his beloved Autolycus were particular favorites of the comic poet Eupolis.19 In Eupolis’ Toadies (Κόλακες), which was produced in 421, Callias’ household was overrun by spongers, and Alcibiades and Protagoras were among the guests; the basic situation thus resembles the setting of Plato’s Protagoras. The toadies shamelessly flattered Callias in order to enjoy a lavish meal and sex with prostitutes; they also seem to have looted Callias’ home. Eupolis’ Autolycus was put on shortly after the Toadies, and evidently depicted Autolycus and his parents as oversexed wastrels. Autolycus is said to be from “Buggerville” (frg. 64),20 and other fragments suggest sexual access was secured by payment (“You’ve got to pay the customs fees before you enter this port” frg. 55; cf. 50). Other comic evidence tells a similar tale. A scholiast on Aristophanes’ Wasps (at line 1169) says that Autolycus exemplified the effete gait of the rich mentioned in that play. In the same play, which was staged in 422, we find Lycon is among a group of drunk and disorderly symposiasts (Wasps 1301). Despite his high living, or perhaps because of it, Lycon was said to be poor (Cratinus frg. 214). There is thus evidence that both Callias and Autolycus were ridiculed for their sex lives; that Callias was thought to be prey to parasitic flatterers; and that Autolycus’ family was poor. While none of our fragments explicitly tells us that Autolycus’ relationship with Callias was based on an exchange of sex for financial favors, it does not require much of a leap to conclude as much. There is some tantalizing evidence for this quid pro quo in the Symposium itself. When Lycon says that his son is his pride and joy, and Autolycus, cutely leaning up against his father, blushes and says that he is proud not of his victory in the pankration but of his father, Callias asks a charming question. Callias, seeing this, said, “Do you know, Lycon, that you are the richest of men?” “No, by Zeus,” he said, “that I don’t know.” “Don’t you realize that you wouldn’t exchange the wealth of the King (of Persia) in return for your son?” “You’ve caught me red-handed,” he said, “as it’s likely that I am the richest of men.” (Smp. 3.13)

Xenophon’s Symposium 209 Many readers take this passage to be a positive depiction of a father’s loving relationship with his son (Wohl 2004, 353; B. Strauss 1993, 75–76). But the passage is deliciously ironic if we follow the lead of the comedies contemporary with the dramatic date of the Symposium and assume that the relationship between Callias and Autolycus was of material benefit to the impoverished Lycon. Note also how Xenophon tells us that Callias makes his remark after seeing Lycon lean against his father: I suggest that Callias is momentarily jealous, and reminds Lycon that he will get what he’s paying for. If it seems too much to suspect that Callias would be crass enough to give money to Autolycus (and thus to Lycon) to secure Autolycus’ favors, recall that this is the way Callias claims that he makes men more just (Smp. 4.1–5). As so often, however, the banter in Xenophon’s Symposium allows for multiple interpretations. And Xenophon’s portrayal of Callias in the Symposium is sometimes taken to be positive.21 Their banter is good-natured, but it also alludes to less noble aspects of Callias’ character, and shows that Socrates is no sponger like the characters of Eupolis’ play. When Callias asks Socrates and his group to attend the party with their “purified souls,” Socrates demurs, claiming that his own do-it-yourself philosophy is no match for Callias’ high-paid education by the likes of Protagoras and Prodicus—sophists present in Plato’s Protagoras, itself inspired by Protagoras’ presence in Eupolis (1.4–1.7). Callias responds that he concealed the many wise things he had to say previously, but is prepared to reveal them now. This promise, however, does not entice the Socratics, who agree to come only when it becomes clear that Callias will be upset if they do not. Thus, the first few lines of the Symposium provide the first example of Socrates, here joined by his followers, smoothing over possible differences. But Socrates does so only after noting how he differs from Callias: he is no flatterer. The opening exchange is also parallel with Plato’s Republic, another occasion where Socrates needs to be compelled to engage in conversation with a rich man in the Peiraeus who believes that his riches make him just (Danzig 2017a, 133n4, 139–140). Callias is no better guide to eros than Cephalus is to justice. Callias’ brightest moment comes when Autolycus enters the dining room. Callias is stirred by the silent admiration which fills those who are “divinely inspired by moderate eros” (ὑπὸ τοῦ σώφρονος ἔρωτος ἔνθεοι 1.10), and is singled out as an example of the proper reaction to young beauty. Callias’ reaction, however, is no different in kind from that of any of the other guests at the party: all are struck by Autolycus’ beauty, and all reveal their admiration in a becoming manner. And this noble impression is perhaps lessened a bit when Callias next looks to Autolycus, as this is to see if he appreciates Callias’ joking with the funnyman Philippus, whose ridiculous and seemingly unplanned entrance to the party Callias had probably arranged ahead of time (1.12; Huss 1999a, 110; cf. Halliwell 2008, 143–144). When Callias provides not only a fine meal but skilled entertainers, Socrates praises both the dinner and the entertainment. But he gently rejects

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Callias’ suggestion that not only oral and visual treats be brought on, but fine scents (Smp. 2.2–3), and at the beginning of chapter three Socrates suggests the guests entertain themselves rather than relying on the entertainers Callias had provided. We have already seen that Callias must admit that the men whom he claims to make just by giving them money not only fail to pay him back but are sometimes more hostile to him than before (4.3): they appear to be comparable to the figures from Eupolis’ Toadies. We’ve also seen Socrates joke that instruction in Hippias’ memory system means that Callias is even more erotic, as he never forgets anything beautiful he has seen (4.62). One would think that this would hardly strike Autolycus, or his father, as a promising note. Thus, even before Symposium 8, it may well be that Callias got more than he bargained for when he invited Socrates to dinner. Symposium 8 From Pausanias to Callias Immediately following the little lovers’ spat between Socrates and Antisthenes, who, Socrates claims, loves only Socrates’ beauty, not his soul, Socrates turns to Callias’ love for Autolycus, which he will imply is for his soul and not his body. Socrates’ two statements are equally ironic: Antisthenes is no more fixated on Socrates’ body than Callias sees past Autolycus’ beauty. Socrates says that everyone in Athens already knows of Callias’ passion for Autolycus—even people from out of town (Smp. 8.7). So the relationship has been public for quite some time—enough time, perhaps, for the comic poets to have made it notorious (Thomsen 2001, 159–160). Socrates explains the notoriety of the relationship rather more favorably, however, observing that both men come from famous fathers and are themselves well known. And he says that he has always admired Callias’ nature, but does so even more now that he sees that Callias is not the type to fall for soft boys who wallow in luxury, but is instead enamored of a manly and moderate youth, for the character of the beloved reveals the character of the lover as well (Smp. 8.8). Concern for the masculinity of the beloved is a topos in speeches on pederasty; the first speech of Plato’s Socrates in the Phaedrus condemns the effeminizing influence of love on the beloved (Phaedrus 239c–d). Contrast Agathon, long-time beloved of Pausanias, who speaks of the delicacy of love in a positive light (Symposium 197d) and is attacked for his effeteness in Aristophanes’ Thesmophoriazusae. What the current passage shows, as did Callias’ reaction to Autolycus’ entrance to the party (Smp. 1.10), is that Callias has what Socrates and others regard as the right reaction to the right sort of love interest. Autolycus is the sort of young man a man should fall for; a relationship with him has the potential to be a good one, but this does not mean that it could not go astray. And the flaws

Xenophon’s Symposium 211 Autolycus is said to be free from show us the character traits that could endanger not only the beloved but the lover. Socrates now begins for all the world as if he were about to deliver a speech similar to that given by Pausanias in Plato’s Symposium (180c–185c). Pausanias, like Callias, was a prominent if controversial lover; in Plato’s Symposium he notes that pederasty, like any other activity, can be noble or base, and attributes noble love to Aphrodite Ourania and ignoble love to Aphrodite Pandemos. The Ouranian lover cares not only for his beloved’s body but also for his character, and his beloved, in return for delivering what Pausanias euphemistically refers to as favors, service, or the like, is rewarded with teaching in virtue. Thus, Pausanias’ ideal unites love for body with love for soul: Ouranian love retains sex, but elevates it by adding love of soul and education in virtue. The lover under the sway of Aphrodite Pandemos, on the other hand, cares only for his beloved’s body; his beloved receives only money or political connections in return for his compliance. Pausanias is also concerned with the staying power of the relationship, noting that one should not pursue boys too young to have shown the content of their characters, and remarking that those concerned only with bodily beauty quickly lose interest in their beloveds. He thus suggests that a lover of character can remain a lover for life. Pausanias’ emphasis on the durability of Ouranian love no doubt reflects his own unusually long-lasting relationship with Agathon, but it will also be a central element on Socrates’ account of noble eros in Xenophon. In Xenophon, Socrates’ off-handed way of introducing the possible distinction between two Aphrodites presumably builds on Pausanias’ somewhat labored attempt to make that distinction in Plato. Xenophon’s Socrates says that he is not quite sure whether there are two goddesses, or whether these are just two different epithets for the same divinity. Socrates knows, however, that there are separate shrines to Aphrodite Pandemos and Aphrodite Ourania, and that the rites for the first are rather loose while those for the second are more august. “You might infer,” he adds, that Pandemos inspires eros for bodies, while Ourania inspires eros for the soul, friendship, and noble deeds (Smp. 8.9–10). Socrates’ indecisiveness here is droll. He must be alluding to some ongoing discourse about the two Aphrodites, and that of Pausanias in Plato is the obvious candidate, given that Socrates will explicitly, if inaccurately, allude to Pausanias later (8.32). By raising doubts about its theological basis and explicitly marking his own interpretation as an interpretation, Socrates hints that his speech may differ from other understandings of pederasty, as indeed it will. Socrates next says that Callias is in the grip of an Ouranian passion, judging by the nobility of his beloved and the decision to invite his father along, which shows he has nothing to hide (Smp. 8.11). It is here that Callias’ illegitimate half-brother Hermogenes makes it clear enough that Socrates’ praise of Callias’ relationship with Autolycus is actually advice couched as flattery.

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Xenophon’s Symposium And Hermogenes spoke up. “By Hera, Socrates,” he said, “I admire many other things about you and also that now, while gratifying Callias, you are at the same time teaching him the sort of man he ought to be.” (Smp. 8.12)

Hermogenes’ second-class status as an illegitimate son is perhaps one reason he is willing to criticize Callias, albeit obliquely.22 Hindley (1999, 76–77; 2004, 129) argues that Hermogenes’ words imply that the relationship between Callias and Autolycus was already physical; it seems safer to say that Callias’ ambitions were physical—and that readers would have expected at least as much from their knowledge of the reputations of Callias and Autolycus. Socrates’ procedure here is precisely that he takes with the younger Pericles in Memorabilia 3.5. Socrates praises Pericles’ efforts to learn how to be a good general, but Pericles, who is fully conscious of his own lack of any real effort, sees through him. “Socrates,” he said, “you can’t fool me: you don’t think that I have concerned myself with such things, you’re trying to teach me that one who is to serve as general should concern himself with all of them.” (Mem. 3.5.24) So too, Hermogenes suggests, Socrates’ praise for Callias is merely a polite way of pointing out his deficiencies. Immediately after Hermogenes’ remark, Socrates articulates the point of his speech, but does not overtly distance his argument from that made by Pausanias. “And, by Zeus,” he said, “so that he may be still happier, I want to provide him with evidence that passion (erōs) for the soul is far superior to that for the body. For we all know that without affection (philia) no intercourse (sunousia) is worth talking about.” (8.12) Sunousia here must, as at Symposium 8.23 and Memorabilia 2.6.28, bring to mind not only chaste interaction but sexual intercourse, so it is not yet clear that Socrates has distanced his view from that of Pausanias, who also speaks of the superiority of love for the soul, while retaining bodily love. But as Socrates’ speech goes on, we note that his distinction between Ouranian and Pandemian Aphrodite differs from that made by Pausanias. Pausanias begins his speech by noting that any activity can be noble or ignoble, depending on how it is pursued (Plato, Symposium 180e). Xenophon’s Socrates, on the other hand, assigns different activities to the two Aphrodites: one is concerned with love of the body, and the other with love of the soul. He does not consider a love of both body and soul, which is Pausanias’ ideal, nor does he consider that love of beautiful bodies can lead

Xenophon’s Symposium 213 to love of beautiful souls, much less to love of the form of beauty, as Plato’s Socrates does.23 Love for the soul is superior to love for the body because the soul’s beauty grows and does not fade, nor can love for the soul be sated; this allows the affection (philia) between the partners to be mutual and long lasting. Those who love souls will continue to love even if their lovers lose their looks or fall ill; such lovers will trust each other, take pleasure in each other’s company, and share highs and lows together (Smp. 8.13–17). Thus far, Callias may still believe Socrates would allow for sex, as he would of course maintain—perhaps even honestly—that his love for Autolycus is not only bodily in nature, or even that it was more for Autolycus’ soul than for his body. But what follows resembles the diatribes against physical love we find in Plato’s Phaedrus: the speech of “Lysias” (230e–234c) and the first speech by Socrates (237b–241d). There is no reason for a boy to feel affection for his lover, if that lover is “dependent on the body” and wants to satisfy his greatest desire by something that will bring the boy great reproach (Smp. 8.19). The lover protects his own family from the things he wants from the beloved, and if he succeeds by persuasion rather than force that is all for the worse, as this means that he corrupts the boy’s soul (διαφθείρει 8.20). A boy who is rewarded financially will feel no more affection for his lover than does a trader for his customers in the agora.24 The attractive boy will not feel affection for his older, unattractive lover, nor will sex provide him any pleasure, “for the boy, unlike a woman, does not share in the pleasures of sex, but gazes, sober, upon one drunk with passion” (eros 8.21).25 Socrates also explicitly rejects the sort of exchange that is at the heart of Pausanias’ version of pederasty. Teachers deserve honor, but if they are stimulated by bodily things they will “always be begging and pleading for a kiss or some other touch,” and act slavishly. Here Socrates apologizes for speaking freely, paradoxically blaming wine and his own passion (eros) with making him an outspoken advocate for chastity. In a characteristically Xenophontic comparison, Socrates says that one who loves the body is like a tenant farmer out to make a quick profit from the land he farms, while one who loves the soul is like a landowner who does all he can to improve his property for the long term. While boys loved for their bodies have no motive to improve themselves, both lovers and beloveds will be motivated to pursue virtue if their relationship is based on nobility of soul (Smp. 8.23–27). After claiming that the male lovers of myth loved souls, not bodies (Smp. 8.28–31), Socrates next says that Pausanias, the lover of the poet Agathon and a defender of “those wallowing in lack of self-control,” thought that a very brave army could be made out of lovers. Socrates, however, asks how it is possible that such shameless men would be ashamed to do anything base on the battlefield. Socrates then attributes to Pausanias the view that the Thebans and Eleans, recognizing the potential of such an army, not only

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have lovers bunk with one another but have them fight side by side. The comparison is not apt, Socrates argues, as customs differ in Athens, where pederastic sex is reproached, while it is approved of in Thebes and Elis. Socrates adds that the decision to have lovers fight side by side shows a lack of confidence in their valor, and contrasts the Spartans, who reject sex between male lovers and so completely educate their beloveds that they are ashamed to abandon their posts even when fighting far away from their lovers (8.32–35; cf. Constitution of the Spartans 2.13–14). Any hopes Callias may have had that Socrates was going to allow for pederastic sex will clearly have been dashed by this point: Xenophon’s Socrates is no Pausanias. But what are we to make of the scrambled allusions to Plato’s Symposium? In Plato it was not Pausanias who spoke of an army of lovers, but Phaedrus, who argued that lovers, fighting side by side, would be so inspired to honorable deeds that they could defeat the rest of the world (Symposium 178e–179a). Plato is normally taken to be making an indirect, anachronistic allusion to the Theban Sacred Band, which was formed not long after 378. Plato’s Pausanias does say that the Boeotians26 and Eleans have a laissez faire attitude toward pederasty (Symposium 182b), but he says nothing of them having armies of lovers. Xenophon connects the dots for us, as it were, clarifying that the army meant is that of the Thebans, and adding a reference to a similar band at Elis, for which he provides our only evidence.27 Perhaps Xenophon was relying on local knowledge from his years at Scillus, near Elis; certainly Xenophon’s version is more obviously anachronistic than that of Plato, who maintains a veneer of historicity by speaking of such an army only as a potentiality. There have been varied takes on the relationship between Xenophon and Plato here, but most agree that Xenophon is responding to Plato’s Symposium.28 The abrupt way in which Xenophon introduces Pausanias at 8.32 appears to rely on readers’ prior knowledge of Plato’s work. Xenophon’s “mistake” in crediting Pausanias, not Phaedrus, with the point about armies of lovers could simply be a lapse in memory (Bowen 1998, 123), but Xenophon quite intentionally had Socrates express diffidence about the distinction between Ouranian and Pandemian Aphrodite. I suggest that Xenophon is flagging various forms of what we would call intertextuality—relationships between his text and Plato’s, and between both texts and the historical reality of male lovers in ancient armies. His more blatant use of anachronism points to the artificial nature of his text, which purports to be an account of a conversation that took place in 422, but alludes to events that happened fifty years later. And his inaccurate allusions to several speeches in Plato’s Symposium show that he is not simply alluding to one speech in Plato’s Symposium, but engaging with the idea that physical relationships between men can be ennobling, an idea shared by the speakers in that dialogue. In Plato’s Symposium, for all the talk of higher things, even Diotima’s ladder of love begins with for the

Xenophon’s Symposium 215 body, and it is this that Xenophon’s Socrates would reject. Socrates’ teaching on love is only slightly modified in Plato’s Phaedrus, where Socrates vividly describes the physical effects of eros on all lovers, and grants an honorable second place to those who consummate it physically (256b–256e). Thus, Xenophon’s specific reference to Pausanias, the clearest cross-reference he ever makes to a Platonic text, clearly marks his dialogue as a response to Plato, while the vagueness of the reference shows that Xenophon was not merely responding to Pausanias. An explicit allusion to Plato himself, or to Plato’s Socrates, would not only discard any last shred of dramatic verisimilitude, but raise apologetic issues. By not coming out and saying that Plato’s Socrates is open to attack on grounds of sexual morality, and instead attacking an interlocutor in Plato, Xenophon can again defend Socrates proleptically, as it were, before objectors can cite Plato’s Socrates against him. Compare how Xenophon transferred the charge about sexual corruption to the Syracusan earlier. Xenophon’s Socrates goes on to say that if Autolycus desires not only to win athletic glory for himself and his father, but to gloriously benefit his friends and his fatherland through his virtue, then Callias can best win his love by learning how to benefit Athens himself, so as to be Autolycus’ best partner for political success. If Callias so wishes, the city would entrust herself to him, given his noble birth and hereditary priesthood, how well he looks the part of a priest, and how well he can endure toil (Smp. 8.37–40). Socrates admits that he has gotten a bit carried away, speaking more seriously than one normally does over wine, but he is passionate about those who have natural gifts and the desire to pursue virtue. While the others discuss what Socrates has said, Autolycus gazes at Callias, and Callias looks to him while asking Socrates if he will pimp him to the city, thereby assuring that Callias will have a successful political career.29 Socrates replies that Callias will succeed, so long as the people see that his pursuit of virtue is no mere show but something real. For a false reputation is soon found out, while true goodness, god willing, always provides quite brilliant fame (8.40–43). Socrates thus suggests that an erotic but non-physical relationship between two men can further the political ambitions of both. But such relationships were also politically risky: anyone who could be plausibly accused of prostituting himself could lose the right to an active political career at Athens, as happened to Demosthenes’ ally Timarchus (Aeschines, Against Timarchus). We do not know if Autolycus pursued a public career, but he did not have long to do so: he was murdered after he dared to fight back when struck by the Spartan governor of Athens under the Thirty.30 Playing the role Xenophon earlier attributed to Hermogenes (Smp. 8.12), I will point out that Socrates praises Callias’ birth and his body, rather than his soul, and that Socrates emphasizes that he is willing to play the pimp only for those who have already made themselves worthy of praise (cf. Mem. 2.6.36). Socrates introduces his praise of Callias’ potential with a μέν

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solitarium, which implies that there is another shoe left to drop: if, on the one hand, you choose to pursue virtue….(8.40).31 The missing “on the other hand” would mark the dangers of what could happen if the relationship was not of the right sort, something the comic poets certainly suggest was the case. Thus here, too, Socrates’ apparent praise is really advice, and advice that was not followed. We shall return to this irony of the Symposium, the failure of Socrates’ advice to take, at the close of this chapter. Socratic erotics in Symposium 8 Thus far, I have concentrated on the negative side of Socrates’ teaching, stressing his arguments against physical love, and the ironic proof of them delivered by Callias’ checkered later life. Yet Socrates also provides a positive view of eros. A key part of his claim is that love for the soul, even absent sex, is still “aphroditic” (ἐπαφρόδιτα 8.15). The proof of this paradoxical claim comes in the mutual affection, philia, that both partners feel for one another. When friendship is shared by both, must they not take pleasure in looking upon each other, speak with one another kindly, trust and be trusted, look out for one another, share pleasure in fine deeds and share the hurt if there is any trouble? Will they not always be happy, if they are together and healthy, so if either is ill, will they not maintain their companionship for a much longer time, and be concerned about each other when they are apart even more than when they are together? Isn’t all of this aphroditic? By acting like this they are both passionate about their friendship (ἐρῶντες τῆς φιλίας) and continue to enjoy it into old age. (Smp. 8.18) Socrates sublimates pederastic eros by denying it the body as an object, and replacing bodily passion with passion (eros) for the soul, for friendship, and for noble deeds (8.10).32 Much of what he says here is in fact parallel with what he says about friendship elsewhere (cf. Mem. 2.4.6, 2.6.35) or indeed about an idealized form of the activity of an hetaira (Mem. 3.11.10). But there is less talk here of the usefulness or value of friends, a major point in Socrates’ teaching on friendship in the Memorabilia (as at 2.4.1, 2.5.1).33 It is the affective aspect of friendships arising from pederasty that mark them out as aphroditic, while speaking of use might land us back in the quid pro quo of conventional pederasty, where the lover trades lessons for sex. A bit later Socrates does speak of the lover improving his beloved, contrasting the improvements made by an owner with the short-term calculations of the renter (Smp. 8.25). But this quickly becomes mutual self-improvement, as both lover and beloved must improve themselves to reach their real desire,

Xenophon’s Symposium 217 which is a lasting friendship (Smp. 8.26). Mutuality is thus a vital aspect of the right sort of eros, for Socrates, and the absence of mutuality is one of the central flaws in conventional physical relationships between men. Socrates’ teaching in Symposium 8 is essentially that he gives in Memorabilia 2.6: to win friends—as to keep them—one must first improve oneself. There too Socrates lays claim to expertise in erotics, and most particularly to the ability to inspire mutual affection in those he relishes himself (Mem. 2.6.28). In Memorabilia 2.6 Socrates appears to eroticize friendship; in the Symposium he sublimates eros into friendship.34 In the Oeconomicus, Xenophon points toward an understanding of marriage that would result in a mutually beneficial and affectionate relationship between husband and wife. Thus philia can take varied forms, originating in non-erotic relationships among peers, in erotically charged relationships between older and younger men, or in marriage. There will be differences between these various relationships. Carnality is a threat to erotic relationships between men. Friendship may devolve into mere use-friendship. And, given the pervasive sexism of the Greeks, the benefits of married love may be limited by the perceived limits on women’s ability to be full partners. But the basic teaching is the same: mutual affection can motivate self-improvement. Xenophon’s Symposium thus shows how affectionate relationships between men can promote mutual self-improvement; the abstinence teaching is not an end in itself but a means to this higher form of philia. Sex and Socrates Our survey of Socrates’ teaching on eros has thus far shown how he transforms Pausanias’ idealized but still corporeal pederasty, with its exchange of sex for wisdom, into a non-corporeal love that inspires each partner to better himself. But it is time to descend again from love to sex, for it is not always easy to square Symposium 8 with what Socrates says and does elsewhere in Xenophon. It is usually said that Xenophon’s Socrates rules out all sexual intercourse between men.35 This position is consistent with what Socrates says in Symposium 8, but other passages complicate matters. In a series of three articles, Clifford Hindley explains these apparent inconsistencies by arguing that Xenophon himself disagreed with Socrates about pederastic sex (Hindley 1994, 1999, 2004). In Hindley’s view, Xenophon, while fully aware of the dangers of eros between men, also recognizes a place for noble eros between men that includes a physical relationship. Hindley argues that sometimes Xenophon’s own views peak out from behind his Socrates. Others argue that Xenophon’s Socrates himself is not the sexual ascetic that he has been taken to be, but that Xenophon treats this delicately, for apologetic reasons. Gabriel Danzig argues that Xenophon attempts to do two things at once: he defends Socrates against the charge that he sexually corrupted the youth, but also leaves hints that Socrates was a successful

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seducer of the young.36 For Socrates was attacked not only for corrupting the youth, but for living a miserable life, most notably in the Clouds (cf. Mem. 1.6). Socrates’ success as a bon vivant would meet this other charge. Danzig fully recognizes that these two layers of defense are in tension with one another, but notes that it would hardly be unprecedented for people to both condemn and admire successful seduction (2004, 56). I will argue that Socrates’ position is neither inconsistent with that of Xenophon (Hindley) nor hypocritical (Danzig), but is rather more complex than has been realized, because his advice for people lacking self-mastery differs from his views for those with self-mastery, and because he makes a distinction between troublesome and untroublesome sexual partners. Does Socrates practice what he preaches? When Socrates defends his rather limited success in weaning Critobulus from his beloved Cleinias, Charmides counterattacks: “But just why is it, Socrates, that you scare us, your friends, away from the beauties, while I saw you yourself, by Apollo, when the two of you were at the schoolmaster’s and looking for something in the same book, you resting your head on Critobulus’ head, and your bare shoulder on his bare shoulder?!” And Socrates said, “Ah, so that’s what it was! My shoulder hurt for more than five days afterwards, just as if I had been bit by some beast, and I thought my heart was on fire. Well,” he said, “I now proclaim to you, Critobulus, in the presence of all these witnesses, that you are not to touch me until your chin is as hairy as your head is.” And thus they mixed joking with seriousness. (Smp. 4.27–28) Charmides is perhaps jealous, or playing jealous, as there was a time when Socrates appeared to be flustered by him rather than by Critobulus (cf. Charmides 155d–e with Danzig 2004, 25). Socrates for his part claims to have suffered for days after his encounter with Critobulus, but without recognizing the source of his suffering. His sudden discovery of his infatuation with Critobulus is therefore quite suspicious; contrast Critobulus, who is never able to get Cleinias off of his mind (Smp. 4.21–22). Xenophon’s comment about the mixture of seriousness and play confirms that suspicion: Socrates is in no more danger of falling desperately in love with Critobulus than he was in danger of having sex with Alcibiades. Danzig argues that the beauty contest of Symposium (4.19–20, 5.1–9) features a “stinging attack on Socrates’ reputation as a seducer of young men” (2004, 33), as it shows Socrates eagerly contesting for the prize for the winner of that contest, kisses from the beautiful young performers in the Syracusan’s troupe. But while Socrates’ arguments convince even Critobulus, who had prided himself on his beauty, that Socrates is more

Xenophon’s Symposium 219 beautiful than he is, when the argument is over it is Socrates who has a lamp brought up close to Critobulus to ensure that the judges see who is really more beautiful (Smp. 5.9). He thus throws the contest to Critobulus. And it is also Socrates who arranges, while throwing the contest to Critobulus, that the prize in the contest be not garlands but kisses—so until Socrates’ intervention, there was no clear reason to think kisses were the prize. As a matter of fact, we never learn if Critobulus gets his kisses, as Xenophon leaves us with the guests debating whether Critobulus should just claim them or persuade their guardian, the Syracusan, to allow this, as well as making other jests (6.1). We never learn if Critobulus gets his kisses because these kisses do not matter. Some kisses, however, are more dangerous than others. The Syracusan’s slave performers are lovely, but they are also slaves whose master is unlikely to part with them: they therefore pose no risk of causing long-term infatuation. With noble youths the stakes are higher. Xenophon himself provides a case in point. While Xenophon often claims to have witnessed Socratic conversations, in his Socratic works he takes part in only one, that in which Socrates calls him an idiot (μῶρε) and tries to convince him that kissing noble young beauties is a dangerous proposition (Mem. 1.3.8–15). The young Xenophon doesn’t buy it. His mistake is to be eager, following the example of Critobulus, to kiss Alcibiades Jr, who had inherited his father’s great beauty. But the kisses of the fair, Socrates warns him, are as dangerous as the worst spider’s bite, and they can spread their poison to anyone who sees them. Best for Xenophon, then, to avoid the good-looking altogether, and for Critobulus to banish himself from the young Alcibiades for at least a year (Mem. 1.3.8–13). In the Symposium, Socrates similarly says that “one who is going to be able to be moderate” should avoid the kisses of the young (4.26). One rather suspects that Xenophon failed to follow this advice, as he failed to follow Socrates’ advice about the expedition with Cyrus (Anab. 3.5–7). Certainly, if that example is any parallel, and it is correct to read that story as showing Xenophon’s youthful folly, we ought not simply assume that Xenophon the author agrees with his younger self as presented here. As he puts it elsewhere, “those who listened to Socrates did well, while those who did not regretted it” (Mem. 1.1.4; cf. Danzig 2010, 261). Socrates does not, however, rule out sex altogether, as Xenophon makes clear after the lesson about kisses in the Memorabilia. And this is how he thought those who were not free from mistakes regarding sex ought to have sex: with those that the soul would not accept, if the body were not in great need, and who would not provide any trouble when the body was in need. (Mem. 1.3.14)

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Socrates thus distinguishes between two forms of pederasty. Those with adequate self-mastery are presumably to follow the ideal Socrates advocates for in Symposium 8. But those without such self-mastery get different advice. Their desire for sex should be treated like that for food and drink, desires discussed just before the passages on kisses (Mem. 1.3.1–8). One should hold off from sex for as long as one can, just as one withstands hunger or thirst. And even when the body is “in great need,” one should meet one’s desires in a way that requires little trouble—little distraction from more worthy pursuits. So in ruling out the kisses of the fair Socrates does not rule out kisses, and more, with those less fair, any more than he rules out eating and drinking. The comparison with food and drink will have its limits, as we shall see, but at least for those without complete selfmastery, the basic analogy holds: avoid obsessing over luxury goods, and sate your desire, when it becomes humanly impossible to resist it any longer, via easily attainable means. In the Symposium, Antisthenes applies similar logic to his relationships with women. And whenever my body needs sex, what’s at hand suffices for me so much that the women I go to welcome me very warmly, since no one else is willing to approach them. (Smp. 4.38) Elsewhere Antisthenes is credited with chiding an adulterer for failing to spend the paltry sum needed to avoid his crime (SSR VA.60 = D.L. 6.4). Xenophon similarly has Socrates note how foolishly adulterers act, as they risk the most abusive treatment if caught, when there are many who can meet their desire without any risk (Mem. 2.1.5). Socrates also tells his son that it was not for the sake of sex that people marry, for the streets and brothels of Athens are full of those willing to meet one’s sexual needs (Mem. 2.2.4). If the advice here sounds conventional, it is. It resembles the famous advice of Cato the Elder, who is said to have praised a young man for visiting a brothel rather than going after other men’s wives (apud Horace, Satires 1.2.31–35). Socrates’ advice also has a good deal in common with that we find the speech Against Timarchus, delivered in 346/5 by the orator Aeshines, in which Aeschines successfully argued that Timarchus, Demosthenes’ ally, had prostituted himself as a youth and thus was debarred by law from an active role in Athenian political life. At the end of the speech, Aeschines gives some gratuitous advice to the various sorts of unsavory characters who, he says, will speak up for Timarchus. Among them are “some of the immoderate who unstintingly make use of people of this sort,” that is, indulge themselves with young men like Timarchus was in his youth (Against Timarchus 194). He urges the jury to instruct them as follows:

Xenophon’s Symposium 221 Tell those who are hunters of youths who are easily captured to turn to foreigners and metics, so that they may not be deprived of what they have chosen and you may not be harmed. (Against Timarchus 195) By pursuing only foreigners and metics as sexual partners, such lovers would avoid the citizen youths who may someday wish to take an active role in public life, while still indulging in the sort of sexual activity they prefer. The harm that would come to the jury would presumably consist in the corruption of young members of the citizen body—perhaps members of their own families. So the orator Aeschines’ advice for those who, unlike himself, lack adequate self-control is very similar to that given by Socrates and Antisthenes: seek out sexual partners of low status. Aeschines also argues that it was possible for a better sort of man to take a male lover in a way that corrupted neither party—he indeed must do so, as he himself appears to have been quite active in such love affairs. Thus, Aeschines recognizes higher and lower forms of pederasty. In this he resembles both Socrates and Pausanias, but the differences among the three are also noteworthy, and here we see that Socrates’ views are not simply conventional. For Aeschines, the key factor is not love for soul versus love of body, but the presence or absence of monetary compensation, in keeping with the Athenian law he uses to prosecute Timarchus (Against Timarchus 137). While Aeschines repeatedly hints that a certain sex act, presumably anal penetration, was beyond the pale, he does not rule out other forms of bodily pleasure.37 He also happily confesses to making a nuisance of himself in the gymnasia, loving many youths, writing erotic poetry, and being engaged in lovers’ quarrels (Against Timarchus 1.135–136). He is thus comfortable with some of the downsides of pederasty, including its potentially obsessive nature, and the quarrels it can generate. Indeed, the difficulties eros imposes are for Aeschines the guarantee that it has not devolved into prostitution: it is only those with adequate self-mastery who will bother to pursue youths who are hard to get. But Aeschines’ pederastic ideal is quite distinct from those of Socrates or Pausanias. Aeschines portrays himself as a man with many lovers, who still haunts the gymnasia in his middle age, rather than as having developed any long-lasting relationships. He does not speak of mentoring his love interests, much less of mutual self-improvement. In both these respects, he differs from both Socrates and Pausanias. Aeschines does consider the ethical condition of his beloveds; they are youths who, unlike Timarchus, have not made it their choice to exchange sex for money. And he himself has enough self-mastery not to pursue youths who are too readily caught. But the relevant character traits were formed before their love affairs began, rather than being shaped by those love affairs. The most obvious way that Socrates’ ideal pederasty differs from those of Aeschines and Pausanias is that Socrates calls for abstinence. But there are

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other differences as well. Where Aeschines welcomes (or at least accepts) lovers’ quarrels and obsessive pursuit of the youth even in the higher sort of pederasty, Socrates warns against it even for the lower sort of pederasty, when he calls on those without adequate self-mastery to avoid any erotic physical contact with young beauties who could cause problems, above all by becoming objects of obsession, as Cleinias was for Critobulus. Socrates also worries that the pursuit of promising young men would produce rivalry with others who are also attracted to the young beauty in question. This seems to be the concern at Memorabilia 2.6.22, where Socrates says that kalokagathoi can manage to avoid such quarrels, whereas others cannot. Rivalries over boys were certainly a problem among the 10,000 (Anab. 5.8.4). More importantly, as we have seen, Socrates argues that a physical relationship would rob both parties of the possibility for a lasting friendship, a friendship which would benefit both parties and allow each to better serve the city. Aeschines worries only that a monetized physical relationship would bar the youth from an active life in politics. Aeschines spoke to a popular jury and had to connect his argument to the Athenian law debarring those who had prostituted themselves from active political life. He also relied on shared attitudes about sexuality that allowed for both noble and ignoble forms of pederasty.38 Comparison with Aeschines, then, shows that there was nothing unusual about Xenophon Socrates allowing for less idealized sex with low-status partners, perhaps on a paid basis, while also promoting a higher form of erotic relationship for those people capable of pursuing it. So there is no reason to posit conflict between Xenophon’s views and those of his Socrates, or to see Xenophon’s Socrates as a hypocrite. The very different grounds for what makes a relationship higher rather than lower, moreover, show that the sexual morality of Xenophon’s Socrates is not simply conventional. Socrates can safely flirt with respectable young beauties like Critobulus, without risk of obsession or undue temptation. Socrates himself does not find the presence of the beautiful difficult. The beautiful Critobulus is his most frequent conversation partner in Xenophon; he appears twice in the Memorabilia (1.3.8–13; 2.6), is a major character in the Symposium, and is Socrates’ sole interlocutor in the Oeconomicus. Socrates’ is similarly both attracted to and completely capable of resisting the attractions of the glamorous hetaira Theodote (Mem. 3.11). He says there that he is quite willing to have her pay a call on him in what would be a more intimate setting, since he will only see her, after all, if none of his usual “girls” is around. This so long as it is clear that it is she that is wooing him, and not the other way around. So while Socrates included himself when noting how excited and filled with longing he and his comrades were after seeing her pose (Mem. 3.11.3), by the end of his encounter he has turned the tables on her, making himself the pursued. He appears to have no objection to having her pay him a visit—save for the fact that he has better things to do with his “girls,” his companions, who have learned how to attract him just as he

Xenophon’s Symposium 223 once attracted them. They are dearer to him because Socrates prefers the company of his philosophical companions to that of a glamorous hetaira. Compare the Socratic Aristippus, who famously consorted with Lais, the grand Corinthian hetaira. Questioned about this, Aristippus said that the problem wasn’t going to visit a hetaira, but not being able to leave her (SSR IVA.87; D.L. 2.87). It wasn’t she who had him, but he who had her; the best thing was to master pleasures and not be bested by them, not to avoid them (SSR IVA.96; D.L. 2.74–75). Xenophon’s Socrates, though he is no fan of Aristippus, may not have had any ethical qualms about this course of action—all depends on whether Aristippus actually had enough selfmastery not to be mastered by Lais even when he paid her a visit. For many of the concerns about physical relationships between men and youths that Socrates outlines in Symposium 8 are gendered. Women, unlike boys, get pleasure out of sex with men; thus sex, or at least the pleasures it offers, need not be as asymmetrical as it is in a relationship between a man and a youth. Nor is age difference as central to the ideology of heterosexual sex. The stakes are also lower, as, despite exceptional cases like Aspasia, even the Socratics do not routinely concern themselves with long-lasting friendships with women. Thus, sex with a hetaira is less problematized from the beginning, and given the limitations on non-sexual friendships between men and women in antiquity, there is less reason to be concerned about any lost chance for an enduring friendship. Xenophon’s Socrates does not, therefore, deliver a speech rejecting sex with Theodote. But neither does he appear to have become one of Theodote’s “friends.” Yet if sex is to be parallel at all with food and drink, Socrates must be allowed some erotic pleasure, and at least as much as others get. This is suggested by the conclusion Xenophon draws at the end of Memorabilia 1.3. Concerning food and drink and sex he was this well conditioned, and he believed that his pleasures were no less satisfying to him than those of people who took much trouble about such things, while his pains were far less. (Mem. 1.3.15) Just how Socrates gets his kicks is revealed in Symposium 8, where, as we have seen, he emphasizes that spiritual love is “aphroditic” (ἐπαφρόδιτα 8.15; cf. Hier. 1.35). That is, Socrates argues, paradoxically, that one can meet one’s desire for what Aphrodite has to offer without sex. Socrates enjoys the companionship of his young friends in part because they are young and beautiful; but for one in complete control of their desires, this is an innocent pleasure, one which can remain at the level of sight and hearing and not stoop to touch, or at least not to any touching of the sort that wouldn’t be proper between parents and children. Hence, for one like Socrates the parallel between sex and the pleasures of food and drink only

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partially holds. In both the erotic and dietary realms, Socrates is able to enjoy the finest dishes without risk, but while he consumes food and drink, fine or humble, in moderation, without losing his self-mastery, he apparently has no need for bodily consummation in the erotic realm, at least with young men. One can, after all, make do without sex, unlike food and drink, as the poet Simonides, speaking to the tyrant Hiero, says of many who are “considered to be real men” (Hier. 2.1). Socrates was a charmer who appreciated young male beauty when he saw it, took pleasure in the beauty of the young men he associated with, and went as far as to enjoy touching them on occasion, so long as those touches were the sort that parents and children could innocently exchange. Plato’s Socrates does not kick Alcibiades off of his couch, nor does Xenophon’s Socrates avoid rubbing shoulders with Critobulus. He may well sometimes take delight in steering attractive young men away from potential rivals, as he did by attacking Critias’ pursuit of Euthydemus (Danzig 2010, 168–169). We are often told of the beauty of Socrates’ associates (Alcibiades, Critobulus, Euthydemus, Charmides). And we do not hear of any ugly followers of Socrates. But neither do we ever hear of Socrates’ turning away any would-be associate on the ground of bad looks.39 And the youth and intellectual interests of these young men surely contributed much to their beauty. Socrates recognized that those with less self-mastery than he would not be able to enjoy these innocent pleasures without stoking their desire for guilty ones, and thus counseled them to act differently. They were to avoid any physical contact whatsoever with anyone with whom they could become obsessed, and even to avoid their presence, rather as in the Cyropaedia Xenophon’s Cyrus long avoids Pantheia, the most beautiful woman in all of Asia. When desire for sex becomes pressing, such men were to sate it in the way least likely to cause themselves, or anyone else—at least anyone else of high social status—any difficulty. We may not applaud a sexual ethic that discriminates among people by status, treating some as safe sexual partners without any concern for their wellbeing. But it would be anachronistic to expect Socrates to object to everything we find morally objectionable in a practice like prostitution. Even the advice that Socrates did give was not always followed: Critobulus, Socrates’ most common interlocutor in Xenophon’s Socratic works, was still smitten by Cleinias. But this failure shows neither that Xenophon agreed with Critobulus nor that Socrates agreed with Critobulus. Socrates also failed, in the end, to teach Alcibiades or Critias moderation in sexual matters. But for those with adequate self-mastery, Socrates developed a sexual ethic that could inspire them to make their mutual attraction a motivation for self-improvement. This includes improvement in political potential (cf. Mem. 1.6.15), the area where Socrates expressed hope that Callias and Autolycus could improve one another. Socrates’ attitude toward sex is another example of the value Xenophon puts on self-mastery. He does not believe that the goal for ethics is the state in which one’s desires are

Xenophon’s Symposium 225 perfectly aligned with one’s judgment about what is right for one to do—otherwise one would have no need of self-mastery after acquiring virtue. It is only human nature for some conflict to remain between what one finds attractive and what one judges the right thing to do. For one with the self-mastery of Socrates, this conflict is not problematic; it may in fact be pleasant in its own way. Xenophon’s erotic teaching lacks the metaphysical grandeur of Plato’s accounts of eros in the Symposium and Phaedrus, true enough, but when it comes to earthly temptations and how to deal with them, Xenophon provides a far clearer account of “Platonic love” than anything we find in Plato.

The irony of Xenophon’s Symposium Thus, Xenophon’s Socrates offers a consistent teaching on sexual morality that culminates in his speech on eros in chapter eight of the Symposium. But Xenophon’s Symposium does not end with Socrates’ great speech, any more than Plato’s Symposium ends with Socrates and Diotima. Instead, the Syracusan reappears. He had left at the end of chapter seven to arrange, following Socrates’ instructions, a performance in which the boy and girl would “dance, to the music of the aulos, the poses in which the Graces and Horae and Nymphs are depicted” (Smp. 7.5). He instead seizes his chance to regain the central role he had lost to Socrates, and announces that he will present a scene taking place in the bedroom of Dionysus and Ariadne (9.2). The lovely slave girl enters, playing Ariadne, and when the sound of the aulos playing a Bacchic tune announces that Dionysus’ arrival is imminent, she can hardly restrain her eagerness for him to enter. Enter he does, dancing over to her; he sits on her lap, kisses her; the two then stand up for more kisses and embraces—and it appears to all that these are no mere stage kisses, but the real thing. When Dionysus asks her if she loves him, and she swears that she does, all the guests are ready to swear that the two truly love one another. As Dionysus and Ariadne go off, Xenophon says that the unmarried guests swear that they will marry, while their married comrades mount their horses, which have conveniently and rather comically appeared, and gallop off to enjoy the company of their wives. But we soon learn, in the last lines of the Symposium, that there were exceptions to this rule. But Socrates and the others who remained behind went off with Callias to join Lycon and his son Autolycus for a walk. This was how the symposium broke up. So the married Socrates does not gallop off to hop into bed with his difficult wife, Xanthippe (Smp. 2.10), but instead accompanies Callias as he goes to join Lycon and Autolycus on their walk. How much are we to make the discrepancy between what Socrates suggested and what the Syracusan offered? It is true enough that the Graces,

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Horae, and Nymphs were often connected with Dionysus. And certainly the show the Syracusan presents does please the guests, and seems to be a pleasant experience for the actors as well, both things Socrates suggested. But given the rivalry between Socrates and the Syracusan, the changes are presumably significant. While the Graces, Horae, and Nymphs are lovely and erotic, the scene between Dionysus and Ariadne is far more passionate than the sort of tableau Socrates had suggested, and with it the Syracusan steals the show from Socrates, at least as far as most of the guests are concerned.40 Wohl (2004, 354–363) clearly presents the various options for how to read what she calls the final “floor show” (337). We can, on the one hand, argue that the final dance, racy as it may seem, is actually in accord with the rest of the Symposium. The marriage of Dionysus played a central role in Athenian cult, and the final scene leads the guests at this symposium to rush home to their wives rather than turning to the sort of rowdy revelry we see at the end of a symposium in Aristophanes Wasps. Socrates’ chaste variety of pederasty thus leaves ample space for heterosexual passion at home, which will lead to the birth of new citizens. And the mutual love between the girl and boy reflects Socrates’ emphasis on reciprocity, albeit of a noncarnal variety, between his ideal lovers. Thus, both forms of eros have their place, and both help the polis to function: non-corporeal pederasty breeds good character, while marriage breeds new Athenians. But if the final dance can be reconciled with the rest of the Symposium, that reconciliation is not staged by Socrates himself. This is the Syracusan’s show, and it is a very bodily show indeed, and hence an implicit repudiation of what Socrates has just been arguing. Higgins (1977, 19) puts it well: “The spell of Socrates is broken.” Socrates is not among the husbands to rush home to his wife, whom Antisthenes had described earlier in the Symposium as “the most difficult woman alive, and also, I think, of those who have been or shall be” (2.10). Socrates did not challenge the description in his response, saying that he had chosen her out of his belief that if he could manage to deal with her, he could deal with anyone. Perhaps Socrates did manage to deal with Xanthippe, whom he does defend, in a manner of speaking, to his son in Memorabilia 2.2. He was also the father of young sons at the time of his death at the age of 70.41 But Socrates’ odd marriage is part of the irony of the work. Not only did Socrates fail to make himself attractive to all the citizens of Athens, as the events of 399 showed rather clearly: he could not even pimp himself to his own wife. “His relation to Xanthippe is the comic equivalent of his relation to the city” (Strauss 1972, 178). Nor did Socrates succeed in elevating Callias’ relationship with Autolycus, or in inspiring Callias to make himself useful to the city, as that relationship would be grounds for comic scandal, and Callias would prove himself a vain and foolish man. It would be wrong, however, to so focus on Socratic ironies and failures that we lose sight of Socrates’ multiple successes in his peculiar sort of

Xenophon’s Symposium 227 pimping. Socrates inspired a gifted set of followers to desire to emulate him, including by the production of many dozens, if not hundreds, of Socratic dialogues. When Xenophon was writing, his readers had before them multiple examples of loving portrayals of Socrates at work and play. Socrates clearly was attractive to a wide variety of men, from the ascetic Antisthenes to the hedonist Aristippus, not to mention the practical Xenophon and the philosophic Plato. Xenophon’s Symposium, I have argued, is in large part a response to Plato’s Symposium. The closing scenes of the two dialogues are a case in point. The surprise ending of Xenophon’s Symposium will remind us of Alcibiades’ surprising entrance late in Plato’s Symposium (212d). Alcibiades disrupted the party, leading the guests to get just as drunk as he was—all save Socrates, who is immune to intoxication. He did not displace Socrates as the central figure, however, as the Syracusan appears to have marginalized Socrates, for Alcibiades’ speech, while self-indulgent, is all about Socrates. A central theme in Alcibiades’ speech is Socrates’ rejection of his advances, part of Socrates’ amazing ability to withstand pain and desire (cf. 220a in particular). A wider point is the striking contrast between Alcibiades’ view of eros and Socrates’ view. It is not simply that Alcibiades mistakenly thought that Socrates wanted to have sex with him, but that Alcibiades considered Socrates someone absolutely unique. This is to miss the central lesson of Diotima’s teaching on love, which leads upward via a series of generalizations until the final love for beauty itself. Alcibiades caught sight of the divine images within Socrates, but he was not able to generalize from his love for Socrates to a love of the sort Socrates would have had him adopt. In some ways, Alcibiades’ speech in Plato’s Symposium gives us the most Xenophontic version of Socrates in Plato, given its stress on his selfmastery. Alcibiades’ also stresses Socrates’ military virtues, something one would have thought appealing to Xenophon who, however, does not dwell on Socrates’ military exploits himself.42 But in other ways, Plato’s Socrates could not be more different. He is sometimes mysteriously lost in thought, and his self-mastery is equally mysterious, taking the form of a supernatural lack of susceptibility to cold, hunger, sleep, or sex. What Plato’s Alcibiades presents as unique features of Socrates’ makeup, Xenophon has Socrates strive to impart to his companions. Plato’s Socrates also could provide Alcibiades with no assistance for the political life that seduced him, took him away from Socrates, and ultimately destroyed him. Xenophon’s Symposium, in other words, solves the Alcibiades problem left for us by Plato’s Symposium, by presenting a theory of eros that both explains why eros cannot be bodily if it is to be noble, and how, if it is noble, it can lead one to a successful career in public life. But the final scene of Xenophon’s work may leave us with another problem, essentially the problem of marital love. To understand Xenophon’s full response to that, we will have to consider what the Oeconomicus has to tell us about marriage.

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Notes 1 This perhaps should not go without saying: I am not arguing that abstinence from sex between male partners is more moral than the alternative. My point is rather that Xenophon provides Socrates with a clearer justification for abstinence as an ideal than Plato does. Xenophon’s argument is, naturally enough, based on ancient Greek mores about sexual activity, many of which are distant from our own conceptions of sexual morality. My argument that Xenophon builds a clearer argument based on those mores than Plato does is not meant as an endorsement of those mores or of Xenophon’s conclusion. 2 Danzig (2004, 24–27); for proper behavior at symposia, see also Hobden (2004). 3 So Dover (1978, 159); Huss (1999a, 395); Hindley (1999, 79–80, 82; 2004, 125). 4 For related readings of the beauty contest, see Higgins (1977, 19) and Danzig (2004, 40–41). 5 So Huss (1999a, 305). Huss notes four appearances on one Stephanus page of the Phaedo (71), and there are numerous smaller clusters. The combination appears 317 times in Plato, and 41 times in Xenophon (including the seven in this passage). 6 Prince (2006) provides a clear introduction to Antisthenes; Prince (2015) provides a translation and full commentary on the fragments of Antisthenes’ writings. 7 For guesses as to the identity of these figures, see Prince (2015, 56) and Huss (1999a, 314). The most likely figure from Heracleia is the painter Zeuxis, who is mentioned at Mem. 1.4.3, Oec. 10.1, and Protagoras 318b–c. But as the last passage makes clear, his expertise was limited to painting, which would make him an odd companion for Socrates, and we lack any other anecdotes connecting the two, which is odd given the fame attached to both. For Aeschylus of Phlius, there is only one scholarly guess, an astronomer by that name, whose relationship with Socrates would be rather surprising given Socrates’ attitude toward astronomy at Mem. 4.7.4–7. Thus, even our best guesses for the identities of these figures would render Socrates’ remarks highly ironic—Antisthenes may have provided introductions to two men with whom Socrates had little in common. 8 On the dancing Socrates, see Huss (1999b) and Wohl (2004). 9 For similar sentiments in Plato, see Socrates’ remarks at Protagoras 347c–348a and Eryximachus’ remark at Symposium 176d. 10 On the status of illegitimate sons in Athens, see Kamen (2013, 62–70). 11 So Danzig (2010, 151–152), citing Lysias 1.16–17; Magna Moralia 1.15.1188b18–19; Aeschines, Against Timarchus 43. 12 Cf. Apology 19, where a list of the corruptions of the youth moves from impiety, through hubris, gluttony, drunkenness, and softness regarding toil, to “being overcome by another bad desire.” The more euphemistic language here is presumably influenced by the public context of the speech. 13 Wohl (2004, 352 with note 36) posits a further parallel between the Syracusan and Lycon by assuming that the Syracusan’s “boy” (pais) is his son. But pais is often used of slaves, and we do not need to go this far to draw parallels between the Syracusan and his boy and Lycon and his son. 14 For sketches of the lives of the characters, see Bowen (1998, 10–11) and Nails (2002). 15 For skepticism about identifying Cyrus with Xenophon’s point of view here, see Gera (1993, 92), Tatum (1989, 145), and Johnson (2019, 164–168). 16 Doubters about the identity of Lycon include Bowen (1998, 10n32) and Hansen (1995, 33–34 and Appendix 3, but cf. 2002, 156–157). Huss (1999a, 41n46) and Nails (2002, 189) accept the identification.

Xenophon’s Symposium 229 17 Calder (1983) believes that many of Xenophon’s uses of the oath lack the nuance of feigned admiration he finds in Plato, but grants that the oath is used in that way at Mem. 3.11.5, 4.2.9, and 4.4.8. I would say that the oath is clearly more than a bland variant on “by Zeus” at Smp. 4.45 (Callias pretends to admire Antisthenes’ form of wealth) and Oec. 10.1 (Socrates admires the masculine mind of Ischomachus’ wife). Nuance is subtler (and thus less certain) at Mem. 1.5.5 (Socrates’ adopts the perspective of an immoderate man?); Mem. 3.10.9 (Socrates is effetely ignorant of armor?); and Oec. 11.19 (the effete Socrates praises Ischomachus’ manly regimen?). 18 On Callias and his connections, see Nails (2002, 68–74, 94–95, 173–174, 176–178). 19 For speculative attempts to reconstruct these plays, see Storey (2003). I attempt to stick to what can be clearly known from our fragments. Translations of the fragments are taken from Rusten (2011). 20 Autolycus is literally said to be “Eutresian” (Εὐτρήσιος), but he was not from Eutresis (an obscure town in backward Arcadia) but rather thought to be easily penetrated (from εὐ “well” + τρητός “pierced”). 21 As by Dover (1978, 147) and Huss (1999a, 39–40). But contrast Bowen (1998, 13–14); Tuplin (1993, 104–105 and 1993, 177–178); and Danzig (2004, 29–30). Halliwell argues for a more ambivalent reading of Socrates’ exchanges with Callias and indeed of the humor of the Symposium as a whole (2008, 139–154). 22 Kamen (2013, 69–70) says that “one can easily imagine a tense relationship” between legitimate and illegitimate half-siblings, though she cites evidence only for poor relations between natural sons and their father’s legitimate wives. 23 There is a dispute about the text of Symposium 8.14, which is commonly emended to suggest the possibility of love for both body and soul; I follow Huss (1999a, 378–379) in sticking with the manuscript text. 24 Van Berkel (2020, 330–405) emphasizes the ways in which Socratic seduction is to differ from market transactions like those of the sophists; the long-term horizon is one key element in her analysis. 25 The absence of any sign of pleasure on behalf of a boy who is the passive partner in sex with a man was a central finding of Dover’s work on Greek homosexuality (1989, esp. 52; cf. Halperin 1990, 129–137). More recently, Lear and Cantarella (2008) confirm the ideal that boys did not enjoy sex with men, at least in the idealized iconography of vase-painting; they also note that such iconography presents the boys respectfully, including while having sex—the vases are far more in tune with Pausanias than with Socrates about the impact of sex on beloved boys. 26 Thebes was the leading polis in Boeotia, and the term “Boeotian” was sometimes used interchangeably with “Theban.” Presumably sexual customs were shared among Boeotians, but only Thebes (among Boeotians) had a Sacred Band of warriors. 27 Hellenica 7.4.13 speaks of two elite units of Eleans, the 300 and the 400, but does not describe them as lovers, or as a sacred band. On the Elean band, see Davidson (2007, 426–447). 28 For the various views, see Huss (1999a, 372, 415–417). While Thesleff (1978) and Danzig (2005) argue that Xenophon wrote an early version of the Symposium lacking chapter eight, they agree that chapter eight itself responds to Plato’s Symposium. 29 Danzig (2017a, 146–147) takes this to show that Callias was not disappointed by Socrates’ speech, but he may simply be making the best of it he can. As Autolycus gazes (κατεθεᾶτο) at him, Callias looks at Autolycus out of the corner

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of his eye (παρορῶν εἰς ἐκεῖνον) while addressing his remarks to Socrates. That is, Callias’ remarks were really meant for Autolycus: he was not simply telling Socrates what he thought of the speech, but telling Socrates what he wanted Autolycus to believe he thought of the speech. Diodorus Siculus (14.5.7), when reporting that the Thirty murdered Autolycus, says that he was “an outspoken man” (ἄνδρα παρρησιαστήν). This could be taken to imply a public career, but could also refer to criticism of the Thirty outside of the political arena. Strauss (1972, 176) makes the point about praise of external features; on the μέν solitarium, see Huss (1999a, 433). Thomsen (2001) eloquently makes the case for this “Triple Eros” and for a “non-intercourse, yet pro-pleasure eros” (150), but underplays the very clear rejection of bodily love in Symposium 8. On utility and friendship, see van Berkel (2010, 2018, 2020). For a recent effort to explain the overlap between philia and eros, see Van Berkel (2020, 357–364). Dover (1978, 159); Huss (1999, 395); Hindley (1999, 79–80, 82; 2004, 125). Danzig (2004; 2010, 151–199; 2017a, 148–150) (the last somewhat less assertively); cf. Thomsen (2001). There is a great deal of dispute about whether the precise act (anal penetration) or the lack of self-control was emasculating. Fisher (2001, 339–341; cf. 42–44, 173–174) argues that penetration is at least part of the problem when Aeschines attacks Timarchus for “committing womanly misdeeds” with his male body (185). In Xenophon, Prodicus’ Virtue may make a similar distinction when she attacks Vice: “you force sex before you need it, leaving nothing untried and treating men as women” (Mem. 1.2.30). See Fisher (2001, 53–68), who rejects efforts to treat views on sexuality in the case as a stand-in for politics or to distinguish Aeschines’ views from those of non-elite jurors. An anonymous reader wisely reminds me of Charmides 154b, where we learn that Socrates finds pretty much every youth beautiful, and Republic 5.474d–e, where the true lover of boys finds all boys in bloom attractive. Huss (1999a, 352–352, 438–439) downplays the differences between what Socrates suggests and what the Syracusan delivers, chalking them up to the “artistic license” of the Syracusan (352). Higgins (1977, 19) and Wohl (2004, 356–360) make rather more of the contrast. Two of his three sons are still “boys” (paides) in 399 (Plato, Apology 34d). Xenophon’s only mention of Socrates’ military service is a passing reference at Memorabilia 4.4.1. I plan to address Xenophon’s reticence about Socratic courage in a forthcoming publication. Part of the story is that Xenophon does not consider courage the central ingredient in military success. Piety, selfmastery, intelligent tactics, and superior leadership are at least as important.

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[Socrates] “The smallest of the evils they [the guardians] would be freed of I hesitate even to mention, given the unseemliness of such things: flattery of the rich by the poor, the perplexities and pains of child-rearing and the moneymaking demanded to support a household, borrowing this, paying that back, handing over whatever one acquires to women and slaves, giving it to them to manage—all the things, my friend, that people go through concerning such things are obvious, ignoble and not worth mentioning.” “They’re obvious,” he [Glaucon] said, “even to a blind man.” (Republic 5.465b–c)

Xenophon’s Oeconomicus is something of a labyrinth. It is certainly strange to overhear Socrates speaking at considerable length about topics his most famous student would have him say were not worth mentioning.1 The dialogue also features a complex embedded structure, in which we hear Socrates reporting his conversation with the gentleman and farmer Ischomachus to his decidedly uneconomic companion, Critobulus. My hypothesis in this chapter is that this embedded structure is the key to understanding what Xenophon is about in this work. We must read the Oeconomicus first as a lesson for Critobulus. Doings so reveals that the Oeconomicus is indeed a philosophical dialogue, not a book on farming with certain Socratic trappings. The dialogue, in fact, is not fundamentally about farming, which it depicts as the easiest of arts to understand, but about the much wider and more complex topic of oikonomia, the art of managing one’s oikos, one’s home and property. Even this may not sound like the most philosophical of topics, but oikonomia may not have been as strange an interest for Socrates as the Platonic passage above would suggest. It was presumably the topic of a work by Antisthenes entitled On Victory: Oeconomicus, though we know nothing of that work save its title.2 More importantly, Xenophon believed that the same qualities of character and skills that make one a good manager of one’s household are also those required to make one a good friend or a successful leader (Mem. 1.2.48, 4.2.11). Success as an individual, head of household, friend, or

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leader all rest on the same foundation of basic character traits, above all enkrateia (self-mastery) and epimeleia (diligence). Nor does Xenophon’s emphasis on character does mean that knowledge does not matter. At the beginning of the Oeconomicus, we encounter an incisive argument about the nature of wealth, an argument which concludes by saying that nothing, including money, counts as wealth unless you know how to use it and that everything, including an enemy, counts as wealth if you know how to benefit from it. The argument effectively shows that only knowledge is truly valuable, and it is hard to imagine a more Socratic argument than that. The central challenge posed by the Oeconomicus is that Critobulus, who is on the receiving end of this Socratic argument, fails to take it to heart. It is this that leads Socrates to speak of the joys, lessons, and profits of farming, and to introduce the gentleman farmer Ischomachus. Socrates introduces Ischomachus because there are lessons Socrates cannot teach Critobulus himself. Readers of the dialogue, as we shall see, are split about what to make of Ischomachus, with some seeing him as Xenophon’s alter ego while others consider him a risible failure. I will argue that Ischomachus is something of both. He does have genuine Socratic and Xenophontic lessons to teach, lessons that can be applied whether or not one is a gentleman farmer. And he also represents an ideal that Xenophon respected, that mix of elite Greek values captured by the expression kalokagathia, “nobility with goodness.” But Ischomachus failed to fully embody that ideal. Genuine kalokagathia requires mastering some lessons that Xenophon believed that Socrates, not Ischomachus, was the best individual to teach. Thus, to learn everything we can from the Oeconomicus, we must understand not only Ischomachus’ lessons but his limitations.

Approaching the Oeconomicus There is at least one prior question to address before we consider what sort of model Ischomachus is meant to be. This is the question of how much distance there is between Ischomachus and Socrates. One approach is to minimize the differences between the two.3 There is a good deal to be said for this approach. Socrates does, after all, introduce Ischomachus to help his companion, Critobulus, so he presumably believes that Ischomachus has something valuable to teach him. And I will identify positive lessons that Ischomachus teaches in what follows. The risk of readings that emphasize the similarities between Ischomachus and Socrates, however, is that they may render Xenophon’s Socrates quite unSocratic, so much so that some readers will then take the Oeconomicus to demonstrate Xenophon’s failure to capture much of philosophical worth about Socrates (cf. Brickhouse and Smith 2000, 38–39). There is, however, plenty of evidence in the text itself to show that Socrates and his views are quite distinct from Ischomachus and his views.

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Xenophon is still writing about a recognizably Socratic Socrates, not merely a passive disciple of a gentleman farmer modeled on Xenophon himself. Ischomachus himself recognizes the gulf between his life and that of Socrates. This is clearest at the center of the Oeconomicus, in chapter eleven. Ischomachus, as he is about to embark upon his discussion of his daily routine, asks Socrates to correct him if he seems to be doing anything wrong. Socrates says that he, with his reputation for blathering (ἀδολεσχεῖν), measuring the air (ἀερομετρεῖν), and poverty, would have no basis to critique a complete gentleman like Ischomachus (Oec. 11.3). Socrates is here using language very much like that used to mock him in Attic comedy.4 This provides us one of the clearest examples of intertextuality in Xenophon, who thereby shows that he is speaking about the same Socrates the comic poets mocked and the same Socrates Plato defended against the comic poets (Plato, Apology 18c–19d). Socrates next adds that he would be quite depressed about his poverty, though it strikes him as the most senseless criticism—presumably given what he says elsewhere in the Oeconomicus about his self-sufficiency—had he not had an interesting meeting the other day with an impressive horse. Socrates went up to the horse’s groom and asked him if the horse was rich. The groom naturally thought that Socrates was out of his mind, and asked him how a horse could own anything, which elicited the following response from Socrates. “At this I held my head up high, as I’d heard that it was legitimate for an impoverished horse to turn out well, if it had a naturally good soul. So then, consider it legitimate for me to become a good man, and give me a complete account of what you do, so that I may try to learn whatever I can from listening to what you say and may begin to imitate you, starting tomorrow. For that’s a good day, “I said,” for making a start in virtue.” “You’re joking, Socrates,” Ischomachus said, “but nevertheless I will tell you of the practices I try to follow, as far as I am able, as I live my life.” (11.6–7) Ischomachus gets the joke, as “there’s no day like tomorrow to get started” is the procrastinator’s creed. And Ischomachus’ central lesson, as we shall see, is how to make money by farming, while the moral of the horse story is that good people need money no more than good horses do. There is, then, considerable daylight between Socrates and Ischomachus. Xenophon hasn’t mistaken one for the other. The starkest alternative to a simply positive reading of the dialogue—one that regards Ischomachus, Socrates, and Xenophon as spokesmen for the same point of view—is the Straussian response that argues that Socrates and Ischomachus represent fundamentally different ways of life, one clearly superior to the other. In the Straussian view, there are two models before us, that of Socrates and that of

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the conventional gentleman, and the second is parodied and critiqued.5 I think there is much to be learned from this approach to the dialogue. But it can be taken too far. In particular, it is vital that we make a distinction between Ischomachus as a representative of a flawed way of life and Ischomachus as a flawed representative of that way of life. The way of life in question is that of the kalokagathos, the man who combines beautiful nobility with goodness, the way of life endorsed by the “gentlemen” of elite society.6 A central question for the Oeconomicus, then, is whether the distance between Socrates and Ischomachus also distances Socrates from kalokagathia, or whether it is Ischomachus who falls short of that ideal himself. I will argue that Ischomachus, like his father, was more of a moneymaker than a bona fide kalokagathos.7 A Straussian would argue that there is no such thing, really, as a bona fide kalokagathos who is anything more than a moneymaker; at heart the conventional ideal is really just all about money. But I suspect that reflects what Xenophon regards as a debased if common understanding of the term, rather than the debased essence of the idea. For while the kalokagathoi as a group are sometimes distinguished from the many (hoi polloi), giving the term a class connotation, it is not only a class term, and kalokagathia is also the quality most admired by Xenophon’s Socrates. When saying that Socrates spent much of his time investigating key ethical terms like piety, justice, and the like, Xenophon says that Socrates regarded that those who knew such things as kalokagathoi (Mem. 1.1.16). Xenophon repeatedly describes kalokagathia as the goal of those who associate with Socrates, and describes Socrates as embodying this trait.8 So it requires pretty radical skepticism to declare that for the Socratics, including Xenophon, kalokagathia was, as Strauss put it in a 1939 letter, “an insult, like ‘Philistine’ or ‘bourgeois’ in the 19th century.”9 Moreover, Xenophon’s Socrates appears entirely comfortable giving practical advice to leaders working within the political system at Athens (Mem. 3.1–7), that is, to men who aspired to the sorts of prominence traditionally associated with kalokagathoi. Socrates certainly did not aspire to a prominent life in Athenian politics himself, but his view of kalokagathia was consonant enough with those of the ambitious men in his circle to allow him to advise them on how to succeed in political life at Athens. Critobulus is passionate about winning a deserved reputation for kalokagathia (Oec. 6.12). This interest, I suggest, makes Critobulus more than just a reckless rich young man; it provides Socrates the opening he needs not only to introduce Ischomachus as an ideal kalokagathos but to point to his failures to live up to that ideal. It is all too easy to forget that Socrates is speaking to Critobulus throughout the Oeconomicus, even as he relates his conversation with Ischomachus. The temptation to elide Critobulus from the Oeconomicus is probably most acute for the social historians interested in mining the Oeconomicus for information about the Greek economy, Greek slavery, or

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Greek attitudes toward marriage and gender. The Oeconomicus is indeed a rich source for social history, but neglect of its literary form comes at a cost. Social historians can perhaps be forgiven for following the lead of Sarah Pomeroy’s social and historical commentary on the work (1994), and reading the Oeconomicus as a monologic work revealing Ischomachus’ teachings on wife and household management, which are taken to be equivalent to Xenophon’s own views on these topics, views which may be even be conventional enough to pass for standard Greek views.10 But Ischomachus’ conversation with his wife reaches us through multiple layers of narration. Ischomachus shapes his account for Socrates, who then presumably reshapes it for Critobulus. Ischomachus wants to demonstrate, among other things, that it is prudent for him to leave his household in the hands of his wife while he awaits visitors in the Athenian Agora. Socrates, among other things, wants to convince Critobulus that he needs to educate his wife. It is no surprise, then, that Ischomachus’ wife is presented both as being capable of running the household (thus justifying Ischomachus’ absence from the house) and as having acquired all her relevant capabilities by being trained by her husband (thus demonstrating to Critobulus the need for him to educate his wife). This need not mean that Ischomachus’ role in educating his wife was entirely unusual. But it does show that it was a very convenient view for Ischomachus and Socrates to espouse in the context of this dialogue, and therefore that it is perilous to assume it reflects Xenophon’s view of marriage, much less “the Greek view of marriage.” Our central focus, then, will be on what Socrates accomplishes by telling Critobulus of his conversation with Ischomachus. What did Critobulus want, or need, and why did Socrates think that Ischomachus met those wants or needs? These questions will remain relevant whether or not we see the Oeconomicus as being a fundamentally ironic work. As an initial indication that this line of inquiry will pay off, consider this. One central question for readers of this dialogue is what in the world Socrates is doing talking to a gentleman farmer. This is not only a question for readers for whom Socrates remains, at heart, Plato’s Socrates, for it is explicitly raised in chapter eleven of the Oeconomicus itself, as we have seen. The most common answer to this question is Xenophon. Xenophon the gentleman farmer couldn’t help but give Ischomachus the gentleman farmer his star turn. I will close this book with a brief effort to counter this effort at biographical criticism. But the resort to speculation about Xenophon’s life is far less compelling, I submit, than the answer staring us right in the face. Socrates introduces Ischomachus to help Critobulus in ways Socrates cannot help him himself. So of course Ischomachus will be a very different man than Socrates.

From oikonomia to the Socratic secret to success (Oec. 1–3) Socrates’ direct conversation with Critobulus, the conversation before Socrates introduces Ischomachus (Oec. 1–6), is full of comments on the

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benefits Critobulus can hope to derive from the conversation Socrates will present, as well as suggestions for how he can secure those benefits. So it is clearly not meant to be a free-standing introductory chat we are meant to enjoy and discard before turning to the more substantial conversation which follows. The problem is that the introductory conversation introduces many different goals and different methods. Socrates and Critobulus often appear to be speaking past one another, and while neither man reveals any irritation with how the conversation progresses, they make a number of false starts, and Socrates makes a number of unkept promises. These features of the conversation, I shall argue, do not reflect different layers of composition or some other lack of polish on Xenophon’s part,11 but rather Xenophon’s desire to show why Socrates needed to introduce Ischomachus: there are lessons Socrates cannot teach Critobulus without Ischomachus’ help. Socrates opens the discussion by asking Critobulus whether oikonomia is a form of knowledge (epistemē). Given Socrates’ general interest in helping his companions (Mem. 1.3.1), this suggests that his initial goal was to encourage Critobulus to pursue knowledge of oikonomia. Xenophon’s Socrates took a special interest in Critobulus, who is an important figure in the Symposium as well as the Memorabilia (1.3.8–15; 2.6); he was a son of Socrates’ old friend Crito. Xenophon’s Socrates does not attempt to escape responsibility for his role as a teacher, as Plato’s does (Morrison 1994), and by showing Socrates in conversation with Critobulus Xenophon reveals how Socrates attempted to help a companion rather different from Euthydemus, his paradigmatic student in book four of the Memorabilia. The shy but nevertheless overconfident Euthydemus had thought that book learning would suffice to make him a success (4.2.1); Critobulus’ flaws are of a rather different type. Critobulus readily agrees with Socrates that oikonomia is a sort of knowledge, and that its goal is increasing the value of an estate (oikos), either one’s own or that of someone else, though the latter alternative is largely ignored in what follows. Socrates, though, notes how difficult it is to define the estate, for only things that are useful (chresima) should be accounted part of one’s estate, possessions, or wealth (chremata). And things are only useful if one knows how to use (chresthai) them. Even money does not count as wealth if one doesn’t know how to use it to one’s advantage, and some even know how to profit from enemies, making enemies wealth for them (Oec. 1.1–16). So it appears that the only real wealth is knowledge, as knowledge can transform enemies into wealth, while ignorance turns money into something harmful. Increasing one’s estate would mean increasing one’s knowledge. Thus, oikonomia appears to be a master science, the Xenophontic version of the Platonic knowledge of good and evil. Robin Waterfield (1990, 281) well characterizes this argument as “the most typically subtle Socratic argument (in the Platonic sense of ‘Socratic’)” in all of Xenophon’s Socratic works. And the initial argument of the

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Oeconomicus is indeed paralleled by one in Plato’s Euthydemus (279d280a), where Socrates narrates a version of it to none other than Crito, Critobulus’ father. Xenophon’s Socrates appears to have a very Socratic lesson plan in mind for Critobulus. Critobulus, however, now asks about people who have certain areas of expertise (ἐπιστήμας μὲν ἔχοντας), and receive income from their estates, but are unwilling to work to increase their wealth. For such men, Critobulus notes not only their possessions but the things they know are useless (Oec. 1.17). Socrates responds that such people are slaves to vicious masters, including idleness, softness, and negligence, or to deceitful mistresses, apparent pleasures such as gambling and bad company. Critobulus doesn’t deny this, but adds that there are others who aren’t hindered by such things, and who make an effort to succeed, but fail. Critobulus’ interest in these cases suggests that he may worry that he himself falls into this category. These men are also slaves, Socrates responds, with their own masters: gluttony, lust, drink, and foolish, costly ambitions. We must fight such would-be masters more even than human enemies, for while decent enemies can improve us by reining us in and forcing us to lead moderate lives, these cruel masters waste away our bodies and souls (1.16–23). It looks rather like Xenophon has used Critobulus to bring us back down to earth from an intellectualist, Platonic argument to one more suitable for his own Socrates. But just as important as what Critobulus adds to the conversation—the non-intellectual drives that Xenophon regards as fundamental to moral psychology—is what he subtracts. As he speaks of plural forms of knowledge, rather than speaking of oikonomia in the singular, Critobulus is clearly thinking of subsidiary skills like horsemanship or housebuilding: he does not say that one currently in possession of oikonomia as a whole fails to employ it. And once he has begun speaking of knowledge in the plural, the conversation leaves behind any effort to discuss oikonomia as a whole. Oikonomia and related terms largely drop from the dialogue, save in references back to the initial conversation and in discussing various parts of oikonomia.12 The failure to discuss oikonomia in any greater depth is driven by Critobulus, and is part of the process of sidelining Socrates to make room for Ischomachus. Critobulus, despite the fact that he himself raised the question about those whose failings are due to a lack of self-mastery, is eager to drop the topic, once he realizes that talk of a lack of self-mastery could apply to himself. Well, I think I’ve heard you say quite enough about this sort of thing, and when I myself examine myself, I think I find that I am reasonably in control of myself regarding such things (αὐτὸς δ’ έμαυτὸν ἐξετάζων δοκῶ μοι εὐρίσκειν ἐπιεικῶς τῶν τοιούτων ἐγκρατῆ ὄντα). So if you would advise me on what I could do to increase my estate, I don’t think

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Critobulus’ language regarding his own enkrateia is somewhat guarded—he repeatedly notes that that he doesn’t think that he has a problem in this area. Perhaps the fact that he speaks only of mastery over mistresses suggests that he has some dim awareness that he may have problems with some of the masters Socrates describes, which include lust and foolish ambitions, two of Critobulus’ problems. Socrates’ quickly points out that while Critobulus’ net worth is 100 times his own, Critobulus’ expenses continually outrun his income, while Socrates himself can live contentedly with what he has. So Socrates is actually the one who is rich enough, while Critobulus is pitifully poor (Oec. 2.2–3). Critobulus’ problem isn’t the value of his estate, but his spending. Given this role of yours you’ve taken on (τὸ σὸν σχῆμα ὃ σὺ περιβέβλησαι) and your reputation, I don’t think you’d have enough even if you acquired three times as much as you currently possess. (Oec. 2.4) Socrates tells Critobulus that he thinks that “neither gods nor men would put up with you” if Critobulus did not make rich and frequent sacrifices. He must entertain foreign friends (xenoi) in high style,13 and feast and otherwise benefit many citizens to retain any supporters (Oec. 2.5). This suggests he is interested in having a role in public life. But despite these efforts, he is required to pay numerous liturgies, special taxes paid by rich Athenians in the form of subsidizing a public function like a dramatic performance. And in the event of war Critobulus could be asked for still more expensive contributions to Athens. Moreover, Critobulus has boy problems. In addition, I can see that you believe that you are rich and, while you lack diligence when it comes to making money, you give your attention to affairs with boys, as if that were open to you. (Oec. 2.7) Critobulus’ obsession with young men is noted in both the Memorabilia (1.3.8) and the Symposium (4.12–25). Finally, while Socrates has friends who would support him in time of need, Critobulus’ friends are far more likely to come to him for a handout, despite the fact that they are more successful in living within their means than Critobulus is himself (Oec. 2.6–8). Some of expenses Critobulus faces are simply part of the burden of being wealthy in democratic Athens, something rich Athenians were wont to complain about—compare Charmides’ ironic praise of poverty in

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Xenophon’s Symposium (4.29–33). But Socrates suggests that Critobulus, in addition to spending way too much time on boys, has gone out of his way to take on a public role without having the slightest clue how to do so, and thus ended up losing money and gaining no valuable friends. In fact, he very clearly does not know how to make good use of his wealth, rendering it worthless or even harmful to him. Critobulus is just self-aware enough to realize that he needs help of some sort, and he asks Socrates to take charge of him (προστατεύειν ἐμοῦ Oec. 2.9). As his first response to Critobulus’ request, Socrates notes the irony in Critobulus wanting Socrates to serve as his financial manager, and then gives a mischievous summary of the argument. Socrates claims that Critobulus had mocked him for not knowing what wealth is and had forced him to confess that he had only a hundredth as much property as Critobulus did (2.9). Socrates had actually shown that Critobulus didn’t understand what wealth was, and had boasted of his ability to make do given his much smaller estate. Critobulus blows past Socrates’ implicit jibe at his overconfidence, and continues to seek Socrates’ help. “I do see,” he said, “that you, Socrates, understand one way to make money: how to produce a surplus. So I expect that one who is able to make a surplus from a little would find it very easy to make a large surplus from a lot.” (Oec. 2.10) Socrates demurs. He cannot be expected to know how to run an estate like that of Critobulus, something he has never had the opportunity to do, any more than he could be expected to play the flute when he has never had a flute (2.11–12). Critobulus, however, still believes that Socrates is attempting to avoid giving him any assistance, and he is at least half right. Socrates certainly had no experience running a large estate, but he did possess oikonomia of a most valuable kind, a skill which allowed him to live well within his own means, and he elsewhere shows plenty of practical economic know-how (Dorion 2013, 318–327). Socrates refuses to give Critobulus any direct instruction not because he lacks the relevant knowledge, but because Critobulus is not ready for the most important lessons Socrates could give him. When Socrates denies knowing oikonomia here, he uses the term in a conventional sense, to describe knowledge of how to run a large estate, rather than the more abstract sense he developed early in the dialogue. He could no doubt have taught Critobulus more about oikonomia in this abstract sense. But such lessons would require enkrateia that Critobulus lacks, and Critobulus has already heard enough from Socrates about enkrateia (Oec. 2.1). What Critobulus wants is instruction in how to increase his income and thereby secure a surplus, but Socrates has already pointed out that he would still be in trouble if his estate were worth three times as much—Critobulus would still spend it all foolishly (2.4). There is, then, a

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contradiction between what Critobulus thinks he needs and what Socrates thinks he needs. If Socrates is to teach Critobulus anything, he must come up with a way of teaching Critobulus the lessons Socrates believes he needs while allowing Critobulus to think that he is getting the lessons that he himself wants. In lieu of instructing Critobulus himself, Socrates firsts suggests that he will take Critobulus to experts in the things Critobulus wants to learn. Luckily enough, Socrates himself has already made a habit of identifying relevant experts. He found that those who applied their understanding with diligence (epimeleia) easily made a profit (Oec. 2.17–18). Socrates’ search here presents a decidedly Xenophontic take on Socrates’ famous search for the meaning of the Delphic oracle in Plato’s Apology (21b–22e). Xenophon’s Socrates easily finds experts in practical matters where Plato’s finds no one with knowledge of the most important things. In Xenophon, Socrates’ conclusion is that those who diligently apply their knowledge succeed.14 “Diligent application of knowledge” is in fact the closest thing to a secret to success offered by Xenophon’s Socrates. Critobulus is eager to learn this lesson, and tells Socrates that he will not let him go until he shows him what’s he’s promised, in the presence of the friends who have gathered for the conversation (Oec. 3.1). This is the first reference to others listening to the conversation (cf. 3.12); it serves to remind us that we should hold Socrates to his promise as well. And we will need to be on our toes, as Socrates changes tack immediately. Instead of introducing experts, he makes a new promise: he will take Critobulus to both successes and failures, in building, organization of the household, management of slaves, farming, and horsemanship. The successes will have made much of little; the failures will have made little out of much (Oec. 3.1–6). Critobulus, in other words, is going to have to duplicate Socrates’ own investigation into these matters by observing successes and failures and learning from these observations. It now appears that he cannot take a short cut by learning directly from Socrates or by learning from the experts. When Critobulus expresses some diffidence that he will benefit from seeing successes and failures, Socrates explains how he must go about it. You must, as you see these things, test yourself, to see if you understand what you’re seeing. As it is, I know that you get up very early in the morning to see a comedy, walking a long way to get there, and eagerly persuade me to watch it with you. But you’ve never summoned me to go look at this sort of thing. (Oec. 3.7) When Critobulus says that he has gained nothing from observing men who have succeeded or failed in dealing with horses, Socrates explains why. You watch them just like you watch actors in tragedies and comedies, not, I believe, in order to become a poet, but to enjoy yourself when

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you see or hear something. That is perhaps correct enough, since you do not want to become a poet. But you must make use of knowledge about horses. So don’t you think that you’d be a fool not to look into how to avoid ignorance of that task, and all the more so as the same horses are both good to use and profitable to sell? (Oec. 3.9) Critobulus needs to draw his own conclusions from successes and failures, testing himself to ensure that he understands what he sees. Critobulus had already passed one such test when he himself identified the cause for why some are able to find all their gear readily—they have arranged things properly (3.3). Socrates confirms this, but does not provide explanations in the other cases, and demurs when Critobulus asks him to explain why some make money from farming while others do not (3.6), which is perhaps the largest question addressed by Ischomachus. So Critobulus will need to examine Socrates’ examples closely. Socrates will not play a very active role in questioning Ischomachus: that role is to be played by Critobulus himself. And we readers of the Oeconomicus, like the wider circle of friends listening in on this conversation, will need to take the same level of care as we read the text (cf. Stevens 1994, 226–227 and Hobden 2017, 165–168). Socrates says he can also show Critobulus examples of successful and unsuccessful husbands. When Critobulus wonders whether the husband or wife is to blame if a wife goes bad, Socrates suggests that the wife bears responsibility only if she has been well taught by her husband and nonetheless turns out poorly. Note the patronizing assumption that wives can only be expected to know what they are taught by their husbands—the sort of assumption sometimes neglected by those looking for a relatively progressive attitude toward gender roles in the Oeconomicus. Critobulus, alas, has not only failed to teach his wife, but rarely speaks with her at all, despite giving her vitally important things to do. And as he married his wife when she was very young, she cannot know much. Critobulus admits all of this only after being reassured that he is among friends, so this revelation would be embarrassing if shared beyond the circle of friends listening to this conversation (Oec. 3.12). Critobulus, perhaps because of his obsession with boys, is apparently far less attentive to his wife than most Athenians. Critobulus asks whether husbands with good wives have trained them themselves. Instead of introducing Critobulus to successful and unsuccessful husbands, however, he says he will introduce him to Aspasia, the famous partner of Pericles, who will explain everything more knowledgeably than Socrates ever could (Oec. 3.14). So we appear to be going back to the expert model. Socrates adds that he believes that both husband and wife are essential to the success of a household, as while household income is the husband’s business, most expenditures are managed by the wife (3.14–15). In the immediate context, one might assume that Socrates is here summarizing a teaching of Aspasia, but elsewhere we hear of her teaching lessons in rhetoric, as in Plato’s Menexenus, in matchmaking, as in the brief

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reference to her in the conversation between Socrates and Critobulus in Memorabilia 2.6.36, or in marriage counseling, the topic of the longest fragment remaining to us of Aeschines’ Aspasia. Socrates’ account of the roles of husbands and wives here corresponds much more closely with what Ischomachus will tell his wife—or, rather, what he has already told his wife, and reported to Socrates. So perhaps Socrates had learned this from Ischomachus rather than from Aspasia. At any rate, in the Oeconomicus, Socrates does not introduce Critobulus to Aspasia. We will consider her absence from the dialogue after discussing Ischomachus’ conversation with his wife in Oeconomicus 7–10. Socrates now (Oec. 3.16) reports himself ready to show Critobulus examples of worthy practitioners in any field of knowledge. But Critobulus notes that one cannot find skilled workmen in every field, nor gain experience in all of them oneself; he suggests that they consider only the worthiest of the arts, and the ones most fitting for him to practice (4.1). At first glance, we may simply think that he says this because he is lazy. But this suggestion actually leads to a significant turn in the conversation. For Critobulus, as we have already seen from his fruitless efforts at cultivating a political following, is not only interested in turning around his rather desperate financial situation; he also longs for something more than that (cf. Danzig, 2010, 245). These higher aspirations will be captured most vividly when Critobulus confesses that he is passionate to be worthy to be called a kalokagathos himself (6.12). And it is Critobulus’ passion for kalokagathia that inspires Socrates’ effusive praise of farming in the next two chapters. Socrates begins by noting that cities have no respect for the banausic arts, those practiced by workmen who toil indoors, emasculating their bodies and souls; such men also do not have enough leisure to aid friends or defend their cities (Oec. 4.2–3). Socrates will instead recommend farming. And he will also, for a time, stop promising to introduce Critobulus to others and instead speak largely in his own voice, though he will do so first by talking at considerable length about the practices of the king of Persia. Rather than teaching Critobulus how to farm, however, Socrates will speak of the tremendous value of farming. Critobulus seems to believe that he needs the know-how to succeed, but Socrates recognizes that what Critobulus really needs is the motivation to succeed. So Socrates will deliver a motivational speech in praise of farming. And he will motivate Critobulus by calling on his higher interests as he speaks mainly of the non-economic benefits of farming.

Socrates on farming (Oec. 4–5) Socrates’ motivational speech on farming falls into two parts: a demonstration, based on the practices of kings of Persia, that farming is every bit as vital as warfare, and a highly rhetorical speech in which Socrates’ himself builds on the Persian example by noting the benefits and pleasures farming provides.

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He begins all of this rather jarringly, in response to Critobulus asking which non-banausic arts he should practice. “But which arts would you advise us to make use of, Socrates?” “Can it be,” Socrates said, “that we are to be ashamed to imitate the king of the Persians? For they say that he believes that farming and the art of war are among the noblest and most necessary of pursuits, and that he is very concerned with both.” (Oec. 4.4) There are two things of note here. The first thing is Socrates’ thesis is that farming is every bit as noble and necessary as warfare; this is the first we’ve heard of warfare in the Oeconomicus. Warfare will go largely unexamined in the Oeconomicus, so its necessity and nobility go unexamined. Presumably Xenophon (or Socrates) can get away with this because Critobulus does have enough in the way of public aspirations to share the customary respect for warfare. But it is at least worth pausing to note that showing agriculture as noble and necessary as warfare is distinct from showing it noble and necessary in every respect. The sudden introduction of the Persian king is also surprising, as Socrates’ hesitant initial question reveals.15 This should put us on our guard. The Socratics were fond of using Persian material to varied purposes. Plato most often employs Persian material to note Persian luxury or moral failings, though these contemporary failings could be contrasted with Persian virtue under good kings like Cyrus or Darius (Laws 3.693d–696a). Plato’s most lengthy positive account of Persia is decidedly tongue in cheek (Alcibiades I, 120e–124b).16 Antisthenes wrote at least two works on Cyrus—probably one on the elder Cyrus (c. 600–530), the founder of the Persian Empire, and one on the younger Cyrus, the ill-fated leader of the campaign Xenophon recounts in his Anabasis; Prince tentatively suggests that the two Cyruses were contrasted (Prince 2015, 144–146). Xenophon himself devoted his Cyropaedia to the earlier Cyrus, and recounts his time with the latter Cyrus in the Anabasis; both are usually taken to be positive portraits, but there is considerable disagreement about both.17 The upshot of all this is that the reader needs to exercise caution about the Socratics’ use and misuse of Persian examples (as well as other so-called historical examples). We not only cannot assume one consistent Xenophontic view on Persia across his works: we cannot be sure that he will make straightforward use of Persia on any given occasion. In our Oeconomicus passage, Socrates begins in generic terms, describing how the Persian king promotes agriculture alongside warfare. He then notes that Cyrus, the most celebrated of the Persian kings, prided himself on his farming as much as he did on his military prowess (Oec. 4.5–17). When Critobulus remarks that he is convinced that this Cyrus—Cyrus the

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Elder—took as much pride in farming as in war, Socrates suddenly shifts to the other Cyrus, Cyrus the Younger. “Yes, by Zeus,” Socrates said, “and Cyrus, had he lived, I think, would have been an excellent ruler.” (Oec. 4.18) We have not only an abrupt shift from the Elder to Younger Cyrus but an obvious anachronism: Xenophon could hardly have heard Socrates discuss Cyrus’ the Younger’s death, given that Xenophon was with Cyrus at his death in 401, never to see Socrates again. Xenophon demonstrates Cyrus’ ability to rule by his ability to attract loyal allies, and then returns to farming by reporting an anecdote he sources to an anonymous Megarian. This Megarian reports that the Spartan commander Lysander, when bringing Cyrus gifts, praised Cyrus for his hard work planting and laying out his own garden. Xenophon’s complex sourcing of the Cyrus anecdote makes his tone here even harder to pin down.18 The anachronism, and obvious use of Xenophon’s own personal experience, makes it difficult to understand what these words mean coming from Socrates’ mouth. Is the passage full of genuine Xenophontic enthusiasm for Persian institutions? Interest in agriculture was indeed a feature of the Persian monarchy (Briant 2002, 232–234), which could make it a good example for Socrates’ case. Xenophon, however, does not make much of Persian agriculture elsewhere, despite spending a great deal of time discussing the Persian empire in the Cyropaedia and Anabasis (Tuplin 2013, 77). And I have already noted how ambiguous Persian exempla can be in Socratic authors. To make matters still more confusing, we here see Persian material viewed in reference to Athens and Sparta, and Xenophon had complex relationships with both of these cities. Socrates here belabors the details of the meeting in 407 between Lysander and Cyrus the Younger that led to Cyrus vigorously supporting the war against Athens, a war brought to a successful conclusion by Lysander himself in 404—successful for Sparta, that is, as it led to the defeat of Athens. Now Xenophon’s attitude toward democratic Athens may have been rather critical: we will soon hear Socrates praising farmers for their willingness to go out and fight beyond the city walls—a position that is clearly critical of Pericles’ policy of having the Athenians stay behind their walls during the Peloponnesian War. But why have Socrates remind us of the very meeting that sealed Athens’ fate? Xenophon himself reports that Socrates warned him that joining Cyrus could render him suspect at Athens, precisely because Cyrus had eagerly supported the Spartans in their war against Athens (Anab. 3.1.5). Athenians’ anger over Xenophon’s allying himself with Cyrus almost certainly contributed to Xenophon’s exile, even if it was not the only cause.19 Lysander’s role as the source of the praise for Cyrus is also curious; Lysander was an incredibly successful military leader, but he was also the rival of Xenophon’s own Spartan patron, Agesilaus, so was hardly Xenophon’s

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favorite Spartan. And the story of Cyrus’ gardening reaches us through more speakers (Cyrus-> Lysander -> Megarian -> Socrates -> Critobulus -> Xenophon) than any other tale in the Oeconomicus (Pomeroy 1994, 251–252), complicating interpretation considerably. Thanks to complexities like these, Stevens (1994, 227–228) and Tuplin (2018, 602–604) argue that the Persian material is meant to raise questions about farming as an ideal. The least that can be said is that Lysander’s high praise of Cyrus the Younger, even if we take Lysander as a reliable witness, is cast in a tragic light by Xenophon’s decision to introduce Cyrus as the man whose potential was cut off by death. And while the Persians may have made wise provisions to ensure that agriculture supported their military efforts, Xenophon would in his Anabasis describe a Greek army routing the Persians, and himself lead those Greeks out of the midst of the Persian empire; and in the last chapter of his Cyropaedia he describes contemporary Persia as thoroughly corrupt. The Persian material could thus cut either way—particularly when filtered through a capable but controversial Spartan. But it appears to meet Socrates’ immediate goal: it helps him to convince Critobulus of the value of farming. After using the example of Persia to praise farming as a support for military strength and a noble form of exercise, Socrates praises farming in his own voice. “Critobulus,” Socrates said, “I’ve been telling you these things because not even those who are utterly blessed can hold off from farming. For concern with farming is likely to be at once a pleasant experience, a way to increase one’s estate, and training for the body in everything fitting for a free man to do.” (Oec. 5.1) Socrates’ thesis is that farming is necessary even for those who are very well off—like kings. Hence he says rather little about how farming can help one increase one’s wealth. He puts greater stress on the pleasures of farming, including those provided by the foodstuffs produced, particularly the nonstaple items referred to in Greek as opson.20 Farming thus allows one to generously honor the gods and host guests. Socrates depicts the countryside in idyllic terms, with hot springs for the winter and shade and breezes in the summer. Farmland even provides a ready environment to prepare horses and dogs for hunting, Xenophon’s favorite avocation (5.1–11). Yet the pleasant and even luxurious living farming allows for does not come easy, which is a good thing. The earth, as befits a goddess, teaches justice, as she reciprocates when treated well. Farming promotes physical fitness, and particularly fitness for war. Farmers know their crops are exposed to the enemy, and are therefore willing to fight, including taking the fight to the enemy. And the man supervising slave laborers will know how to lead men in battle as well. Farming is indeed the nurse of all the arts, as without it all of them would perish. When Critobulus objects that farming

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is vulnerable to bad weather and disease, natural forces men cannot foresee, Socrates responds that farming relies on the gods no less than war does. Thus, farmers sacrifice to seek signs and pray to receive blessing from the gods just as soldiers do (Oec. 5.12–20). Socrates thus makes the case for farming as an ideal activity, profitable, pleasant, and virtuous all at once. Certainly the healthy outdoor activity it provides is a far cry from the banausic arts and the slavish, effete craftsmen who enervate their bodies and souls by toiling away indoors. As I argued in chapter four, there is nothing unSocratic, in Xenophon’s view, in evaluating an activity in terms of the pleasure it provides; but the pleasures he praises here are not solely those of the ascetic Socrates, for whom hunger is itself the best sauce (opson: Mem. 1.3.5), but include those provided by opsa. Socrates’ language is similarly lush, producing a “purple patch” (Pomeroy 1994, 254–255). And Socrates, we may recall, lived no differently during the siege of Athens, when Athens was cut off from its farmland and food imports, than he had when Athens was flourishing (Apol. 18). Socrates was also able to win the highest favor from the gods without access to any special first fruits from a farm. So once again the tone is difficult to judge. Are we hearing Xenophon’s enthusiasm for his own way of life? Or are we to see the character Socrates as consciously overplaying his hand? Let us recall that Socrates is delivering a motivational speech to a young man in need of motivation. Like many motivational speeches, this one pulls out all the stops. One indication of the resistance Socrates faces is Critobulus’ objection about weather and disease. Despite Socrates’ purple prose in praise of farming, Critobulus, with his eyes on the main chance, expresses worry about the risks facing farmers—or perhaps uses these risks as an excuse for his own lack of attention to such matters. His concern is that farming will prove unprofitable, even if it has provided pleasant, character-building activity. Socrates returns to his trump card, the close connection between farming and warfare. Critobulus is interested in something other than finances, and he cannot object to the nobility of warfare; as warfare is no less uncertain than farming, his objection to farming falls away. Socrates argues that piety is our best means of dealing with uncertainty, in war and farming alike, and suggests that pious men get signs and perhaps other assistance from the gods to help them to avoid misfortune. Socrates does not, however, claim that piety does as a matter of fact allow men to avoid misfortune in either realm: he says only that men seek the gods’ aid in both cases. Both farming and warfare remain risky (Danzig 2010, 258). Socrates’ praise of farming is curious precisely because he is not a farmer. Xenophon has not forgotten this, and suddenly mistaken Socrates for himself. This is at least one reason why Socrates begins his praise of farming by citing Persian examples, rather than examples from his own experience. Socrates’ own praise of farming is the “earliest extensive eulogy of rural life in Greek prose” (Pomeroy 1994, 254), making it hard to evaluate, but I

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suspect that its rhetorical abundance is meant to remind us that Socrates had no real experience of actual farm work. Socrates’ argument, moreover, is that “not even those who are utterly blessed” would stay away from farming (Oec. 5.1), suggesting that farming is of value even to those with enough riches not to need to make money off of agriculture, or perhaps especially those who need not make money from agriculture. Socrates turns Critobulus toward agriculture as the noblest way of making a living, and thus appeals to Critobulus’ interest in something beyond profit. But Critobulus is still worried about increasing his income. Thus, just as he had granted that Socrates’ praise of farming was well and good, but worried about poor results due to bad weather or disease, he now grants that Socrates’ words on piety are well and good, but wants him to return to the topic of oikonomia itself (6.1). Socrates’ motivational speech has gotten Critobulus interested in farming, but Critobulus still wants to know how farming is going to pay off for him.

Introducing Ischomachus (Oec. 6 and 7) Socrates suggests that he and Critobulus recapitulate their discussion so far, to ensure agreement with what follows. Critobulus readily agrees, noting that those engaged in business are also pleased to balance their accounts without disagreement before moving on (6.2–3). We thus again see his interest in moneymaking. Socrates’ summary (6.4-10), however, differs in some significant ways from what went before. I will dwell on these differences for a few paragraphs because they have generated widely different scholarly responses, and as they are perhaps the clearest example of discrepancies or slippages within the Oeconomicus. Socrates accurately summarizes the introductory conversation about oikonomia and the oikos in chapter one, and his own praise of farming in chapter five. But he essentially omits their discussion of Critobulus’ own plight (chapter two), Socrates’ plan to address it by introducing Critobulus to people successful and unsuccessful in various areas (chapter three), and Socrates’ account of farming in Persia (chapter four). What Socrates has done is to retain the substance of the conversation about oikonomia and farming (with the exception of the account of the Persian kings’ use of agriculture), while dropping the discussion of Critobulus’ situation and Socrates’ promises. The topics skipped in the summary are for the most part also absent from the rest of the dialogue. But as Ambler (1996, 112–113) notes, Socrates’ promises, which are presumably intended to help Critobulus escape his present situation, could be considered the most vital part of the agreements Critobulus and Socrates have made so far, making their absence from the summary striking. Socrates also adds some things in his summary. Socrates says, incorrectly, that he and Critobulus had said that farmers would vote to fight where craftsmen would vote to withdraw to the city’s walls (Oec. 6.6–7); while

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Socrates had praised farming as a preparation for war, and attacked banausioi for their feebleness, no such vote had been mentioned. Socrates says that the two had agreed that farming is easy to learn (6.9), again something he had not mentioned before, though he had noted that the earth herself taught justice (5.12); the ease of learning farming will be a central theme for Ischomachus. Socrates says that farming provides leisure to allow one to look after friends and the city (6.9); he had pointed out that craftsmen lack such leisure, but hadn’t explicitly said that farmers enjoyed it (and 5.4 might be taken to imply the opposite). So too he says that they discussed the fact that farming was held in greatest esteem by the cities (6.10), a point not explicitly made earlier, though Socrates had noted that the most warlike cities made it unlawful for their citizens to practice any banausic occupation (4.3). For the most part, these additions supplement things said before by explicitly clarifying that farmers are a positive example where Socrates had only said previously that banausioi were a negative one. Socrates also adds things with what we might call Greek color, as he omits any reference to Persia (Ambler 1996, 112–113). The recapitulation is thus a better introduction to what follows than a summary of what has preceded. In one respect this is natural enough, as the summary is explicitly meant to form the basis for the remainder of the dialogue. But it is certainly curious that there are so many changes. Scholars once argued that the Oeconomicus was written in separate phases, with chapters one to five written at one point and the rest of the dialogue tagged on later, with the seams still showing. Other alternatives include loose composition on Xenophon’s part, perhaps in an effort to mimic a natural conversation, perhaps simply due his failure to fully digest his sources on oikonomia.21 A problem with all of these approaches is that Xenophon also shows himself willing and able to summarize parts of the conversation accurately, particularly the argument of the first chapter. If the discrepancies are not sloppy but intentional, Xenophon is playing a rather subtle game. This is of course the conclusion of Strauss, based on the following principle. In a good author who as such is not prolix, a repetition is never a mere repetition and very rarely a literal repetition; in a good author, a repetition always teaches us something we could not have learned from the first statement. (Strauss 1970, 125–126) Note Strauss’s coy repetition of “in a good author”—presumably to bring our attention to that condition. Strauss’s own analysis (1970, 126–127) of what the differences show is characteristically obscure. But for a parallel we can look to how Xenophon portrays Agesilaus in his Agesilaus and the Hellenica; while there is much shared material, Xenophon shows Agesilaus in the best light in the encomium, while revealing his flaws more clearly in Hellenica.22

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This shows that Xenophon was capable of using subtle variations to make his points; we thus have reason to consider him a good author in Strauss’s sense. I would suggest that Socrates’ incomplete repetition within the Oeconomicus is meant to call attention to the things it omits, particularly Critobulus’ plight and Socrates’ promises. If this is correct, we are meant to notice that Socrates does not keep his promises, and to keep Critobulus’ real needs in mind as we read the rest of the text. Critobulus himself now returns to something Socrates did not include in his recapitulation of their agreements. He says that Socrates told him that he had discovered why some men have everything they need thanks to farming, while farming brings no profit to others. He now wants to learn this lesson from Socrates (Oec. 6.11). So Xenophon hasn’t forgotten about Socrates’ plan in chapter three, despite leaving it out of his summary. Socrates, however, did not quite say that he had discovered the secret to farming, though he did make a general observation about how various people found success or failure (2.17–18). He had only promised to show Critobulus successes and failures at farming, and had declined when asked to explain that secret himself (3.6). Note again Critobulus’ emphasis on profit, something which played a minor role in Socrates’ praise of farming and his summary of the prior conversation. Socrates does not quite agree to Critobulus’ request, instead offering him a new option. “So,” said Socrates, “what if I tell you from the beginning, Critobulus, how I once met a man who truly seemed to me to be one of those men to whom this expression “a kalokagathos man,” as it is put, is rightly applied. Τί οὖν, ἔφη ὁ Σωκράτης, ὦ Κριτόβουλε, ἤν σοι ἐξ ἀρχῆς διηγήσομαι ὡς συνεγενόμην ποτὲ ἀνδρί ὃς ἐμοὶ ἐδοκεῖ εἶναι τῶι ὄντι τούτων τῶν ἀνδρῶν ἐφ᾽οἷς τοῦτο τὸ ὄνομα δικαίως ἐστιν ὃ καλεῖται καλός τε κἀγαθὸς ἀνήρ; (6.12) Socrates’ language is rather torturous. I take him to mean that he thought that Ischomachus was a clear example of the kalokagathos as that term is normally employed.23 Critobulus for his part would be very happy to hear about Ischomachus; he longs to be a man who is deserving of a reputation as a kalokagathos (καὶ ἔγωγε ἐρῶ τούτου τοῦ ὀνόματος ἄξιος γενέσθαι 6.12). At least if we assume that being a kalokagathos requires more than being rich, Critobulus is here again revealing that he has interests that go beyond managing to balance his expenditures and his income. He wants to be worthy to be called a kalokagathos. What is not immediately clear, however, is just what Ischomachus had done to win his reputation. Socrates now goes on to describe his rather comical search for the kalokagathos (6.13-17). It took Socrates only a little time to investigate good craftsmen by inspecting their most highly regarded works. But the kalokagathos does not produce works one can inspect like that. Socrates was

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evidently not simply looking for rich men: presumably they would have been easy to find. Instead Socrates began his investigation of the beautiful/ noble and good man (kalokagathos) with a doomed effort to discover good souls within the bodies of beautiful men. Abandoning that dead end, the ugly Socrates decided to try one of the people with a reputation for kalokagathia (τῶν καλουμένων καλῶν τε κἀγαθῶν, 6.17), and when he heard that Ischomachus was called that by everyone—men and women, citizens and foreigners—he decided to speak with him. It seems fair to ask whether the second part of Socrates’ investigation was any better grounded than the first part, that is, whether a reputation for kalokagathia is any more reliable than the belief that good looks correspond with good character. When Socrates speaks with Ischomachus, Ischomachus is pleased at hearing that he is called a kalokagathos, but wryly comments on his reputation. Perhaps people call him a kalokagathos when they speak with Socrates, Ischomachus says, but when they summon him to court they simply call him by his father’s name. Men call him that when they sue him in the Athenian antidosis procedure, claiming that he was richer than they, and that he should therefore be called upon to pay the special taxes, liturgies, that they had been assigned to pay (7.3).24 In part we are again dealing with an aristocrat’s complaint about the burdens of living in democratic Athens, coupled with a certain polite effort to deflect Socrates’ complement. But thus far, Ischomachus’ reputation appears to rest on his wealth, coupled perhaps with the suspicion that he does not do his fair share of paying liturgies—or at least could be portrayed that way to a jury. In other words, his near universal reputation for kalokagathia may not rest on anything more than his wealth. We will have to see whether he can meet what I have termed Critobulus’ higher interests in things beyond finances, the sort of things Socrates stressed in his motivational speeches about farming.

Ischomachus and wife (Oeconomicus 7–10) The first and most famous part of Ischomachus’ conversation with Socrates is his report of his conversations with his wife. Her presence in the dialogue is introduced organically enough, as Ischomachus can rely on her watching over the household as he lingers in the agora, waiting for the out of town guests (xenoi) who never appear. But her large role in the dialogue also reflects Critobulus’ conspicuous failure to educate his own wife. We know that Critobulus never speaks with his wife, whereas we were not told whether Critobulus made any effort, or had any relevant knowledge, about supervising his slaves or tending his farm. Like Critobulus’ wife, who we are told was still just a “young child” (παῖδα νέαν 3.13) when he made her, Ischomachus’ wife was not yet fifteen when her marriage began. So neither wife could have known much when she entered marriage. Aristocratic girls did marry young, but, as that was the norm, it could have gone without

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saying: Xenophon thus stresses that Ischomachus’ case is a good fit for Critobulus. Ischomachus gives his wife a number of lessons, not all of them obviously of particular relevance to Critobulus. One of his major lessons, though, does pick up on something Critobulus said earlier. Critobulus recognized the importance of order to oikonomia, himself volunteering that orderly arrangement of one’s property was vital (Oec. 3.3). Ischomachus spends all of chapter eight and the first part of chapter nine (9.1–10) expounding on the importance of order to the home, and the wife’s role in maintaining order. The conversation is motivated by the wife’s shame at not being able to find something. Nothing, Ischomachus asserts, is as useful or fine for humans as order (9.3). Ischomachus’ discussion of order is quite comprehensive. He begins by noting the importance of order to armies and at sea, including the curiously expansive discussion of a Phoenician merchantman (8.11–16). The military examples are perhaps better suited for Critobulus than for Ischomachus’ wife, and it is not clear that the example of the merchantman was part of Ischomachus’ conversation with his wife, or only something he discussed with Socrates. It does, however, clearly reflect an interest in moneymaking; the merchantman is the sort of ship that could be employed by the traders whose love for grain Socrates’ will later compare to the love of farming as manifested by Ischomachus’ father (20.27–28). Ischomachus grants that his admiration for the beauty of orderly arrangements of things like pots will be unimpressive and even ridiculous to some (8.19), but says it will be of great value to the new couple, and Ischomachus duly instructs his wife about what gear belongs in which room of the house (9.1–10). Xenophon was certainly a believer in the importance of order (Pontier 2006), but Ischomachus’ willingness to go on about order in a way that even he recognizes could seem silly is presumably connected to Critobulus’ interest in this topic: Socrates had a motive to play up this aspect of his conversation with Ischomachus to Critobulus. Order of a more abstract sort was already a theme at the outset of Ischomachus’ conversation with his wife, where he described the gender roles that are both divinely established and in keeping with human tradition (nomos; Oec. 7.16–43). Men and women play complementary roles. Even where women are deficient, their deficiency plays a role in maintaining this order: their fearfulness, for example, helps them guard household goods (7.25). Women’s bodies are not capable of outdoor work, but there is plenty of work for them to do indoors while men labor outside. Women have a greater share of one positive trait, love of newborn children, as care for them is their task. Strikingly, men and women have been given equal potential in some crucial areas, and here husbands and wives can be healthy rivals: they are equal in memory, diligence (epimeleia), and self-mastery (enkrateia 7.26). Critobulus, who is neither particularly diligent nor particularly enkratic, is going to need to pick up his game even to keep up with his wife. And we see here a first example of how Ischomachus trains others

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in skills Critobulus needs to improve on himself. Socrates thus rather deeply embeds relevant lessons within the conversation with Ischomachus. Critobulus has proved resistant to direct lessons about enkrateia; instead he is to be shown how important it is for him to promote it in other members of his household. Only then, perhaps, will he recognize how badly he needs to improve in this area himself. The gods have given human beings complementary natures, and human tradition (nomos) supports an orderly distribution of roles between men and women. Ischomachus’ depiction of a natural and divine order is strikingly similar to that depicted in the Memorabilia (1.4; 4.3; cf. Dorion 2018c, 529). The world has been designed to benefit human beings, and the better part of wisdom consists in recognizing and furthering this order. In this order the wife, as well as the husband, has a leadership role, hers in supervising the household slaves like a queen bee supervising so many workers. We see here in nuce the teaching on leadership that will be expanded upon later, with the proper qualities and training of the woman housekeeper (tamia Oec. 9.11–13) giving us a preview of those of the male overseer (epitropos 12–15.1). Both will be taught lessons Critobulus needs to learn himself. Socrates on several occasions wonders whether Ischomachus’ wife is learning her lessons, and is reassured by Ischomachus (Oec. 8.1, 9.1). Socrates then praises her in the following rather odd exchange. “‘She thought,’ he [Ischomachus] said, ‘that just as it is natural for a sensible woman (σώφρονι) to care for her own children rather than not to do so,25 so too she considered it more pleasant for a sensible woman to care for the possessions which delight her because they are her own rather than to not do so.’” Socrates said, “And when I heard his wife give him that answer, I said, ‘By Hera, Ischomachus, you are showing that your wife has a masculine mind (ἀνδρικήν γε ἐπιδεικνύεις τὴν διάνοιαν τῆς γυναικός).’” “‘Well,’ said Ischomachus, ‘I’d like to tell you about other examples of how very high-minded she is (καὶ ἄλλα τοίνυν, ἔφη ὁ Ἰσχόμαχος, θέλω σοι πάνυ μεγαλόφρονα αὐτῆς διηγήσασθαι), occasions on which she obeyed me just as soon as she heard what I’d said.’” (Oec. 9.19–10.1) Just what about her mind is masculine? Ischomachus seems to think that it was high minded of her to comply with the request he now goes on to describe, that she stop using makeup. In antiquity as today women used more makeup than men, and, rather more so than today, men condemned the use of makeup by respectable women, despite its common usage by perfectly respectable wives.26 So too, then, Socrates presumably meant that the wife’s ready adoption of Ischomachus’ point of view about property is masculine. Where all would agree that a sensible woman will naturally care for her children, only some women, those with masculine minds, will hold that sensible women take pleasure in caring for their own property. This

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reflects the traditional misogynistic view, enshrined in Hesiod (Theogony 590–599) and Semonides (7), that women are parasites who spend rather than save (Glazebrook 2009, 240). So Ischomachus’ wife has a masculine mind because she will shun false adornment, like makeup, that women stereotypically employed to deceive men (Glazebrook 2009, 244–247), and because she takes pleasure in protecting her property rather than running it down. Indeed, she is rather more emphatic about the pleasure afforded by property than the pleasure afforded by children. The conversation about cosmetics gives us a surprisingly intimate view of Ischomachus’ marriage. Disappointed to find his wife wearing a good deal of makeup, but confident in her interest in their property, he uses a comparison from their economic partnership to illustrate his point about their sexual relationship. Would she consider him to be a more lovable partner in their property (ἀξιοφίλητον μᾶλλον εἶναι χρημάτων κοινωνόν) if he told her the truth, or if he tried to deceive her by showing her counterfeit money and knockoff jewelry and clothing? “Hush,” she said. “Don’t be like that. I couldn’t, if you were like that, love you with my whole heart” (ἀσπάσασθαι ἐκ τῆς ψυχῆς Oec. 10.4) The most loving words uttered between Ischomachus and his wife are motivated by finances. Ischomachus turns back to the topic at hand. They have also come together to be partners who share one another’s bodies. “That’s what people say,” his wife demurely replies (10.4). Ischomachus advises her that a vigorous daily routine will improve her digestion, keep her healthy, and aid her complexion. He goes on to explain, probably just to Socrates, that wives who keep in shape as they go about their daily routine are sexier than slaves or prostitutes, at least so long as they are willing sexual partners (10.5–13). Socrates responds that he has now heard enough about Ischomachus and his wife, and that what he has heard shows both of them very worthy of praise (11.1). Ischomachus’ education of his wife, then, emphasizes her economic role, rather as we would expect it to, given Critobulus’ needs, though it also touches on a whole range of other issues, including the affective side of marriage. In Ischomachus’ account, the gods, and human custom in accord with the gods, have established a beneficent order in which men and women have separate but complementary roles; the wife’s role, if perhaps still less honorable than the husband’s, is still a necessary one, and in certain respects a wife can even prove her husband’s better. Ischomachus’ prime teaching is that in running their shared household he and his wife need to establish an orderly arrangement of property and roles. Deception, finally, because it aims to suborn this divinely sponsored and natural order, is to be forbidden: as men and women naturally desire one another, and a good wife will in the course of nature be more attractive than her rivals, makeup, high heels, and the like are to be shunned. Critobulus rarely speaks with his

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wife, but he recognizes the importance of order; Ischomachus’ teaching, in which wives play an essential role in the orderly management of the household, is well designed to inspire him to apply himself to the education of his wife. As contemporary readers, however, we may still find Ischomachus’ teaching falling rather short. There is, however, a considerable risk of importing anachronistic and/or idealistic ideas about marriage into the ancient Greek context. Thankfully, we have a case for comparison: what would Aspasia say?

Aspasia and Ischomachus At Oeconomicus 3.14-15, Socrates promised to introduce Aspasia to Critobulus, a promise he fails to keep. It is time to consider whether that promise was more than a throw-away line. Aspasia’s most famous role in Socratic literature is as the supposed author of Pericles’ funeral oration in Plato’s Menexenus. More relevant for present purposes is her role as a marriage counselor in Aeschines’ Aspasia, in a passage that Cicero translated in his de Inventione (1.31.51–53 = SSR VIA.70). Note the identity of the couple she counsels. Induction is a form of speech which, by means of uncontroversial things, secures the agreement of the person addressed; through these agreements it secures his assent to some controversial matters, because of their similarity to the things he had agreed to. Socrates, in the Socratic Aeschines, shows that Aspasia spoke in this way with Xenophon’s wife and Xenophon himself. “Tell me, please, wife of Xenophon,27 if your neighbor were to have finer golden jewelry than you have, would you prefer her jewelry or your own?” “Hers,” she said. “Well, if she had clothing and other womanly adornments worth more than those you have, would you prefer yours or hers?” She responded, “Hers, of course.” “Well, tell me,” she said, “if she had a better husband than you have, would you prefer your husband or hers?” Here the woman blushed. Then Aspasia began to talk with Xenophon himself. “Excuse me,” she said, “Xenophon, if your neighbor had a better horse than yours, would you prefer your horse or his?” “His,” he said. “Well, if he had a better farm than you do, which farm would you prefer then?” “The better one,” he said, “obviously.” “Well, if he had a better wife than you do, would you prefer yours or his?”

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And here Xenophon himself also went silent. After this Aspasia said, “Since each of you didn’t answer the only question I wanted to hear the answer to, I will say myself what each of you is thinking. You, madam, want to have the best husband and you, Xenophon, really want to have the most worthy wife. Therefore, unless you two bring it about that there is no better man nor more worthy woman in the world, you will both still completely lack what you consider to be the best of things: that one of you be married to the best woman and the other wedded to the best of men.” The basic point of the argument is simple enough: to attract someone, make yourself attractive by improving yourself. A striking thing about the passage is its reciprocity. While the wife’s outside interests involve jewelry and clothing and the husband cares for horses and farms, each is precisely in the same position as far as their relationship goes: each needs to become the best that she or he can be. Being the best woman could well differ from being the best man, but the same onus for self-improvement is on both. Aeschines’ dialogue was probably written early in the 380’s (Kahn 1994, 103–105), and thus before Xenophon completed his Socratic works. The basic plot of the dialogue, as reconstructed by Barbara Ehlers (1966), is clear enough.28 Socrates is asked to provide a suggestion for a teacher for Callias’ son, Hipponicus. Callias, let us recall, was the host of the dinner party of Xenophon’s Symposium and the gathering of Plato’s Protagoras. He will also end up being the second husband of Ischomachus’ wife: we are dealing with a dense web of interrelated figures. In the Aspasia, Socrates suggests Aspasia as tutor, and must defend his unconventional choice. He does so first by discussing two semi-legendary women who ably managed affairs of state, the Persian queen Rhodogyne and the Milesian Thargelia, a Milesian hetaera who turned her many lovers toward the Persian cause. He then discusses Aspasia’s positive influence on the great Athenian Pericles and the minor Athenian politician Lysicles, who was presumably included by Aspasia raised him up from nothing, whereas Pericles was already an established leader by the time she met him. Aeschines has Socrates argues that it was these men’s love for Aspasia that led them to improve themselves and achieve their success in Athenian politics. The fact that Xenophon himself appears in the Aspasia would presumably have brought it to Xenophon’s attention—even if the conversation itself was entirely fictional, as seems likely enough.29 Moreover, Aspasia’s advice in Aeschines is in keeping with what we read in Xenophon about Aspasia. This comes in Socrates’ lengthy conversation about the pursuit of friends and lovers with Critobulus in the Memorabilia (2.6). Critobulus suggests that Socrates praise him by saying whatever he thinks will help him win friends (2.6.35). Socrates objects. “By Zeus, that’s not how I heard Aspasia put it once. She said that the good matchmakers are clever at arranging marriages by reporting good

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Socrates goes on to point out the poor results when one tries to pass oneself off as an expert in some area when one in fact knows nothing of it (Mem. 2.6.37–39). Strictly speaking, Aspasia is credited only with the point that matchmakers should praise their charges truthfully, but it seems fair to credit her with agreeing to, if not inspiring, Socrates’ larger point: the best way to win good friends is to make oneself the sort of person others would want to befriend, something that requires both that one care for one’s friend as for oneself and that one become a good person oneself. Given that Xenophon himself features in this key passage from the Aspasia, and Critobulus features in Xenophon’s one explicit reference to Aspasia in his works, it certainly seems plausible enough that Xenophon expected readers to think of Aeschines’ Aspasia as they read the Oeconomicus.30 And in some ways this Aspasian teaching is in keeping with that offered by Ischomachus. The clearest and most specific agreement in substance is the importance of honesty, the point Aspasia makes regarding matchmakers in the Memorabilia (2.6.36) and that Ischomachus makes regarding makeup in the Oeconomicus (10.1-9). And there are deeper, structural parallels between the two teachings as well. Ischomachus chose his wife, and her parents chose him, in the belief that they would be the best partners for each other (Oec. 7.11); and more important than the wife’s dowry or the husband’s wealth is how good of a partner each proves in preserving and augmenting their wealth (7.13). Throughout his conversation with his wife, Ischomachus exhorts his wife to improve herself by emphasizing the importance of her role in managing their shared estate. Where her role is different than his, he praises it by saying it is complementary, and where it is similar he says that she can rival and even surpass him in the relevant virtues. No wonder, then, that Ischomachus has been called “the ideal husband of the marriage Aspasia sketches in her advice to Xenophon and his wife” (Henry 1995, 53). But there are differences as well. The fundamental one is that while Ischomachus says a great deal about how his wife can improve herself, he gives little hint of any awareness that he needs to improve himself. He several times notes that his wife may be able to surpass him, but while this nicely emphasizes her potential, he treats himself as a static target. He does not take advantage of the opportunity to suggest that his own selfimprovement could be a model for her efforts to improve herself. Thus, the remarkable reciprocity of the exchange between Xenophon and his wife is lacking. Of course, Ischomachus is educating his wife, not submitting to marriage counseling of the sort that Xenophon and his wife underwent. But in the Socratic/Aspasian understanding of love, self-improvement is the

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engine that drives relationships. As Socrates puts it in the context of romantic friendships between men: And the greatest good for one who desires to make the boy he loves into a good friend is that it is necessary for him to practice virtue himself. (Smp. 8.27) The absence of self-improvement on Ischomachus’ part is all the more striking given that in Memorabilia 2.6 the teaching on friendship culminated precisely in a call for Critobulus to improve himself. Missing also is any reference to the larger horizons Aspasia’s teaching on love applies to, in its application to statesmen like Pericles and Lysicles in the Aspasia or Callias in Xenophon’s Symposium. While it may be too much to expect Ischomachus’ wife to inspire and thus enable him to have a prominent public career as Aspasia inspired her partners, Ischomachus’ low public profile, as we shall see, is noteworthy, and thus provides another contrast with Aspasia. Ischomachus’ teaching thus does not replace or expand on that of Aspasia. It is more limited. There is a reason Aspasia has gone missing. While Socrates taught Critobulus about friendship by showing that he needed to improve himself in order to secure good friends (Mem. 2.6), Ischomachus teaches Critobulus about marriage by teaching him how to improve his wife. Now given the ancient assumption that women are different from and inferior to men, the degree of reciprocity to be expected in a marriage is rather less than that to be expected in a friendship between men. Ischomachus very clearly outlines differences between the natures and duties of men and women. But even friendships between men, at least those with a romantic element, were asymmetrical, with the older lover courting a younger beloved, yet they were supposed to inspire both partners to improve themselves—particularly the lover, who in most respects resembles the husband rather than the wife. And even Socrates, whose marriage was famously difficult, recognizes a commonality between marriage and other sorts of relationships when he explains why he is married to Xanthippe. “Because,” he said, “I see that those who want to become expert horsemen do not acquire the most docile horses but the most spirited ones. For they believe that if they are able to control horses of this sort, they will be able to deal with the rest easily. So I for my part, as I want to deal with and mix with people, I’ve acquired this woman, knowing well that if I can put up with her, I’ll have an easy time being with anyone else.” (Smp. 2.10) Socrates’ jocular defense of his marriage to the shrewish Xanthippe is hardly a ringing endorsement of marital bliss. But it is based on the premise

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that his relationship with his wife is like his relationships with other people, by which he must predominantly mean his relationships with men. Saying Ischomachus’ teaching is limited does not mean that it is not sound as far as it goes. I see no good reason to reject the notion that Xenophon approved of the basic gender roles Ischomachus outlines, or that he believed that Ischomachus was right to insist on the importance of a wife’s contribution to the success of a household, something that Socrates insisted upon even before introducing Ischomachus (Oec. 3.15–16). But we have seen that Critobulus’ greatest failing was his unwillingness to improve himself in enkrateia and epimeleia. Ischomachus teaches Critobulus indirect lessons about enkrateia and epimeleia by noting the importance of promoting them in one’s wife and slaves. Aspasia would have taught that lesson directly by showing Critobulus the importance of his improving himself if he wanted his wife to improve herself. Aspasia’s role in educating statesmen also raises the question of whether Ischomachus’ ambitions were too limited. If Critobulus was indeed interested in something more ambitious than balancing his accounts, Aspasia could have had rather more to teach him than Ischomachus does.

Socrates and Ischomachus (Oeconomicus 11) So much for what we may have missed due to Aspasia’s absence. If Ischomachus is a less than ideal guide, we ought to see signs of that in the Oeconomicus itself, and Socrates and Ischomachus’ discussion of their very different reputations and ways of life in chapter eleven provides us with some of our best evidence for this. This passage, together with Socrates’ introduction of Ischomachus in chapters six and seven, is the closest Xenophon comes to providing Socrates’ judgment on Ischomachus and his way of life. Socrates here says that it would not be right for him to correct Ischomachus, a man who is a perfect kalokagathos (ἄνδρα ἀπειργασμένον καλόν τε κἀγαθόν), given his own Aristophanic reputation (Oec. 11.3). Socrates’ language here is droll. He says his own reputation is ill deserved, at least as far as poverty goes; this suggests that his praise of Ischomachus could be as exaggerated as the attacks he faces himself. Ischomachus himself recognizes that Socrates is joking, though he does not necessarily take Socrates’ praise for him to be part of the joke. Ischomachus goes on to say that he begins by worshipping the gods, and acting so that the gods may grant his prayers for health, strength, honor in the city, goodwill among friends, and the honorable acquisition of wealth. So far so good (11.2-7). Socrates now asks whether Ischomachus really wants to concern himself with wealth, given all the trouble it brings. Ischomachus says that he does think it pleasant to honor the gods grandly, help his friends, and do all he can to ensure the city lacks no ornament his wealth can provide. Socrates praises Ischomachus for being a weighty and powerful man, one able to

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benefit his friends and city while others cannot manage without help, and many are happy if they can simply manage to make do by themselves—presumably a reference to Critobulus’ difficulties (Oec. 11.8–11). Here too Socrates’ language is guarded, perhaps even “tongue-incheek” (Pomeroy 1994, 310; cf. Danzig 2010, 262), fittingly enough given that he here praises financial wherewithal after having noted that he himself needs it no more than a horse does. Socrates also suggests that praise of such things is commonplace (“many of us can praise such men”), and attempts to turn the conversation from moneymaking to how Ischomachus manages to take care of his health and strength so as to prepare himself to survive war with his honor intact. Moneymaking, Socrates says, can wait till later. Ischomachus pushes back, arguing that his way of life unites moneymaking and physical fitness, for he exercises himself and his horse as he goes about his daily routine (Oec. 11.12–18). Socrates can only admire all of this, and notes that as a result Ischomachus is healthy and strong, and widely regarded as among the best horsemen and richest men in Athens (11.19–20). But now we are in for a bit of a surprise. “Yet,” he said, “when I do these things, Socrates, I am subject to many utterly phony lawsuits (ὑπὸ πολλῶν πάνυ συκοφαντοῦμαι), though you perhaps thought I was going to say that many call me a kalokagathos.” “No,” I said, “I was actually about to ask you, Ischomachus, if you also concerned yourself with being able to accuse someone or speak in your defense, in case you need to do that.” (Oec. 11.22) Ischomachus first provides a Socratic response: he prepares to defend himself by avoiding wrongdoing (cf. Apol. 3; Mem. 4.8.4). He then tells Socrates that he prepares to defend himself by attacking and defending prominent Athenians in private conversations with his friends, and defends himself against accusations from his wife. Ischomachus jokingly notes that his wife successfully prosecutes him when he would have had to “to make the worse argument the better” (11.25), for this is something he cannot do. Ischomachus thus avoids one charge made against Socrates. The tone here is light, which renders it open to divergent interpretations. Thus Danzig (2010, 254) contrasts Ischomachus’ practice in public speaking with Socrates’ abstinence from the same, while Dorion (2018c, 533–537) argues that Ischomachus’ approach is Socratic enough. Here it seems to me that Ischomachus is more like Socrates than not. Both cite their avoidance of wrongdoing as the best defense. Even Ischomachus’ practice of debating the merits of leading citizens with his friends has a parallel in Memorabilia 4.6.13–15, where Xenophon says that Socrates was always successful in demonstrating which citizen was superior in wisdom, political know-how, or courage. And Ischomachus’ joke about being convicted by his wife cannot but remind us of the difficult Xanthippe (Smp. 2.10; Mem. 2.2).

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A more important point, I think, is that Ischomachus presents himself as a quiet Athenian (Carter 1986), in this case one who speaks only privately about public affairs. Thucydides has Pericles attack this attitude as undemocratic (Thucydides 2.40.2). Not a few Athenian conservatives made this their response to the Athenian democracy, and Socrates himself provides one model for a sort of quietism, given his refusal to take an active part in public life. In this sense, then, Ischomachus is again Socratic enough. But Xenophon’s Socrates is happy to provide advice to those who chose to engage actively in Athenian politics (Mem. 1.6.15; 3.1–6, including by encouraging a young aristocrat who was adept in private conversations like those Ischomachus describes to take on a more public role (Charmides: Mem. 3.7). And some public role was expected of a kalokagathos. It is not clear, then, whether Socrates would have approved of Ischomachus or Critobulus refraining from a public role in the same way that he himself did. One upshot of the light-hearted banter here is that we are not told how Ischomachus actually dealt with the lawsuits against him. One of our clearer pieces of evidence about the historical Ischomachus is that his estate was much smaller than people thought when he died (Lysias 19.45-46). If Ischomachus had successfully defended himself against antidosis suits by showing that he was not as wealthy as his rivals, his relatively modest estate would not have been a surprise. This suggests he simply paid off his accusers, or paid the liturgies in their stead. Contrast the rather different advice Socrates gave to Critobulus’ father, Crito, in the Memorabilia (2.9). He there advises Crito to befriend a prominent democratic politician, Archedemus. Archedemus then lodged charges against one of the sycophants, who, aware of his own guilt, was forced to settle, drop his case, and compensate Crito.31 Perhaps Critobulus could rely on the same friend of the family to protect him, but early in the Oeconomicus, when Socrates pointed out that Critobulus was subject to demands that he pay expensive liturgies (Oec. 2.5–6), no such help seemed forthcoming. Ischomachus also provides no help, another limit to his value for Critobulus.

The overseer (Oeconomicus 12–14) The next three chapters are devoted to Ischomachus’ training of the slave overseer who supervised his slaves working his fields. His lessons here again work on two levels: first as literal instruction in how Critobulus can train his own overseer, but also as instruction in qualities Critobulus needs to develop in himself. This is clearest in the case of the quality that most of chapter twelve is devoted to, diligence (epimeleia). Our first hint that this lesson has something to do with Critobulus comes when Socrates tells Ischomachus that he had thought that epimeleia was completely impossible to teach (Oec. 12.10), which may be a wry reference to his troubles with Critobulus, who is not at all diligent himself (2.7). Ischomachus does agree

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that only some can be taught diligence, and rules out drunks and those too fond of sleep; he expands at rather greater length on the unsuitability of those addicted to chasing boys (12.13–14), a particular failing of Critobulus (2.7). Socrates suggests that just as men passionate about boys make poor overseers, so do men who are passionate about making money (12.15); Ischomachus disagrees, claiming that such men are actually very easy to make diligent, so long as one convinces them that diligence is profitable. Socrates does not directly respond to Ischomachus’ point here, but the issue will recur soon enough. Socrates instead asks how Ischomachus promotes diligence in those who are only moderately disposed toward gain: Ischomachus says he praises and honors those who act properly, and employs words and deeds to punish the unworthy. Socrates asks whether a master lacking diligence himself can make others diligent, and Ischomachus tells him that he cannot (12.17–19). This more explicitly turns the teaching on diligence back on Critobulus, who not only needs a diligent overseer but needs to acquire diligence himself. The next two chapters address leadership and justice in a common framework of teaching via rewards and punishment, with a hierarchy of types ranging from men too useless to be of any service to those worthy of being treated as gentlemen. Here Ischomachus and Socrates are concerned not only with selecting overseers but with how to lead all the laborers on an estate. Ischomachus tells Socrates that his method of teaching leadership is so rudimentary that Socrates may laugh when he hears about it (Oec. 13.4), and the dialogue will close with Ischomachus noting how difficult it is to be a true leader. But at this point Ischomachus sketches a relatively sophisticated typology of rewards and punishments, drawing not only on Athenian precedent but on the Persian practice of rewarding good behavior where the Greeks only punish the bad (14.6; cf. Cyr. 1.2.2–3). After discussing praise and blame for various sorts of men, the two turn to justice, and here there is an implicit correction of Ischomachus’ earlier claim that those passionate about gain are excellent candidates for overseers. It turns out that some men, even if treated well, still attempt to do wrong; these Ischomachus treats as incurably greedy (14.8). So Socrates was right to question the suitability of passionately greedy men, at least some of them. The resulting hierarchy of workers can be seen on next page in Table 6.1. Some human types seem to be less useful than beasts—Ischomachus will make no use of them. Ischomachus returns to the key distinction among men in his closing words in chapter fourteen. “Socrates,” he said, “I think that this is how the ambitious man differs from the greedy man: it is on account of praise and honor that he is willing to labor where he must, run risks, and hold off from shameful gain.” (Oec. 14.10)

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Table 6.1 Characters and motivations Character of slave

Treatment

Drunk, lazy, sex-crazed, incurably greedy Slavish Moderately fond of profit

Hopeless

Ambitious (φιλότιμοι)

As animals, with food and drink Food and drink, plus better clothing and other rewards Above rewards, plus praise and blame; treated as free kalokagathoi

The best slaves, and the best men, are motivated by something more than greed, though they too seek advantage: honor and praise are additional rewards, not the only rewards such men need. Ischomachus’ hierarchical view of human nature is valuable as a guide to household management because it helps us see that different slaves respond to different forms of motivation. It also, however, raises questions about kalokagathia. Mere pursuit of profit is not enough to qualify for that title: one must be motivated by praise and honor. And one can qualify as kalokagathos, in Ischomachus’ way of looking at things, even if one is legally a slave. This may remind us of Socrates’ view that one could be a good man while being poor (11.3–6). Praise, not profit, is the motivation for the best men, whether they be slaves or aristocrats.

Farming (Oeconomicus 15–20) Socrates notes that even if overseers are loyal, diligent, just, and capable of leading others, they still need to know their business—how to farm (Oec. 15.1–2). This, however, is less challenging than it may sound. Socrates will sum up the section on farming as follows: “Well, I’m conscious, Ischomachus,” I said, “of how well you’ve put forward your whole argument to support your position. Your position was that the art of farming was the easiest of all to learn, and now I am completely persuaded that this is so by everything you’ve said.” (Oec. 21.1) Ischomachus indeed emphasizes numerous times that Socrates already knows everything important about farming, and only needs to be reminded of it. His method has been compared to the Platonic method of recollection, but is more down to earth, as it is based entirely on empirical observations. Socrates has observed much farm work going on, and just a little bit of reflection is required for him to correctly answer Ischomachus’ questions.32 Here’s how Socrates characterizes Ischomachus’ method. “Is questioning a form of teaching, Ischomachus?” I asked. “I have just now figured out,” I said, “why you asked me each of your questions.

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You are leading me through things I know, and by showing me similar things I did not believe that I knew, you persuade me that I know these things, too.” (Oec. 19.15) This method has more in common with the method of Memorabilia 4.15, where Xenophon says that Socrates worked on the basis of agreed upon steps, than with that of Plato’s Meno. Socrates assumes that this method may apply more generally, but Ischomachus emphasizes that it applies only to farming, which is so noble, philanthropic, and gentle that farmers share their secrets (15.11) and farming teaches itself. His example is the vine, which shows that it requires support by climbing trees, shades itself with its leaves when shade is required and drops its leaves when sunshine is called for, and slowly ripens some clusters before others to show when the grapes are ready for harvest (19.16–19). So too the earth, even uncultivated, kindly reveals her own nature by showing how much plant life she can sustain (16.3–5). Farming consists largely in helping nature along. Now some farmers make money, while others fail. As knowledge of farming is easy to come by, relative levels of knowledge do not explain why this happens. What does, then? Diligence–epimeleia. Everyone knows what it takes to succeed as a farmer, but many fail to do what must be done. Hence, as Ischomachus notes, farming reveals one’s character. Laziness in farming is a clear indictment of a base soul. For no person convinces himself that he can live without necessities. And it’s clear that any person who does not know any other profitable art and is not willing to farm either intends to live by theft or robbery or begging—or is completely senseless. (Oec. 20.15) Just as two men in good health may cover greatly different distances on the road, as one presses on toward his destination where the other, easygoing, stops by springs and shady spots, so too different workers may accomplish widely different amounts of work. So a master must diligently oversee his workers (20.16–21). Ischomachus remembers learning this very lesson from his own father, who never let him buy land that was already well cultivated. Instead they would buy underperforming land and improve it. Ischomachus’ father learned this lesson not through painstaking investigation, his son tells Socrates, but simply because he loved farming and hard work: buying such farms gave him a most pleasant and profitable occupation. Socrates asks whether Ischomachus’ father, the lover of farming, kept the farms he improved, and Ischomachus responds that he would sell the improved farms, and buy other underperforming ones with the proceeds. Socrates observes that Ischomachus’ father loved farms as merchants love grain: he loved to buy low and sell high (20.22–28). Socrates’ goes on at some length about the practice of grain merchants, who purchase their grain overseas and then unload it wherever they can

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make the greatest profit. Such traders have no loyalty to any city, nor did Ischomachus’ father, apparently, employ his wealth to improve Athens or aid his friends: he reinvested it to make still more money. As Pomeroy notes (1994, 341–342), the comparison to traders was not complimentary: aristocratic Greeks did not pride themselves on their entrepreneurial talents, and the grain trade was thought suitable only for metics, resident aliens. Pomeroy (1994, 342) adds that Ischomachus, who says that his wealth enables him to strengthen the city (11.9), would escape such censure; but Ischomachus does not distinguish himself from his father here. Instead he says that Socrates is joking, and argues that those who love building also sell the houses they build and then build new ones. Socrates responds with another of the rather convoluted phrases he applies to Ischomachus. “By Zeus,” I said, “I say to you on oath, Ischomachus, that I do indeed believe you: by nature all love whatever they believe will profit them.” (Oec. 20.29) Socrates, far from joking, appears to be quite earnest about this remark. Love of farming, in the Ischomachus family, is really love of profit. Ischomachus’ lesson on how to flip farms appears to be the moneymaking secret that Critobulus wanted all along. Unfortunately, the ability to make money this way is entirely dependent on epimeleia. If Socrates, the inveterate city dweller, and supposed son of a stone worker, knew how to farm, then Critobulus, son of Crito, who was a farmer (Mem. 2.9.4), surely knew at least as much as Socrates did, or at least would have known as much, had he paid any attention to what he saw happening on his father’s estate. By sending Critobulus to Ischomachus to learn farming, then, Socrates delivers the following message: you already know how to farm, and thereby how to maximize the income from your estate, so what you need is diligence. The lessons on farming in this section of the dialogue are of vanishingly little importance to Critobulus, then, even if they reveal sound basic lessons in ancient agriculture. It is the indirect lesson that is vital: epimeleia is all. As he did when introducing the overseer, then, Socrates uses Ischomachus to give Critobulus a lesson the young man could not or would not learn from Socrates himself. While Socrates had difficulty in identifying the true kalokagathos (Oec. 6.13–17), farming is the easiest of arts to learn and thus, presumably, it is a simple matter to identify the best farmers. So farming, at least as understood by Ischomachus, cannot be all there is to being a kalokagathos. Farming, Ischomachus’ idea of farming, or both, must be incomplete. I suspect that both Ischomachus and farming fall short. First, Ischomachus’ depiction of farming differs in some important respects from that given by Socrates in chapters five and six. It is improving the value of farms that makes farming pleasant for Ischomachus and his father, not the breezes or warm springs (5.9–10) Socrates had in mind when he praised the pleasures

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of farming to Critobulus. The only time Ischomachus speaks of the pleasures of country life is when he notes that the idler, pausing for shade and water, covers only half has much distance on a journey as the more diligent traveler (20.18). By contrast, the profit that comes from farming was the least of Socrates’ concerns: his point was that even the very rich, even the king of Persia, need farming (5.1). Socrates also said a great deal about how farming prepares one for war. Ischomachus’ own active work on his farm, particularly the exercise he gets by walking or riding to and from his various pieces of land, does keep him (and his horse) in peak physical condition, the better to allow him to survive battle with his honor intact (11.14–20). But surviving with his honor intact is just about all Ischomachus says about preparation for warfare. We should perhaps contrast Xenophon’s question to Delphi before setting off with Cyrus: Xenophon wondered which of the gods he should sacrifice and pray to so as to “best and most nobly undertake the journey he had in mind and, after doing well, be safe” (Anab. 3.1.6). The young Xenophon emphasizes his desire to perform honorably, not just to be saved honorably. And for Ischomachus farming is noble, above all, because it is easy to learn (Oec. 18.10). Thus where Socrates praises farming by saying it is both pleasant and virtuous, Ischomachus largely reduces it to the art of flipping farms. It is not only within his conversation with Ischomachus that Socrates turns out to know more about farming than we would have thought, thanks to his numerous observations of farmers at work; he also praises farming, in the frame conversation, in ways he hadn’t been taught by Ischomachus. The two accounts of farming play different parts in the economy of the dialogue, and the differences between them reflect this. Socrates’ initial goal in discussing farming was to make farming seem attractive to Critobulus. Critobulus owns a large estate, and needs to be convinced to give it enough attention to make it profitable. Socrates does so by noting the advantages of farming that go well beyond its practical value. Ischomachus then picks up where Socrates left off. And his central lesson is perfectly tailored to meet Critobulus’ needs, as Ischomachus says that success in farming is dependent on epimeleia, the quality Critobulus needs more than any other. A central question here is whether we ought to view Socrates and Ischomachus as a tag team promoting a unified positive message about farming, or see Socrates’ strategy as more of a bait and switch, in which Socrates introduces farming as a pleasant and noble way of life, only to pass it on to Ischomachus, who reveals that it leads not to pleasure or valiant defense of one’s city but to profits one can plow right back into the next underperforming farm. Perhaps the safest way to think about this is to suggest that Ischomachus’ teaching is not meant to be complete: the dialogue’s teaching about farming requires us to combine his message with that of Socrates. If farming is to be an admirable way of life, Ischomachus’

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lessons provide one with a foundation to build on, but they are not enough. One needs Socrates even to be the right sort of farmer.

Divine leadership (Oeconomicus 21) In the final chapter of the dialogue, Ischomachus contrasts farming, which is the easiest of things to learn, with leadership. Here differences in knowledge do matter, as some leaders know how to make their followers willing to toil or battle with great zeal, while others fail to do so. Leadership is a higher calling than farming, and it is a central concern of Xenophon himself and his Socrates (as in Mem. 3.1–7). And willing obedience, Ischomachus’ goal, is at the heart of Xenophon’s teaching on leadership (Gray 2011a, 15–18). The true general is not the best soldier but the man who can get others to obey his will (Oec. 21.7). Leadership of this sort is required not only in warfare but in agricultural work, as the overseer or master who is a good leader inspires his workers to vie with one another to see who can do the most work. And it is on this note that Ischomachus closes the Oeconomicus. …. I would say that this man has some share in the character of a king. This is the greatest thing, I think, in any activity people do, including in farming. Now I am not now saying, by Zeus, that this is something that one can learn just by seeing it or by hearing about it once. Anyone who is going to be able to do this must be educated, and have a good nature, and most important of all, must be divine. For I do not think that this good thing, the ability to rule willing followers, is entirely human—it is divine, and is clearly given to those who have been truly initiated in sophrosunē. (Oec. 21.10–11) So while farming is easy to learn, ruling is hard, requiring education, ability, and even divine inspiration. The dialogue ends rather chillingly, with the gods’ “gift” to those lacking skill in leadership. But tyranny over unwilling followers they give, I think, to those they believe worthy of a life like that of Tantalus in Hades, who is said to spend eternity in fear that he will die a second death. (Oec. 21.12) Xenophon well understood the dangers leaders faced, not only in the rough and tumble world of Athenian politics but in his own experience with the 10,000, during which he was repeatedly forced to defend his leadership (Anab. 5.7, 5.8, 7.6). Thankfully, Ischomachus has taught Critobulus something about leadership, primarily when discussing the overseer in chapter thirteen. He there described his teaching somewhat diffidently, worrying that it was so second-rate that Socrates would find it laughable. Socrates does not laugh, though his explanation for this is not his faith in Ischomachus’ teaching but

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his belief in the importance of leadership (Oec. 13.4–5). In chapter twenty one, Ischomachus says nothing of his own skill in leadership, but his firm grasp on the importance of leadership, and his detailed comments on the requirements for being a good leader, imply that he is himself a gifted leader, or at least believes that he is one. When discussing Ischomachus’ training of the overseer, however, I raised questions about the higher reaches of his teaching on leadership, for it was not clear that he won praise and honor himself, as he said nothing about his public role save for his need to defend himself against sycophants and antidosis suits. Ischomachus was known as a kalokagathos, and as a wealthy, healthy man and a skilled horseman, but we never hear that he was a recognized leader. Once again, then, we are faced with the decision of whether to see Ischomachus primarily as a positive example for Critobulus, if perhaps a limited one, or as a flawed model. Here the open-ended quality of the closing of the dialogue leaves the reader hanging: the most natural response from Socrates would have been some comment on Ischomachus’ leadership skill. Certainly the risk inherent in leadership is stressed—rule over unwilling subjects is a life not worth living. This is another way in which the conventional life of the kalokagathos is risky, in addition to the hazards facing farmers and soldiers.

History and the Oeconomicus I have thus far only hinted at our external evidence for the lives of Ischomachus and his wife. One tidbit in that evidence is the name of Ischomachus’ wife, Chrysilla (“Goldie”). Her name is left unmentioned in the Oeconomicus, in keeping with the Athenian norm that avoided mention of the names of respectable women. But in our external evidence Ischomachus’ seemingly entirely respectable wife becomes a most scandalous woman. This is not the place to re-evaluate that evidence in full, which would require a chapter of its own.33 The evidence is fragmentary, as is the rule with biographical evidence for figures from antiquity. Our most important source is Andocides’ speech On the Mysteries, a defense speech in which Andocides spends much of his time attacking his opponents, the most important of whom, according to Andocides, was none other than our old friend Callias, who ended up involved in a scandalous relationship with Chrysilla. Andocides was hardly a disinterested party, but he won his case, and cited witnesses to support his narrative about Callias and Chrysilla. This makes it likely that the basic facts of his story, at least those likely to be public knowledge, are trustworthy in the main.34 And even where Andocides exaggerated or engaged in character assassination, his speech is our best guide to the reputations of Callias and Chrysilla, and thus our best guide to what Xenophon’s readers would have thought of them. As we’ve already seen, Callias was an important figure in Socratic literature. He hosts Socratic gatherings in Xenophon’s Symposium and Plato’s

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Protagoras. His efforts to educate his sons (one of them a son by Chrysilla) were apparently a topos for the Socratics, as they are mentioned in Plato’s Apology (20a–c), while Aeschines’ Aspasia was inspired by the search for a teacher for one of those sons (presumably Hipponicus, Callias’ son by his first wife, rather than his son by Chrysilla). Aeschines also wrote a dialogue titled Callias, though we know little about it. Given Callias’ notoriety, it is hard to believe that his scandalous sexual relationship with Chrysilla would not have been on the minds of readers of the Oeconomicus—just as the scandals surrounding Callias and Autolycus were known to readers of the Symposium. The key to making use of this evidence, however, is to find occasions where it resonates with specific features of the Oeconomicus itself. Otherwise, the field is open to a great variety of speculation. Thus Harvey (1984) argues that Xenophon attempted to defend a woman he respected, and who had been unfairly maligned; but this is an ad hoc bit of biographical speculation. MacKenzie counters that the point is to poke fun at the confident condescension of Chrysilla’s “paternalistic, pompous and priggish husband,” and concludes that the result must have been “hilariously funny” (1985, 95); but not all will share this characterization of Ischomachus, or be sure we can attribute this attitude to Xenophon. At the other extreme, Deborah Nails (1985, 98) suggests that Xenophon’s point is that “any woman, no matter how well trained, will go wild if the harness is removed,” and compares his unflattering portrait of Xanthippe. Pomeroy (1994, 263–264) lands on an interpretation quite similar to that Huss adopts for the Symposium: nostalgia. Xenophon was fondly remembering the happy time when Ischomachus and his wife were a promising young couple. But had Xenophon wanted to be nostalgic about the Athens of his youth, he could presumably have found characters whose lives didn’t result in scandal. Even readers who make use of the biographical information to support ironic readings of the dialogue use it mainly as a general support for their readings, rather than looking for multiple specific points of contact between the historical evidence and the text of the dialogue (Strauss 1970, 156–158; Stevens 1994, 217–223; cf. Danzig 2010, 258–259). And in the absence of clear connections between historical evidence and the text, Hobden’s contention (2017, 168–173) that this evidence would not have influenced Xenophon’s readers and should not influence us remains plausible, despite the notoriety of the figures involved. I think that here, as in the case of the Symposium, where there’s smoke, there’s fire. The scandals are in there. To show as much, I will first set out our historical evidence in summary form. Unless noted otherwise, the prime evidence for what follows is found in Andocides. Not every detail in this reconstruction is certain, but my reconstruction essentially follows that of Pomeroy’s commentary (1994, 259–264)—despite Pomeroy’s much more positive view of Ischomachus and his role in the Oeconomicus. This should provide readers with a certain amount of confidence that I am not slanting

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the evidence to make Ischomachus and Chrysilla look worse. After the evidence, I will set out the ways I believe this evidence resonates with the text of the Oeconomicus itself. Ischomachus and Chrysilla: the historical evidence 1. Ischomachus was born in the late 460’s, and married his wife, Chrysilla, in the late 430’s, when she was very young. 2. Their children included a daughter born relatively early in their marriage and two sons, who were born later. 3. A character in a play by Cratinus (Athenaeus 1.8A; Cratinus frg. 365) calls Ischomachus’ father stingy, and compares or contrasts our Ischomachus to his father in this regard. 4. The future Socratic Aristippus met Ischomachus at Olympia, and Ischomachus told him things about Socrates that inspired Aristippus to go meet Socrates (Aristippus SSR IVA.2 = Aeschines SSR VIA.91 = Plutarch On Curiosity 2.516c). The story was probably told by Aeschines (cf. D.L. 2.65; Dittmar 1912, 60–62); if historical, the meeting between Aristippus and Ischomachus probably took place in 420 or 416. 5. Ischomachus was famous for nourishing parasites (Ararus frg. 16 = Athenaeus 6.237a), and much of his fortune was thought to have been devoured by two well-known parasites, Autocles (“Self-Invited”) and Epicles (“Also-Invited”; Heraclides Ponticus frg. 58 Wehrli = frg. 42 Schütrumpf = Athenaeus 12.537c; cf. Aelian V.H. IV.23). 6. Ischomachus probably died between 413 and 405. His will made Callias (by this point his son-in-law: see item 8 below) the guardian of his underage sons. While his fortune had been thought to be worth 70 talents during his lifetime, by the time of his death he left each of his sons barely 10 talents each—though that was still a considerable fortune for each of them (Lysias 19.45–46). 7. At some time not long before 415, Ischomachus’ daughter married the Athenian aristocrat Epilycus, and bore him two daughters (who were thus granddaughters of Ischomachus and Chrysilla). Epilycus perished in Sicily, probably during the Sicilian expedition of 415–413, with no male offspring. This left his daughters epikleroi, “heiresses” who were effectively the carriers of their father’s estate. When they came of age (at fourteen years) each was to be married off to her closest male relative. One daughter died before she reached marriageable age, leaving the other the sole carrier of Epilycus’ estate. 8. Epilycus’ widow, the daughter of Ischomachus and Chrysilla, married Callias at some point between 413 and 405. This was Callias’ second marriage. 9. Within a year of this marriage, Callias began a sexual relationship with his mother-in-law, Chrysilla, who had presumably joined Callias’

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household after the death of Ischomachus. Callias’ new wife, the daughter of Ischomachus and Chrysilla, tried to hang herself, was barely prevented from doing so, and subsequently fled from Callias’ household. 10. Callias tired of Chrysilla and drove her from his home, but she was pregnant and subsequently gave birth to a son. Callias at first solemnly and publicly denied that the son was his, but some years later took Chrysilla back in and acknowledged their son. 11. By 400 Epilycus’ daughter, the granddaughter of Ischomachus and Chrysilla, had come of age and there was a dispute about who was to marry her. Andocides argued, probably rightly, that he was the closest relative, but Callias, who wanted his son by Chrysilla to marry the girl, arranged to have Andocides prosecuted for impiety in an effort to drive Andocides from Athens. This was the occasion of Andocides’ On the Mysteries. Andocides was acquitted. 12. In 388, there was a court case about the property of Ischomachus’ sons, which had allegedly been mishandled when Callias leased it out (Lysias 39—extant only in a few fragments). The historical evidence and the dialogue A. Cratinus’ description of Ischomachus’ father as stingy (#3) is quite consistent with Ischomachus’ comment on his father’s interest in flipping farms in the Oeconomicus (20.22–28). Ischomachus himself, however, ended up less rich than people thought he was (#6), and was popularly thought to have wasted his money on parasites (#5). If Ischomachus was known as something of a spendthrift, this suggests that Cratinus’ point was to contrast him with father in this regard (#3). This high spending will come as something of a shock to contemporary readers of the Oeconomicus. But the text is actually all but silent about Ischomachus’ spending habits, and features him waiting around for some out of town guests who never appear (7.2, 12.1). This at least points to the lack of any direct teaching on this theme, which would have been useful for Critobulus, whose friends are likely to ask him for handouts (2.8), and whose spending was more of a problem than his income. B. One thing is remarkable by its absence in our external evidence: as the prosopographer J. K. Davies observed, we have no literary or epigraphical evidence to show that Ischomachus was elected to any public office, served as an ambassador, performed a liturgy, or made any dedications to the gods. Davies observes that this is unexpected, and suggests that Ischomachus’ “interests lay elsewhere than in public life” (1971, 267). Arguments from silence are dangerous, but Ischomachus’ wealth and family connections put him in the same league with men who have left ample traces of public activity. When Ischomachus is mentioned in our literary

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sources, he appears with men with much larger profiles, as in Lysias 19.45–46, where he is discussed alongside the famous Athenian general Nicias, Callias, the prominent democratic leader Cleophon, and Stephanus son of Thallus. Even in the case of the least known of these figures, Stephanus, we have evidence for expensive dedications to Athena (Davies 1971, 491). This point matters because Ischomachus defends his pursuit of wealth as a means to promote Athens (Oec. 11.9). But the closest Ischomachus comes to playing a public role in the Oeconomicus is his willingness to await the foreign guests (xenoi) who may have come to Athens on public business (Pomeroy 1994, 265). Those guests, however, seem to have stiffed Ischomachus—Socrates’ remark at 12.1 suggests that he at any rate would have expected them to appear by now. This does not exactly suggest a high public profile. And if Ischomachus did all he could to avoid a public role or public expenditures, this would help explain why Socrates had to ask Ischomachus just what he did in order to be called a kalokagathos (Oec. 7.2). Had Ischomachus been active in public life, the question could have been too naïve even for Socrates. C. Ischomachus, rather surprisingly, became something of a Socratic himself (#4). The anecdote told by Plutarch (On Curiosity 2.516c) goes like this: Aristippus, meeting Ischomachus at Olympia, asked what Socrates said to have such an impact on the youth. Aristippus was so affected by a few small sayings of his, which he took as seeds and examples, that he completely collapsed and became pale and weak. He sailed right away to Athens, where he slaked his burning thirst from its source and studied the man [Socrates], his words and his philosophy, the goal of this philosophy being recognizing one’s flaws and removing them. Here we are not dealing with a scandal but with a positive development—at least from the Socratic point of view. In the Oeconomicus itself, Ischomachus is respectful enough of Socrates to not mind Socrates’ gentle ribbing, but we would hardly expect him to recommend Socrates warmly enough to have won Socrates one of his most influential followers. Our only evidence for what Ischomachus found of value in Socratic philosophy is the content of Plutarch’s brief report, and the fact that it was most likely drawn from Aeschines.35 Plutarch characterizes the goal of Socratic philosophy as recognizing one’s flaws and removing them. Presumably the “small sayings” that Ischomachus used to convince Aristippus of Socrates’ value were in this same line: a call to recognize one’s own flaws could certainly help explain Aristippus’ discomposure at taking those Socratic lessons to heart. We know nothing of the context in which Aeschines discussed how Ischomachus introduced Aristippus to Socrates, but we have seen that self-improvement was a major

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theme in Aeschines’ Aspasia. Thus, the content of Plutarch’s characterization of Socratic philosophy is consonant with what we know of Aeschines, and we have already seen good reason to think that Aeschines’ Aspasia was an influence on the Oeconomicus. The intertextual plot thickens. Now I have argued that Critobulus’ central failing in the Oeconomicus is his failure to recognize his own flaws, and that this failing was shared by Ischomachus himself at the time of his conversation with Socrates. Plutarch’s anecdote suggests that Ischomachus himself eventually came to understand the importance of self-improvement, and was thereby able to share this Socratic lesson with others. Perhaps, then, Xenophon expected his readers to contrast the older, wiser and Socratic Ischomachus with the younger and more selfsatisfied figure of the Oeconomicus. We are, however, admittedly in quite speculative territory here, given our limited evidence. The one thing that is clear from Plutarch’s anecdote is that Ischomachus was a man known to readers of Socratic literature from sources other than the Oeconomicus. This legitimates our own efforts to learn what we can about him from the external evidence. D. Chrysilla’s remarkably scandalous later life provides a rather striking contrast with her demure role in the Oeconomicus. Here too, however, we see some ironic connections between the scandalous Chrysilla and Ischomachus’ demure young wife. Andocides reports that years after Callias threw Chrysilla out and denied his parentage of her son, he “fell for the brazen old woman all over again” (τῆς γραὸς τολμηρατάτης γυναικὸς ἀντηράσθη On the Mysteries 127). Andocides depicts Callias as having lusts worthy of the raciest Greek myth, a man who wanted to bed three generations of women: Chrysilla, her daughter (by Ischomachus), and her granddaughter (On the Mysteries 128–129). More important for our purpose is the reputation of Chrysilla herself, whose brazenness contravenes every Athenian gender norm, and is in striking contrast with the young bride whose husband reassures her that she will be honored in the household even as she ages, assuming she is a good guardian of the estate and their children (Oec. 7.42–43). Ischomachus, after reassuring his wife that she need not worry about losing status as she ages, tells Socrates how wives can be sexier than slaves or prostitutes (Oec. 10.12–13); this would have been a particularly rich remark for an audience aware that Ischomachus’ wife would eventually seduce her son-in-law twice. E. The Oeconomicus says a great deal about marriage but surprisingly little about children (Murnaghan 1988, 19n4; Danzig 2010, 259n38). Procreation was certainly a central concern, and perhaps the central concern, for Athenian marriages. Ischomachus does mention children, and explain that they can put off consideration of them until later (Oec. 7.12–13), while concerning themselves with their household for now. Pomeroy (1994, 33–39), here as elsewhere emphasizing Xenophon’s

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progressive views, argues that Xenophon chose to emphasize the value and range of women’s work, rather than limiting their value to childbearing. She is certainly right that Ischomachus focuses on his wife’s economic role, and in a work devoted to oikonomia this emphasis is natural enough. But the absence of any substantial conversation about children in the Oeconomicus is also entirely consonant with Chrysilla’s utter disregard for the well-being of her daughter (#9), and perhaps also her neglect of her sons by Ischomachus, at least if she knew anything about Callias’ apparent mismanagement of their estate (#12). E. While Andocides plays up Callias’ epic lust, he had a motive to do so: it hid the fact that Callias, like Andocides’ himself, had financial motives—the two were fighting over which would gain a share in the estate that would go to the new husband of Ischomachus’ granddaughter (#7). That at any rate is the suspicion of the prosopographers Davies (1971, 268) and Nails (2002, 70–71, 171), as well as Pomeroy (1994, 261–262) and Hobden (2017, 172). Similar motivations probably drove Chrysilla herself, as attaching herself to Callias would have also kept her attached to the dowry of her daughter and the inheritances of her sons. In their pursuit of financial advantage, Chrysilla and Callias drove Ischomachus’ daughter to attempt suicide, and Callias seems to have proven a poor guardian for Ischomachus’ sons, given that their property suffered when Callias leased it out. The behavior of Callias and Chrysilla is thus a parody of the principles of Ischomachus. Ischomachus’ marriage was directed at honorable prosperity, but lacked any emotional content—any real philia between husband and wife, or talk of emotional attachment to children. The only non-fiscal bond between the two was sex, based on the premise that Chrysilla would remain more attractive than the household slaves, if she got enough exercise doing housework and remained a willing sexual partner. Ischomachus’ wife thus led a life of scandal that hurt her daughter and may have damaged her sons. Ischomachus would probably have been outraged had he known what his wife would do, and what happened to his children, but his way of life, at least before his Socratic conversion experience, provided no principled basis for avoiding this sort of scandal. He aspired to nothing higher than making money, though he insisted on doing so in an honorable and orderly fashion. And he apparently had no good sense of how to spend the money he made. Chrysilla and Callias revealed the hollowness of his ideals by bringing a concern for economics and sex to its scandalous but natural conclusion: an all but incestuous marriage that aimed to enrich the partners, heedless of the wellbeing of their previous children, and thereby dishonored all concerned.

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Reading as Critobulus I conclude this long chapter by returning to my main theme, the Oeconomicus as a lesson for Critobulus. Critobulus’ problem, according to Critobulus, was that his necessary expenses outran his income; he therefore needed to learn how to increase that income so as to produce a surplus. Ischomachus could certainly help Critobulus increase his income. While Critobulus, to his shame, rarely speaks with his wife, Ischomachus provides sound, practical advice about how a man should train his wife, and thereby protect his wealth. He also provides sound advice about training laborers, and about techniques for raising crops, though he insists these techniques are known to all. Ischomachus also teaches Critobulus lessons Critobulus didn’t think he needed. Among the most important of the character traits Ischomachus emphasizes with his wife, which are also traits he aims to select for and inculcate in the supervisors amongst his slaves, are epimeleia and enkrateia, traits Critobulus lacks. And when it comes to farming, the way of life Socrates had promoted so eloquently to Critobulus, Ischomachus’ main lesson is that diligence, one of Critobulus’ short suits, is the most vital element for success. Thus the entirety of the Ischomachus section of the dialogue can be said to focus on Critobulus’ needs, both those he recognizes and those he does not, in the form of lessons that cover not only estate management but character. These observations point the way toward a more developed version of what we could call the straight or positive reading of the dialogue, one which emphasizes the continuity between Ischomachus, Socrates, and Xenophon. But I have also noted numerous factors that complicate this reading. The Oeconomicus begins with a definition of oikonomia that makes knowledge the only good, only to close with a man whose central point is that everybody already knows how to farm, and who is happy to define the love of farming as the love of profit. Ischomachus’ understanding of farming is far more limited than that Socrates provides in his paean to farming in chapters four and five. Ischomachus is at best a limited model for Critobulus. Let us recall that Socrates promised to do more than produce a paragon of the gentleman farmer in chapter three. He said he would show successes and failures, as well as Aspasia. My argument here has been that he keeps those promises after all, in a fashion. Comparison with Aspasia’s teaching, as delivered in Xenophon (Memorabilia 2.6) and to Xenophon, in Aeschines’ Aspasia, suggests limits to Ischomachus’ teaching of his wife. The absence of any mention of Ischomachus’ public life in the dialogue itself or in our external evidence suggests that Ischomachus himself failed to live up to the highest conventional standards of his class, by failing to take any active role in public life. And the evidence we do have for Ischomachus’ relative lack of economic success and the moral bankruptcy of his wife shows further limits to Ischomachus as a role model. There is therefore a

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sense in which Ischomachus is both a success—because he does provide lessons Critobulus’ needs—and a failure, given his shortcomings within the dialogue and outside of it. This explains why Socrates could introduce Ischomachus instead of introducing positive and negative case studies. After all, if Ischomachus was all flaws, if he was entirely a vehicle for parody and critique, as Strauss argued, then Socrates’ approach with Critobulus would have been irresponsible. But Ischomachus’ limits are as important as his positive lessons. Ischomachus’ emphasis on economics at the expense of politics and ethics makes him an inadequate representation of kalokagathia. At best Ischomachus provides a foundation for such a life; but it is a foundation which is quite clearly inadequate on its own. I suggest, then, that the Oeconomicus offers readers not just two choices—Ischomachus or Socrates—but three: Socrates, Ischomachus as a limited version of conventional kalokagathia, or a fuller version of conventional kalokagathia, one that is informed by Socratic lessons. As Ischomachus fails to fully embody the ideal of kalokagathia, his personal failures do not necessarily undermine that ideal. Readers who reject Ischomachus as a complete model are thus left with the two other options. They may opt for the full-fledged version of a conventional life, in which farming is the best and most pleasant way of life and the one best suited to allow one to serve one’s city, a life Socrates sketches in chapters four and five but that Ischomachus himself fails to fully embody. They would note that the absence of Aspasia indicates a higher ideal for marriage than that Ischomachus promotes. With these lessons, they would be prepared for a conventional life of the best sort. Or they may opt for a Socratic life, in which material possessions are of little concern, and service to the community must take another form, that of teaching those who will lead a public life (Mem. 1.6.15). Some of Ischomachus’ lessons will be of value whichever choice they take, but the one clear mistake would be to limit oneself to Ischomachus’ own way of life. What, then, is the final lessons for Critobulus and for readers? Are they to choose the conventional ideal that Ischomachus fails to measure up to, or the life of a Socrates? Xenophon leaves this question open by leaving the Oeconomicus open ended, with no closing frame to match the opening conversation between Critobulus and Socrates. This lack of closure is not unique in Xenophon. The Symposium, as we saw in chapter five, ends with a floor show that calls into question Socrates’ austere teaching on love of the soul. Outside the Socratica, Xenophon’s major works often leave us with uncertainties: the last chapter of the Cyropaedia calls into question Cyrus’ legacy, and the Hellenica ends with Greece in disorder. The penultimate chapter of the Constitution of the Spartans raises fundamental questions about Lycurgan Sparta. Even the Anabasis ends not with a triumphant return of the 10,000 to Greek territory, but with the army entering Spartan service after a long series of struggles and internal dissent. In the closing chapter, Xenophon himself manages to secure enough booty,

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with the help of the gods, to reward his closest followers and return home to Greece with a moderate fortune. This small personal success seems somehow out of synch with the larger ambitions of Xenophon as a leader. But perhaps it can serve as a segue to our conclusion, which will follow Xenophon back to Greece and to his estate at Scillus, where his literary career began. Consideration of what Xenophon was up to at Scillus will help us think through what he meant us to take away from a reading of the Oeconomicus.

Notes 1 The Republic is not, of course, an ideal source for the historical Socrates. It is a middle dialogue, and it is a complex literary work open to many interpretations, including ironizing ones. Socrates’ remarks above could, for example, tell us more about Glaucon, who Xenophon also depicts as being decidedly uninterested in practical matters (Mem. 3.6), than Socrates. But it is certainly not shocking to hear the strange, urbane Platonic Socrates, who mentions his family only in a praeteritio (Apology 34c–d), dismissing such everyday concerns. 2 It is just possible that the otherwise difficult to identify oikonomikos named Antisthenes in Memorabilia 3.4 is a joking reference to Antisthenes (discussion in Prince 2015, 262–269). Protagoras also included oikonomia in his repertoire (Protagoras 318e). 3 As has been done recently by Hobden (2017) and Dorion (2013, 317–345; 2018c). In his earlier essay, Dorion argues that Socrates and Ischomachus represent parallel but distinct models of oikonomia, sharing a common foundation in enkrateia; but his more recent essay stresses similarities. Pomeroy (1994, 263) only tentatively backs the identification, but it plays an important role in her argument against an ironic reading of the Oeconomicus. 4 For other forms of ἀδολεσχεῖν cf. Clouds (1480, 1484–1485), Eupolis frg. 386 (τὸν Σωκράτην τὸν πτωχὸν ἀδολὲσχην “Socrates the beggar blatterer”) and Phaedo 70c. (Alexis uses the same verb of speaking with Plato in frg. 185). For ἀερομετρεῖν, cf. ἀεροβατῶ at Clouds 225 and 1503. 5 Straussian readings of the Oeconomicus include Strauss (1970), Stevens (1994), Pangle (1994; 2020, 7–119); and Ambler (1996). Among non-Straussians who emphasize gaps between Xenophon and Ischomachus are Too (2001), Kronenberg (2009, 39–75), and Danzig (2010, 239–263). 6 See note 44 to the introduction and note 23 below for more on the Greek terms related to kalokagathia. 7 At least at the time he spoke with Socrates. We will see below that external evidence for Ischomachus suggests that he may have undergone something of a transformation after learning more from Socrates. 8 Cf. Mem. 1.2.17, 1.2.48, 1.6.44, 2.2.17, 4.2.23, 4.7.1, 4.8.11. Enkrateia is called kalon and agathon at 1.5.1; related phrases are repeatedly used to describe the sort of men who can truly befriend one another in 2.6, making kalokagathia the goal for Critobulus, who must win such friends. At 3.9.5 everything thing done by means of virtue is said to be kalon and agathon. For the relationship between what is kalon and what is agathon, see Mem. 3.8. 9 Strauss (2001, 567); for more on Strauss’ letters during this period, see Lampert (2009). 10 It is important to note in Pomeroy’s defense that she did subtitle her commentary “A Social and Historical Commentary”; readers wanting literary or

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philosophical discussion will thus need to look elsewhere, despite the richness of Pomeroy’s text. Pomeroy herself argues that Xenophon’s Ischomachus was something of a progressive regarding relations between the sexes (1994, 33–40); cf. Blundell (1995, 140) and Glazebrook (2009). On such suggestions, see Pomeroy (1994, 5–8). The only exceptions come at Oec. 2.10–15, a passage discussed below. These xenoi are presumably aristocratic contacts from other cities, but dining them would have been regarded as part of Critobulus’ civic duty if they were visiting on diplomatic business, as Pomeroy (1994, 265) suggests. Ischomachus will be sitting in the agora awaiting such xenoi when Socrates meets him (7.2). The key phrase in Socrates’ observation at 2.18 is, however, not transparent in meaning. I translate τοὺς δὲ γνώμῃ συντεταμένῃ ἐπιμελουμένους as “those who diligently apply their understanding.” Contrast Pomeroy’s “those who are seriously concerned” (1994, 117), Waterfield’s “those who work hard and apply themselves” (1990, 296), and Henderson’s (2013, 407) “those who seriously devote themselves.” I understand γνώμη here as an acquired capability to make judgments. Cf. Oec. 21.2, where Ischomachus notes that good leaders differ from others in γνώμη, in a way that does not apply to farming, which is so easy to learn that no special expertise is required. At least in Ischomachus’ view, farming is the only art which is so easy to learn that only “serious concern” suffices for success. Socrates, by contrast, had begun his search by looking for those who were most knowledgeable (ἐπιστημονέστατοι 2.16). The question here is a deliberative subjunctive introduced by ἆρα… μή; on this combination, see Denniston (1954, 47–48; cf. Dillery 2016, 270). Such questions do not so much suggest a positive or negative reply as suggest that we are dealing with a difficult question. Even if the Alcibiades I is not by Plato, it provides evidence of one treatment of Persia in a Socratic author more or less contemporary with Xenophon. On Persia in Plato, see Tuplin (2018). For an introduction to the controversies surrounding interpretation of the Cyropaedia, see Tamiolaki (2017). For Cyrus the Younger, contrast Flower (2020) and Danzig (2020). For recent introductions to Xenophon’s approach to Persia, see Vlassopoulos (2017) and Tuplin (2018). Rood (2017) makes inscrutability, including inscrutability in tone, a major facet of Xenophon’s narrative style. See page 15 for the varied views on Xenophon’s exile. See note 4 to chapter four for the meaning of this term. Pomeroy (1994, 5–8) summarizes the arguments for different layers of composition and suggests the hypotheses above. For analysis of the differences between the Hellenica and the Agesilaus, see Dillery (1995, 114–119). Xenophon’s use of τὸ ὄνομα (translations of which include name, renown, word, and noun) for the expression we could literally translate as “a man both beautiful and fine” (kalos te kagathos anēr) shows that he is treating it as a term of art, which underlies my decision to employ the term kalokagathos, despite its post-Classical lineage. See note 44 to the introduction for more on the Greek usage. For the antidosis process, see chapter one, note 12. I translate the manuscript reading, but the Greek is difficult, and may be corrupt. The comparative particle ἤ in the first part of the sentence is not preceded by any comparative adjective or adverb, which is unusual but not impossible (see LSJ ἤ B.1). Editors have suggested emending to say that it is naturally easier, or naturally more pleasant for a sensible woman to care for her children.

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26 Pomeroy (1994, 304–305); Glazebrook (2009) adds that the sort of makeup employed by Ischomachus’ wife was respectable (because it did not include the eye treatments associated with prostitutes); this makes Ischomachus’ rejection of makeup more radical, something that contributes to his effort to redefine gender roles, in Glazebrook’s view. 27 As a respectable Athenian woman, Xenophon’s wife is not named in public; Diogenes Laertius (2.53) tells us that her name was Philesia. 28 Recent work on the Aspasia, see Kahn (1994), Lampe (2010), Marsico (2018), and Pentassuglio (2020). 29 For Rossetti’s theory that this Xenophon is not our Xenophon, see pages 4344 in chapter one. 30 As was already suggested at least as early as Wilamowitz (1893, 99n35); cf. Dittmar (1912, 34–41); Ehlers (1966, 106). 31 This Archedemus (known as “the bleary-eyed”) apparently led a rather colorful career, including being charged with embezzlement and sleeping with Alcibiades (Nails 2002, 41–42, citing Lysias 14.25). 32 On “Socratic method” as taught by Ischomachus, see Guthrie (1969, 336–337); Morrison (1994, 205–206); Hobden (2017, 165–168). 33 I will attempt to provide a fuller re-evaluation in Johnson forthcoming B. The best reconstruction is that in Pomeroy’s commentary (1994, 259–264), which builds on that of Davies (1971, 265–268, 297–298). See also MacDowell (1962, 145, 207); Stevens (1994, 217–223); Nails (2002, 176–178); and Hobden (2017, 168–173). 34 This is essentially the conclusion of MacDowell (1962, 11–15); cf. Nails (2002, 177). 35 Our evidence for Plutarch’s source is Diogenes’ citation of Aeschines as his source for the statement that Aristippus was drawn to Athens by the fame (kleos) of Socrates (D.L. 2.65). Diogenes says nothing about Ischomachus, but the inference that he was referring to the same source as Plutarch seems clear enough (as to Dittmar 1912, 60–62).

Conclusion

I have argued in this book that Xenophon adds immensely to our understanding of Socrates. While Plato’s Socrates regularly leaves the people he speaks with more confused than enlightened, Xenophon’s Memorabilia provides a comprehensive guide to the benefits Socrates’ provides to those he encounters. Xenophon’s accounts of Socrates’ trial provide the clearest explanation of Socrates’ approach to his trial and makes the best forensic defense of Socrates by an ancient Socratic. In doing so Xenophon also provides the most extensive account of the charges against Socrates and thus our best evidence for the reconstruction of the trial controversy. Xenophon’s account of Socrates’ moral psychology adds a missing foundation for the Socratic intellectualism so well known to us from Plato. Xenophon’s Symposium provides us with a clear account of Socrates’ sexual morality. And in the Oeconomicus, Xenophon shows how Socrates dealt with a young companion whose interests were decidedly unphilosophical, and thus forces us to think through the relationship between Socratic philosophy and conventional values. This conclusion comes in three parts. First will come some further remarks about what Xenophon adds, particularly what he adds to the Socrates found in Plato’s early dialogues. I will then suggest that differences among Xenophon’s Socratic works justify different approaches to reading those works. Finally, I will reconnect this account of Xenophon’s Socrates to what we know of Xenophon’s own life, suggesting that we should not let old ideas about Xenophon’s life on his country estate limit our reading of his books.

Xenophon and Plato 1. Xenophon’s Socrates is embedded within his society and offers lessons for how to succeed in society. One of the keys to the appeal of Plato’s dialogues is his use of historical characters and realistic dramatic settings. But Plato’s Socrates is himself “out of place” (atopos) in his society, and he rejects much about the culture and beliefs of classical Athenians. His effort to make universal claims is not

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only a fundamental feature of Platonism but one key to Plato’s ongoing influence. This universal appeal, however, comes at a cost. Plato left us with an eternal vision of Socrates as a martyr for philosophy. But, in comparison with Xenophon, Plato was fundamentally uninterested in the arguments that led to the conviction of Socrates in 399. Plato was also, at least in Xenophon’s view, insufficiently clear about Socrates’ own motivation at his trial. Plato’s Socrates brilliantly points to flaws in Athenian democracy, but gives no practical advice on how one can flourish within that system. Nor does Plato’s Socrates provide much in the way of actionable practical advice. Come to Plato’s Socrates looking for guidance about whether to have your son receive private lessons how to fight as a hoplite, and you will find yourself engaged in a futile if brilliant search for the definition of courage (Laches). Philosophy is the answer to every question, and the major substantive answer philosophy provides is that the best way of life is the life of philosophy. Xenophon’s Socrates, by contrast, helps individuals strengthen ties with family and friends (Mem. 2.2–10), and pursue careers as leaders in the Athenian democracy (Mem. 3.1–7). He gives practical advice on physical fitness and regimen (3.12–14), how to confront poverty (Mem. 2.7–2.10), how to pursue the crafts (Mem. 3.10), how best to pursue one’s love life (Symposium), and how to manage an agricultural estate (Oeconomicus). Some of the advice in Xenophon will strike us as banal; but this is the fate of anyone who is willing to provide advice across a broad range of topics. And while engaged in practical conversations about everyday life, Xenophon’s Socrates does not lose sight of his larger ethical concerns. This is true, I have argued, even for the Oeconomicus, where a rather detailed discussion of farming (Oec. 15–21) is also a discussion about learning. 2. Xenophon’s Socrates is a Socrates with a body. Xenophon’s Socrates has not been contaminated with the Platonic duality between body and soul. As we saw in chapter four, Xenophon’s Socrates returns again and again to the central importance of self-mastery (enkrateia), which he regards as the foundation of virtue. Self-mastery requires control of our desires for food, drink, sleep, and sex, desires which must be mastered if we are to be free from slavish bondage to them, and capable of learning anything of value. This is the foundation of Xenophon’s Socratic curriculum. Nor does Xenophon’s Socrates neglect bodily regimen as a basis for the good life. Plato’s Socrates displays self-mastery, but he does not talk about it. For all Plato tells us, Socrates was born with the ability to stand barefoot in the snow for hours on end and drink wine all night with no ill-effect. Plato’s Socrates is all soul and no body. Perhaps there is an implicit Socratic paradox here that Plato expected readers to solve for themselves: but

Conclusion 281 Xenophon endeavors to solve it for us. Xenophon thus has much to say to an age open to the idea that mind/body dualism does more harm than good. 3. Xenophon’s Socrates is a responsible teacher for all of us. Delphi tells us that no man is wiser than Plato’s Socrates, yet he consistently denies that he knows anything of importance and therefore makes no direct claim to be able to educate the young. Plato’s Socrates inspires interlocutors to study philosophy, but in doing so risks leaving them ethically at sea: no wonder that Plato would later have Socrates restrict dialectic to middleaged guardians (Republic 7.537d–539e). As we saw in chapter three, the Delphic oracle praises Xenophon’s Socrates in superlative terms, but does not single out his wisdom, and Xenophon’s Socrates has no divine mission to promote philosophy on earth. Socrates is, Xenophon argues, the best of men, but this is not because he alone possesses the peculiar human wisdom of Plato’s Socrates, but rather because he possesses all the virtues to an exceeding degree. So while Plato’s Socrates is an inspiration to potential philosophers, Xenophon’s Socrates can inspire anyone with human potential. He does not introduce readers to philosophy but to life. While Xenophon’s Socrates is like Plato’s Socrates in being unable to teach all one needs to be noble and good (Mem. 1.2.2–3), there is much he is willing and able to teach. Xenophon’s Socrates offers much more guidance about the right way to act in real-world situations. He can define the virtues and discuss how they relate to one another. He knows how to educate the young, how knowledge is acquired, and what we must to do to avoid losing it. He also outlines a clear teaching on sexual morality, as we saw in chapter five. What Xenophon’s Socrates loses in mystery and paradox he may gain in moral stature. For while Plato’s Socrates attempts to disclaim any responsibility for his effect on the youth by claiming to teach them nothing, Xenophon’s Socrates is a responsible teacher (Morrison 1994). 4. Xenophon’s Socrates is intertextual, and compatible with Plato’s Socrates So there are important contrasts between Xenophon’s Socrates and Plato’s Socrates. But contrasts differ in kind and degree. And when we look to how Xenophon himself characterizes his relationship with other Socratics, we discover that Xenophon considered himself to be speaking about the same Socrates that others had described. Plato and Xenophon were originally part of large, vibrant, and diverse conversation about Socrates. But while Plato obscures his relationship with other Socratics, Xenophon openly acknowledges that others write about Socrates, and expects his readers to consider his account alongside others. We can trace some dialogue with two so-called “minor Socratics”: Antisthenes is a major character in Xenophon’s Symposium, and

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Aeschines may well have provided a teaching on marriage that contrasted with that offered by Ischomachus in Xenophon’s Oeconomicus. But our knowledge of these other Socratics pales beside what we know of Plato, and it is likely that Plato was Xenophon’s major Socratic interlocutor. I have argued that while Xenophon certainly critiques Plato, he does not aim to replace Plato’s representation of Socrates but to correct and supplement it. Thus, the contrasts sketched above often prove to be complementary: Xenophon’s Socrates is, like Plato’s, an intellectualist, but he is an embodied intellectualist. He is, like Plato’s Socrates, a critic of democracy, but offers advice for men who would lead the democracy. Unlike Plato’s Socrates, he knows a great deal about farming, but he is still no farmer himself. Xenophon’s Socrates cares about definitions, but he knows that we must gain self-mastery if we are to make use of our ethical knowledge. In short, Xenophon’s arguments are usually additive: he provides a fuller picture of Socrates, not an alternative one. 5. Xenophon’s Socrates can help us understand Plato’s Socrates. I suspect that most readers of this volume, even those who come to appreciate Xenophon’s Socrates, will still spend more time with Plato than Xenophon. Such readers should be heartened to hear that Xenophon’s Socrates can help them better understand Plato. This can happen in at least three ways. First, Xenophon sometimes directly responds to Plato’s account of Socrates, most often by clarifying something he believes Plato left unclear. This is a central purpose, of Xenophon’s Apology and Symposium. As a contemporary reader who also had first-hand access to Socrates, Xenophon offers us unique access to Plato’s earliest readers. He may have misread Plato, of course, but his misreading will at least be a plausible one by an informed contemporary. Second, when Xenophon differs with Plato in a more systematic way, the two versions of Socrates help us see each Socrates more clearly. Xenophon’s emphasis on self-mastery, for example, makes the absence of any explicit interest in that quality in early Plato all the more remarkable. And the absence of a divine mission in Xenophon highlights the extraordinary nature of the divine mission in Plato’s Apology, allowing us to consider it anew, not as a given fact about Socrates but, perhaps, as Plato’s gift to his master. Finally, when there is a dispute about the views of Plato’s Socrates, a rather common occurrence amongst Plato scholars, and one of those views is more compatible with what we find in Xenophon, the more Xenophontic reading of Plato should be given a certain degree of precedence. The more Xenophontic reading of Plato is at least certain to avoid anachronism. Xenophon does, of course, differ with Plato about Socrates in some respects. And he may differ not only because he remembers Socrates differently, or interprets Socrates differently, but because he enlists Socrates in a more or

Conclusion 283 less fictional manner as an advocate for his own views. But there is no doubt that both Plato and Xenophon were heavily influenced by Socrates, and this common inheritance will often have produced common views.1 Differences, on the other hand, ought to be explicable as part of differing literary or philosophical agendas. In other words, it seems reasonable to assume agreement about Socrates to be the unmarked, default situation, while differences should be motivated by each author’s larger concerns. 6. Xenophon’s Socrates may help us recover the historical Socrates. The Socratic question is not only a stale relic of a more positivistic age; it is an unavoidable question for anyone interested in the history of philosophy or the history of Athens. Our evidence for the historical Socrates is of higher quality than that for any individual in antiquity before Cicero. We have contemporary sources in two distinct genres (comedy and Socratic literature), a good number of which survive intact (Clouds, Plato, Xenophon) or in substantial fragments (particularly those of Aeschines). Xenophon himself provides one method for recovering the historical Socrates, as he asserts that when accounts of Socrates agree, they reveal Socrates as he really was (Apol. 1). There are other possible explanations for commonalities, including influence among the Socratics, but where Xenophon and Plato agree about Socrates, we have at least a prima facie case that we are dealing with the historical figure. To judge the extent of their agreement or disagreement, however, we need a far more sophisticated understanding of Xenophon’s Socrates. This book, building on the work of others, has aimed to contribute to such an understanding. 7. Xenophon’s intertextual Socrates matters even if he is not historical. If historical reconstruction, finally, proves impractical or is simply too passé, then we can still pause to note the value of this intertextual Socrates, regardless of his historical status. For if Xenophon’s Socrates can be seen as the result of Xenophontic additions and corrections to the other accounts of Socrates, above all the early Platonic Socrates, this Socrates will be greater than the sum of his Xenophontic and Platonic parts. He will give us greater insight into the concerns of 4th century Socratics and address more issues than could either Socrates taken on his own. Xenophon’s moral psychology arguably undergirds the intellectualism of Plato’s Socrates. Xenophon’s account of the trial provides a far broader view of the contemporary arguments about Socrates than we find in Plato’s Apology, for all its brilliance. Xenophon’s account of Socratic eros provides ethical answers for the practical questions Plato’s Socrates leaves unaddressed. Xenophon’s willingness to present Socrates in sustained, respectful dialogue with a purported exemplar of conventional values in the Oeconomicus presents us with a unique opportunity to study a Socratic take on those values. Xenophon’s Socrates is therefore vital to any understanding of Socrates that is more than a reading of early Plato.

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Reading Xenophon Careful readers of this volume will have noticed a development in my approach to Xenophon’s Socratic works. I take the Memorabilia and Apology to be fairly straightforward in intent: both works defend Socrates, and present a relatively transparent account of Socrates’ intentions and ideas. The Memorabilia does get more advanced in subject matter as it goes along, I have suggested, and does present Socrates’ teaching on pleasure with considerable care. But even this development over the course of the book is signaled readily enough for readers by the book four introduction of Socrates’ model student, Euthydemus, whose presence justifies a more advanced account of Socrates’ teaching. I here do not engage in ironizing readings of the sort associated with Leo Strauss and those working under his influence.2 This is not to say that I have provided the last word on the Memorabilia and Apology. Even if my interpretations were to prove persuasive, there are large areas ripe for further study, or indeed already being studied further by other scholars. These include the religious views of Xenophon Socrates,3 his politics,4 his views on law,5 his teaching on leadership,6 and his account of friendship.7 One key challenge in each of these areas is seeing just how Socratic Xenophon’s views are outside of his Socratic works—or how Xenophontic his Socrates is. This is one of the central questions for readers of Xenophon, and it is obviously of great importance for those who read Xenophon mainly out of interest in Socrates. I have argued here that Xenophon’s Socrates has much more in common with his counterpart in Plato and other Socratic authors than is often maintained. But only a more thorough comparison across Xenophon’s works could allow us to confirm that Xenophon made a deliberate effort to distinguish Socrates from his other paradigmatic figures.8 The Symposium and Oeconomicus, in my reading, are rather less straightforward than the Apology and Memorabilia. The reason for this is clear enough: where the Memorabilia and Apology are non-dialogic works with clearly stated goals and active narrators who provide guidance on how they are to be read, the Symposium and Oeconomicus are philosophical dialogues, literary and dramatic wholes whose narrators make only token appearances. They are inhabited by fully embodied characters who were well known to Xenophon’s contemporaries—and who were implicated in scandals that contrast with the seemingly positive or at least polite treatment they receive in Xenophon. Here my readings detect a great deal of irony in Xenophon, irony of a dry but systemic sort signaled rather subtly in the texts but confirmed by external evidence. In this my approach is closer to those of Leo Strauss and his followers. I have, however, not gone as far as a true Straussian reader would go. I do believe that in the Symposium Socrates outlines a positive teaching for how to sublimate pederastic eros into lasting friendship. And I do believe that Ischomachus is not only the

Conclusion 285 butt of parody. Thus, the dialogic works connect to the positive arguments of the non-dialogic Memorabilia and Apology. Xenophon’s irony is real and deep, but it is not all pervasive. It is not easy to maintain this sort of middle ground position, particularly concerning an author whose readers are often sharply divided on the question of irony.9 My middling position is perhaps justified, however, by the open-ended closings Xenophon provides in the Symposium and Oeconomicus. The former ends with a floor show difficult to reconcile with Socrates’ teaching; the latter ends without any Socratic framing of the teaching of Ischomachus. Such endings leave room for divergent interpretations, and suggest one of Xenophon’s goals was to provoke further thought. This was not his only goal, in my view: he did not aim solely to introduce the fundamental questions of philosophy and politics and demonstrate that they are ultimately unanswerable, which seems to be the ultimate goal of the bona fide Straussian philosopher, the “sphinx without a secret” (Burnyeat 1985). Xenophon had some answers; but he was not only interested in providing answers. We see this across Xenophon’s corpus, in ways large and small. His narratives appear so straightforward that for generations he was the standard first author for students of ancient Greek. As is true of Caesar, however, his counterpart for students of Latin, Xenophon’s superficial simplicity masks considerable subtlety and depth, and often leaves readers wondering what we are to make of what he says.10 On a larger scale, his major works often include passages which appear to undermine a more straightforwardly positive interpretation, most famously the final chapter of the Cyropaedia, with its sharp critique of Persia’s turn for the worse immediately after the death of that book’s supposed hero, and the penultimate chapter of the Consitution of the Spartans, which calls into question Xenophon’s supposed idealization of Sparta. Xenophon’s Hellenica ends with Xenophon noting the confused nature of Greek affairs after the battle of Mantineia in 362, and leaving it to someone else to concern themselves with what followed. There is a trace of this openness even in Xenophon’s two non-dialogic Socratic works, each of what ends with an opening to the reader. The Memorabilia ends with Xenophon’s recapitulation of Socrates’ superlative virtues, but invites any reader who disagrees to compare Socrates’ character with those of any one else; he provides similar challenges to readers in the Constitution of the Spartans (1.10, 2.14) and in the last words of the Cyropaedia (8.8.27). The Apology provides a more confident variation on this formula—recall the argument above that the Apology’s readers have already been primed by something like the Memorabilia. The Apology narrator closes by remarking that he considers anyone who seeks virtue and can find a better guide to it than Socrates to be “the most worthy of being called most blessed”—a single word in Greek (ἀξιομακαριστότατον) that appears only here in Classical Greek and presumably demonstrates how

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unlikely anyone is to find a better guide than Socrates. These rhetorical imperatives at the end of the Memorabilia and Cyropaedia (“let anyone who disagrees speak up”) are rhetorical, as is the condition at the end of the Apology. But, like rhetorical questions, such expressions are also challenges to readers, who are given some occasion to question what Xenophon has to say, even where he is quite confident of what he has to say.

Xenophon at Scillus As I remarked early in this volume, Xenophon tells us a good deal about himself in his books, suggesting we connect books to author. This temptation is particularly difficult to resist when considering the open-ended dialogues. One reason to indulge is that Xenophon went some way toward writing himself into his dialogues in the person of Critobulus, Socrates’ interlocutor in the Oeconomicus and a major character in the Symposium, where Critobulus remained besotted with his beloved Cleinias and taken with his own beauty and was thus in need of Socrates’ teaching on eros. In the Memorabilia, Xenophon admits that he once shared Critobulus’ weaknesses for kissing young beauties (Mem. 1.3.8–13), one of the reasons Critobulus’ financial situation called for the intervention portrayed in the Oeconomicus. And as a young man, Xenophon was also fascinated by the Persian Cyrus, so would himself have been interested had Socrates ever spoken of Persia and Cyrus as Xenophon has Socrates do with Critobulus in the Oeconomicus. Xenophon’s identification with Critobulus was apparently strong enough in antiquity that a figure known to us as PseudoAristippus made Xenophon, rather than Critobulus, the lovesick suitor of Cleinias of the Symposium (D.L. 2.55). As I argued in the introduction, however, the young Xenophon’s resemblance to Critobulus does not mean that we should believe that the older Xenophon continued to share Critobulus’ views: rather the contrary. But what do we know of the older Xenophon, a man who was apparently famous enough for his son’s death to have resulted in numerous encomia and funeral orations and a work by Aristotle (D.L. 2.55)? Readers of such a well-known author would have brought their knowledge of him to their reading of his works. Perhaps this Xenophon was a happy family man who, unlike Socrates, would have ridden off on his favorite horse to throw himself into the arms of his wife after Callias’ party in the Symposium broke up. And perhaps Xenophon the gentleman farmer identified at least as much with Ischomachus as he did with Socrates (cf. Danzig 2010, 260–263; Dorion 2018, 541). Perhaps. Our only direct evidence for Xenophon’s life after the end of his time as a mercenary comes in his famous account of his life at Scillus (Anab. 5.3.7–13). Xenophon presumably began his literary career at Scillus, and it is possible he ended his life there (Pausanias 5.6.6). Xenophon’s life at Scillus has been variously imagined over the ages, sometimes as a

Conclusion 287 “delightful retreat,” sometimes as rural isolation (Rood 2012). Rural Scillus certainly was, but it was also just outside Olympia, home to the greatest Panhellenic festival in Greece, which drew visitors not only for athletic but for intellectual spectacles. Olympia was the place where Ischomachus told Aristippus about Socrates. And Olympia and Scillus were not that far from Athens. Xenophon has his Socrates tell a man too lazy to walk to Olympia that in five or six days of walking about town he probably covered as great a distance as would be required to walk to Olympia (Mem. 3.13.5). Socrates exaggerates the ease of the journey (Olympia is 150 miles from Athens), but many Greeks made the journey. Xenophon’s writings suggest that he was an integral part of the Socratic movement, and our own notions of his exile at Scillus should not obscure this (cf. Dorion 2000, XXXI–XXXII). But what was Xenophon up to at Scillus? It is often assumed that he was a retired general who became a gentleman farmer, and lived a life much like that of Ischomachus. This biographical speculation conveniently explains why Xenophon wrote the Oeconomicus, as a defense of his own life, and it can color our reading of everything else he wrote. But Xenophon’s own account of his life at Scillus does not sound much like Ischomachus’ account of his management of his estate at Athens. Xenophon tell us of his estate at Scillus to explain what he did with the plunder taken by the 10,000 that he was asked to devote to Apollo and Ephesian Artemis (Anab. 5.3.4–13). Upon his return to Greece, Xenophon made an offering to Apollo at the Athenian treasury in Delphi, and then bought an estate for Artemis near the land he had been given by the Spartans at Scillus. In his description of Artemis’ precinct, Xenophon emphasizes the good hunting provided by the land, and the richness and variety of the foodstuffs available to all who participated in the festival in honor of the goddess. Missing from this description is any mention of farming. Xenophon does say that Artemis provided grain, wine, fruit, and sacrificial animals for the festival, and this presumably means that enough of the land in her precinct was worked to provide such things. But Xenophon is silent on his own role in assisting the goddess to provide the fruits of the land. And he tells us nothing of his own private property at Scillus. We may assume that Xenophon supported himself, one way or another, from agricultural income. But the same would be true of most ancient Greek aristocrats. Plato’s money also likely came, ultimately, from agriculture, but no one mistakes him for a farmer. There are some similarities between Xenophon’s role supervising Artemis’ land and festival at Scillus and those of a gentleman like Ischomachus at Athens. As we have seen, Ischomachus notes that he takes pleasure in honoring the gods magnificently, helping his friends, and adorning the city (Oec. 11.9). But while Ischomachus owes his ability to support the city, his friends, and the gods to his hard work managing his land, Xenophon treats the proceeds of Artemis’ estate as coming without any human intervention whatsoever—save in the hunt which evidently

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formed part of the festival. It may be, of course, that Xenophon employed Ischomachean techniques to intensively farm the precinct of Artemis and his own estate. But we have no evidence for this. And what little Xenophon tells us points the other way: he says merely that the goddess provides the food. This is no doubt a pious way of putting things, as it credits the goddess with sustaining her own festival. But Xenophon could have noted his own role, or that of his sons, in ensuring that the tithe provided ample produce for a festival. He does, after all, note that his sons participated in the hunting for the festival. What he is interested in describing is the land’s ability to support hunting “of every sort of beast which is hunted” (Anab. 5.3.8), despite the fact that this distinguishes the plot at Scillus from Artemis’ estate at Ephesus, to which it is otherwise similar. The passage thus provides rather more evidence that Xenophon was a gentleman hunter than that he was a gentleman farmer. So too, of course, does the Cynegeticus, assuming, as most do nowadays, that it is indeed authentic (Gray 1985). Xenophon also describes Artemis’ estate in glowing terms: this is not a piece of underperforming land he had turned around, but a unique estate he hoped would be permanently devoted to the goddess, as the inscription he left behind reveals (Anab. 5.3.13). Furthermore, while Ischomachus says he takes pleasure doing three things with his wealth—honoring the gods, adorning the city, and aiding his friends—Xenophon here speaks only of the first goal. As an exile for much of his life, Xenophon had no city of his own to adorn. And while he no doubt had a network of friends to help, and proudly mentions his newfound ability to be of assistance to someone when he finally secures a respectable amount of plunder at the end of the Anabasis (7.8.23), his ability to help friends would also be limited by his exile status. He could have provided financial support, but he lacked the sort of informal influence that an aristocrat in his home city could wield. This does not mean, of course, that Xenophon would not have prided himself on providing such help had he been able to do so, only that he was not in fact able to play this role, at least for as long as his exile lasted. There is, however, little evidence, at least in the passage on Scillus, that Xenophon missed being able to play such a role. At the very least we can identify three very different descriptions of an aristocratic way of life. in Xenophon.11 Critobulus, like Charmides in Xenophon’s Symposium (4.29–33) or the unknown “Old Oligarch” who wrote the Constitution of Athens, found wealth no match for the demands of the grasping Athenian demos. Ischomachus, through intensive effort with constant attention to the bottom line, apparently managed to meet those demands, if only with difficulty, and perhaps at the cost of decreasing the value of his estate. But for Xenophon himself, at least at Scillus, all comes easily, from the gods. There are differences in literary and political contexts here, of course: the Old Oligarch is obsessed with democratic malpractice, while Ischomachus is defending his way of life at Athens, and Xenophon is

Conclusion 289 eager to show his pious use of plunder at Scillus, where there was no Athenian demos to worry about. But there are also differences in character: the feckless Critobulus and, to a still greater extent, the future oligarch Charmides are hardly objective critics of the Athenian democracy. These differences show us vastly different ways in which the lifestyle of the “gentleman farmer” or “Athenian aristocrat” could be conceptualized. While all three visions of aristocratic life appear in Xenophon’s works, the differences between these visions are at least as important as the similarities. Thus, even if we choose to characterize Xenophon with one of these labels, the label only goes so far. If we take Xenophon at his word, his own take on the aristocratic lifestyle was one that made it seem easy, at least for the pious. This may strike us as special pleading, or aristocratic idealization, but it may also reflect Socratic self-mastery, an ability to live within one’s means in harmony with one’s environment and the gods. And, as it happens, we do have other evidence, in addition to the brief passage about the sanctuary of Artemis at Scillus, for what Xenophon did with his life after his adventures and misadventures with Cyrus, the Cyreans, and Agesilaus. That evidence consists in what is before our eyes: Xenophon's prolific and varied writings. We know that Xenophon completed several of his major works only in the late 360s and early 350s, when he was in his sixties and seventies.12 We do not know very much about when or where he began to write. But Xenophon often wrote about experiences early in his life, including his time with Socrates, his time with the 10,000, and the history of his times from 411 onward. It has been suggested that he worked from notes he took contemporaneously with such events;13 this hypothesis cannot be confirmed, but it does seem plausible that Xenophon started writing, or at least thinking through the things he would write about, early in his life. Xenophon had probably finished his active role in military affairs and settled at Scillus by 392; he would have been no more than 38. During the second half of his long life, the one thing we know he was doing, other than overseeing the festival for Artemis, is writing. Surely his writing was one way he aimed to help his friends, his city, and the gods. His friends would benefit from the lessons Xenophon had learned from Socrates and others. Several of Xenophon’s works, most obviously the Poroi and Hipparchicus, appear to have been intended to help his native city. And Xenophon’s writings often honor the gods by depicting the rewards of piety, which receives pride of place in Xenophon’s account of his “heroes” (Socrates at Memorabilia 4.8.11, Agesilaus in Agesilaus 3, Cyrus at Cyropaedia 8.1.23).14 Xenophon’s wealth, earned through plunder from Persians and service under Agesilaus, won him the leisure to write. Or rather it restored to him the leisure he would probably have enjoyed as a wealthy Athenian had he followed Socrates’ advice and never embarked on the misadventures that led to his exile. If we are to find a model life from Xenophon’s life and works, then, it is not that of the estate manager who turns around underperforming farms.

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Rather than importing what we think we know about Xenophon (that he was a gentleman farmer), not to mention what we think we know about gentleman farmers, it seems more prudent to emphasize what is right before our eyes: Xenophon was not only a kalokagathos but a writer. And he was a reader. Here there is overlap between Xenophon’s image of Socrates and his own self-image, something revealed in how Xenophon the writer has Socrates speak of the pleasures of reading with friends. “So I myself, Antiphon, just as others take pleasure in good horses, or dogs, or birds, I take pleasure in good friends—and still more pleasure than they. And if I have anything good to teach them, I do so, and I get them together with others from whom I believe they will benefit regarding virtue. And I go through the treasures of the wise men of old, which they wrote and left behind in books, reading them together with my friends, and if we see anything good, we pick it out.” When he said this, he struck me both as being blessed himself and as leading those who heard him toward nobility. (Mem. 1.6.14) Xenophon does not, as a matter of fact, show Socrates reading with friends. But it is very easy to imagine Xenophon reading with his friends at Scillus, and hoping that his own works will provide treasures for readers to come. We often credit our heroes with idealized versions of our own best selves. Xenophon was a different sort of Socratic, not a man who set himself up as a philosopher but one who hoped to reach any reader interested in the blessings that a virtuous life can bring. Like his Socrates, Xenophon discussed a great variety of issues in a great variety of ways. And there are treasures to be found in his books.

Notes 1 Cf. Döring (1998) for this approach to Socrates. 2 For consideration of one Straussian approach to the Apology, see my discussion of Pangle (1985) in chapter 3, pages 112–113. Pangle (2018, 2020) provides the most important recent Straussian accounts of Xenophon’s Socrates. 3 For more on Socratic religion in Xenophon, see also Narcy (1997), McPherran (1996, 272–291), Viano (2001), Sedley (2007, 75–92; 2008), Powers (2009), and Johnson (2017). 4 For Socrates’ relationship to democracy in Xenophon, contrast Vlastos (1994, 87–108) and Bevilacqua (2017) (both of whom label Xenophon’s Socrates an oligarch) with (Gray 2004a); Ferrario (2017, 66–72) provides a more balanced reading. 5 On Xenophon’s Socrates and the law, see Morrison (1995), Johnson (2003, 2004, 2012), Gray (2004b), Stavru (2008), Danzig (2009), and Dorion (2018b). 6 For leadership in Memorabilia 3.1–7, see Tamiolaki (2016) and Johnson (2018b). For leadership throughout Xenophon’s corpus, see Gray (2011), Tamiolaki (2012), Buxton (2016), Azoulay (2018), and Jacobs and Rollinger (2020).

Conclusion 291 7 See Danzig (2018b) and van Berkel (2010, 2017, 2020). 8 For two preliminary efforts to look for Socratic themes outside the Socratica, see Humble (2018b) and Johnson (2019). 9 The question of irony “ambushed” (p. 69) Vivienne Gray’s major 2011 monograph on Xenophon, for example; for one response to her book, see Johnson (2013). 10 This was masterfully pointed out by Bill Higgins at a time when Xenophon remained mired in disrespect (1977, 1–20); cf. Rood (2017). On Caesar, see Welch and Powell (1998). 11 Contrast Johnstone (2010), who argues for a more unitary and class-based understanding of what he calls “aristocratic style.” 12 The latest sure date is the end of the Social War in 355 (Por. 4.40, 5.12). Cyropaedia 8.8.2 refers to events of 362/361; Agesilaus was written after Agesilaus’ death in 360; Hellenica recounts Greek history until 362, and mentions a ruler who took office in 358 or 357 (6.4.37). 13 Diogenes Laertius (2.48) says that Xenophon took notes on Socrates’ conversations, but this is simply a deduction from the Memorabilia. Detailed figures in the Anabasis have suggested that Xenophon kept a diary, but see Cawkwell (2004, 54–59). 14 On piety as a prime trait of Xenophon’s heroes, see Johnson (2020).

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INDICES Index locorum AELIUS ARISTIDES

Defense of Socrates 93: 76 150–151: 76 160: 76 In Defense of the Four, scholia 3.480: 76 133.16: 76 AESCHINES (Orator) Against Timarchus 215 9–11: 201 43: 228n11 135–137: 221 173: 88, 204 185: 230n37 194: 220 195: 220–221 AESCHINES (Socratic) Alcibiades 78 SSR VIA.53: 25n32, 41, 79 Aspasia 43–44, 242 SSR VIA.70: 17, 254–255 Callias 268 SSR VIA.91: 25n38, 269, 271–272 AMEIPSIAS frg. 9: 105n12 ANDOCIDES

ARARUS frg. 16: 269 ARISTIPPUS SSR IVA.2: 25n38, 269, 271–272 SSR IVA.87: 223 SSR IVA.96: 223 ARISTOPHANES Banqueteers frg. 205: 107n35 Birds, 1281: 145n21 Clouds 9, 67, 68, 94, 99, 129, 188, 218, 283 112–115: 108n40 140: 79 142: 79 144–145: 8 225: 8 362–363: 105n12 502: 79 830–831: 8, 203 845: 108n46 882–885: 108n40 961–1104: 201 1071–1082: 177 1399–1400: 75 1480: 276n4 1485: 8, 276n4 1503: 8

On the Mysteries 267, 270, 273 127–129: 272

Thesmophoriazuae 210 Wasps 226 88: 108n39 1301: 208

ANTISTHENES

ARISTOTLE

SSR SSR SSR SSR

Eudemian Ethics

VA.60: 220 VA.99: 186n37 VA.150: 25n29 VA.198: 58n17

7.1.1235a37–b2: 101 2.11.1227b12–19: 180

308

Indices

[Magna Moralia] 1.15.1188b18–19: 228n11 Nicomachean Ethics 7.2.1145b22–26: 184n19 7.2.1145b23–24: 165 7.2.1145b28: 170 7.3.1147b9–19: 170 7.7.1150a13–15: 149 Poetics 1.1447a28–b13: 33 Politics 4.12.1300a32–35: 85 6.1.1317b17–1318a3: 84 Rhetoric 2.20.1393a23–1394a18: 33 2.20.1393b3–8: 85 ARRIAN Anabasis 59n24 On Hunting 59n24

DIODORUS SICULUS 13.72: 26n40 14.5.7: 230n30 14.37.7: 144n16 DIOGENES LAERTIUS 2.30–37: 34 2.34: 34 2.39: 75 2.40: 63, 84 2.42: 139 2.48–59: 16 2.48: 50, 291n13 2.53: 278n27 2.55: 286 2.56: 16 2.57: 24n11 2.62: 109n50 2.83–84: 37 2.121: 37, 124 2.122–123: 37 2.124: 37 3:34: 24n11

ATHENAEUS 5.216d–218e: 44

EL–HIBEH PAPYRUS (PHib 182) 33–34

AULUS GELLIUS

EUPOLIS

14.3: 24n11

Autolycus 208 Toadies 208–210 frg. 386 (SSR IA.12): 105n12, 145n20, 276n4

CICERO de Inventione 1.31.51–53: 254 On Old Age 7.22: 108 On the Orator 1.54, 231: 106n26 Tusculan Disputations 5.4.10: 10, 68, 132

HERACLITUS, frg 93: 133

CRATINUS

HERODOTUS

Frg. 12: 208 Frg. 214: 208 Frg. 265: 269, 270

1.32.2: 144n10 1.91: 145n19 7.139–143: 133 7.228: 195

DEMOSTHENES 18.112: 73 18.139: 73 36.55: 31

HERACLIDES PONTICUS, frg. 58: 269

HESIOD Theogony 590–599: 253 Works and Days 33 311: 101

Indices 309 HOMER

OXYRHYNCHUS HISTORIAN 6.2: 145n16

Iliad 2.188ff.: 76, 81, 102, 108n48 PAUSANIAS, 5.6.6: 16, 286 HORACE, Satires 1.2.31–35: 220 ION OF CHIOS

PINDAR Olympian 6.89–90: 26n40 PLATO

FGrHist 392F6: 32 FGrHist 392F9: 32

[7th Letter] 331c: 108n46

ISOCRATES

Alcibiades I 78, 91 120e–124b: 243, 277n16

Against Callimachus (18) 23–24: 80

[Alcibiades II] 78

Antidosis (15) 30, 31, 38–39, 81 8: 144n4 33–34: 73 68–69: 35 140–149: 144n4 244–249: 144n4

Apology

Busiris (11) 5: 76, 77–80 Nicocles (3): 33 To Demonicus (1) 32 51: 35 To Nicocles (2): 33 LYSIAS [Apology of Socrates] 124 frgs. 271–276: 106n26, 116 [apud Phaedrus 230e–234c]: 213 1.16–17: 228n11 1.32–33: 202 14.25: 278n31 19.45–46: 260, 269, 271 19.48: 207 22.8: 145 39: 270 “OLD OLIGARCH” Constitution of Athens 288–289

17b–18a: 117, 126 18a–24b: 128–129 18c–19d: 233 19a–20c: 60 19b–d: 68 19b: 108n40 19c: 144n20 20a: 207 20a–c: 207, 268 20e–21a: 130 20e: 125 21b–22e: 240 22a: 130 23d: 108n40 23e: 82 24b–26a: 72–73 24b: 84, 134 24b–26a: 60 24b–c: 63 24c: 134 24d: 134 25b: 136 25c–26b: 136–137 25c: 134 26b–28a: 137 26b: 52, 71, 134, 201 26c–28a: 65 28a: 134 28d–30c: 131 29d–30a: 29, 132 31b: 144n20 31c–d: 64, 128, 137, 144 31d–e: 144 31d–32a: 152

310

Indices

31e–32c: 70 32b: 114 32c–e: 204 33a: 78, 79 33c–34b: 73, 135, 137 34a: 13 34b: 73 34c–35d: 144n8 34c–d: 276n1 34d: 125 34e: 114, 127 35a: 138 35d: 127 36a: 139 36b–37a: 29 36b–38c: 103 36d–38b: 139 37a: 125 37a–b: 126 38a: 117 38b: 13 38d–39a: 144n8 41d: 114, 126

473e–474a: 105n8 490e–491a: 11 491d: 179, 183n1 494c–e: 94 507b: 180 507e–508a: 181 521d: 144

Charmides 4, 23n2, 40, 78, 89 154b: 230n39 155c–d: 179 155d–e: 218 163b: 101

Lysis 23n2, 40

[Halcyon] 38 Hippias Major 23n2 Hippias Minor 23n2 Ion 23n2 Laches 23n2, 280 191c–e: 180 Laws 3.693a–696a: 243 10.886b–e: 68

Menexenus 23n2, 44, 76, 241, 254 243e–244b: 127

[Clitophon] 9, 25n25 408c: 79

Meno 23n2, 263 90a: 106n25 97c–98a: 182

Cratylus 23n2

[On Virtue] 38

Crito, 23n2, 85, 138, 146n28, 152 49c–d: 6 52b: 32 52e–53a: 145n21

Parmenides 40

Euthydemus 23n2, 40 279d–282a: 237 302c–303a: 64, 127 Euthyphro 9, 23n2, 66 3b: 64, 128, 137 5a–c: 117 11b–c: 182 Gorgias 9, 23n2, 78, 155 456c–457c: 93 467c–468d: 163

Phaedo 40 59b: 13 70c: 276n4 71: 228n5 96a–100a: 132 97b–99d: 69 118a: 41 Phaedrus 106n26, 116, 187, 225 229e: 127 230c–d: 32 230e–234c: 213 237b–241d: 213 239c–d: 210 256b–256e: 215

Indices 311 Philebus 12c–14a: 178 29a ff.: 186n35 48b: 186n36 49c: 186n36 50a: 186n36 Protagoras 23n2, 36, 40, 77, 89, 155, 157–158, 167, 172, 184n14, 186n32, 207, 208, 209, 255, 268 316a: 88 318b–c: 228n7 318e: 276n2 332a–333b: 173, 186n32 334a–c: 157 347c–348a: 228n9 352b–c: 165 352c–d: 182–183 355b: 164, 165, 170–171 356a–c: 178 356d–e: 182 356d: 180 356e: 180 358b–e: 183 Republic 23n2, 24n7, 40, 57n2, 106n26, 116, 209, 276n1

180e: 212 182b: 214 183c–d: 206 197d: 210 207e–208a: 182 210b: 196 212d: 227 212e–223a: 197 216a–b: 92 219d: 202 220a: 227 221e: 11 Theaetetus 142c–143c PLUTARCH Alcibiades 33.1: 88 Causes of Natural Phenomena 917d: 108n38 On Curiosity 516c: 25n38, 269, 271–272 On The Glory of the Athenians 345e: 43 PSEUDO–JOHN OF DAMASCUS SSR IC.352: 34 QUINTILIAN 3.1.11: 80

1.336b: 12 1.350c–d: 41 5.465b–c: 231 5.474d–e: 230n39 6.488a–e: 143 7.537d–539e: 9, 281

SEMONIDES 7: 253 [SOCRATES] SSR VIA.102 (14th letter): 75 SOLON

[Sisyphus] 38 Sophist 253d: 168

Frg. 21: 119 Frg. 27: 144ν10

Statesman 266c: 94 271d: 168

THEMISTIUS Orat. 23: 75

Symposium 22, 40, 48, 77–78, 187, 189, 225, 228n28

1.22: 142–143 2.40.2: 260 5.43.2: 107n35

172a–173b: 36 176d: 228n9 177d8: 190 178e–179a: 8, 214 180c–185e: 211

THUCYDIDES 2, 146n31

XENOPHON Agesilaus (Ag.) 16, 45, 27, 144n15, 248–249, 277n22, 291n12

312

Indices

3: 289 3.2–5: 69 8.2: 114 9: 17 Anabasis (Anab.) 13, 27, 43–45, 49, 50, 58n20, 58n21, 59n23, 243, 245, 291n13 1.6.1–11: 59n28 1.9.3–4: 105n11 2.6.17: 19 2.6.19–20: 19 2.6.20: 15 3.1.4–7: 7, 14–15, 17–19 3.1.4: 19 3.1.5: 244 3.1.6: 265 3.1.14: 15 3.1.36: 105n11 3.2.9: 65 3.5–7: 66, 219 5.3.4–13: 287–288 5.3.7–13: 15–16, 43, 286 5.3.8: 288 5.3.13: 288 5.7: 266 5.8: 102, 266 5.8.4: 222 6.3.18: 114 7.6: 266 7.8: 275–276 7.8.23: 288 Apology (Apol.) 1: 7–9, 24n22, 62, 110, 124, 283 2: 17, 42, 110 3: 115, 259 4: 64, 115–117 6: 117 7: 118–119, 121 8: 64, 116, 144n7 9: 116 11–13: 123, 134 11–12: 127 11: 64, 122–123 12–13: 64, 128 12: 123 13: 114 14–18: 133–134 14: 129–131 15: 130 15–18: 130–131 16: 71, 118, 121

17: 130 18: 246 19: 73, 134–135, 228n12 20–21: 135–136 20: 75, 134–135, 202 22–23: 119–122, 138 22: 31 23: 103, 139 24: 125, 138 26: 72, 120, 131 29: 120 32: 39, 115, 118–119 34: 142 Constitution of the Spartans (Lac. Pol.) 26n42, 27, 63 1.10: 142, 285 2.13–14: 214, 285 2.14: 142 14: 275, 285 Cynegeticus (Cyn.) 288 Cyropaedia 16, 27, 48, 59n25, 83, 107n29, 123, 224, 243, 244, 275, 277n17 1.1.1: 63 1.1.3: 63 1.1.6: 63 1.2.2–3: 261 1.2.8: 105n11 1.5.12: 184n4 3.1.14–31: 100, 202, 205 3.1.38–40: 100, 202, 205 3.3.39: 105n11 4.4.2: 114 5.4.46–50: 83 7.1.17: 114 7.2.17: 145n20 7.5.86: 105n11 8.1.23: 289 8.1.39: 105n11 8.6.13: 105n11 8.8: 17: 245, 275, 285 8.8.2–3: 69 8.8.2: 291n12 8.8.27: 142, 285–286 Hellenica (Hell.) 16, 27, 45, 48, 88, 144n15, 248–249, 277n22 1.4.13–17: 88, 107n32 1.7.15: 105n8

Indices 313 1.7.22: 70 1.7.35: 70 2.3–4: 107n32 2.3.36: 89 2.4.18–19: 195 3.1.2: 43 4.5: 208 4.8.9–10: 75 6.3.3–6: 208 6.4.37: 291n12 7.4.13: 229n27 7.5.27: 275, 285 Hiero (Hier.) 1.35: 223 2.1: 224 Hipparchicus (Hipp.) 16, 17, 289 Memorabilia (Mem.) Book I 1.1.1: 28–29, 63 1.1.2: 63–64, 122–123, 127 1.1.2–1.1.5: 64–66 1.1.3–5: 128 1.1.4–5: 65 1.1.4: 219 1.1.5: 137 1.1.6–9: 122 1.1.10: 67, 103 1.1.11–16: 67–69, 132 1.1.11: 10, 67–68 1.1.11–15: 204 1.1.16: 6, 10, 72, 132, 204, 234 1.1.17–19: 69–70, 122 1.1.17: 63 1.1.20: 63, 70 1.2.1–8: 71–74, 147–149 1.2.1: 31, 63, 148–149, 201 1.2.2–3: 72, 281 1.2.3: 78 1.2.4–8: 74, 150 1.2.6–9: 65 1.2.9–61: 81, 121 1.2.9–11: 84–86, 103 1.2.9: 74–75, 85 1.2.10: 85 1.2.10–11: 96 1.2.12–47: 87–98

1.2.12: 82, 86–87, 107n32 1.2.13: 107n32 1.2.14–15: 89–90 1.2.14: 149 1.2.17: 82, 276n8 1.2.17–18: 105n11 1.2.18: 91, 92 1.2.19: 166 1.2.19–28: 85 1.2.19–23: 92 1.2.19: 82 1.2.19–23: 173, 181 1.2.22–23: 166 1.2.23: 179 1.2.24: 89, 202 1.2.26: 89, 107n32 1.2.27: 89 1.2.29–39: 93–95 1.2.29–30: 41, 89, 93–94, 201–202 1.2.30: 230n37 1.2.31–38: 89, 203, 204 1.2.31: 94 1.2.33–38: 95 1.2.36: 11–12, 25n34 1.2.37: 11–12, 93 1.2.39: 91, 92 1.2.39–47: 95–98 1.2.40–46: 41, 89, 93, 96 1.2.47: 91, 97 1.2.48: 73, 98–99, 135, 231, 276n8 1.2.49–55: 99–101, 135–136, 202 1.2.49–50: 83 1.2.49: 99, 135 1.2.50: 100 1.2.51–52: 100 1.2.53: 41, 97 1.2.53–55: 100–101 1.2.56–61: 101–103 1.2.56: 101 1.2.59–61: 102–103 1.2.60: 79, 102 1.2.62: 28–29, 103–104 1.2.62–64: 31 1.2.64: 83, 127 1.3.1–8: 220 1.3.1: 28–29, 35, 105n11, 236 1.3.5–15: 54 1.3.5–8: 149–150 1.3.5: 181, 246 1.3.6: 181 1.3.8–13: 13–14, 17, 43, 44, 49, 59, 150, 201, 219, 222, 236, 286

314

Indices

1.3.8–9: 107n37 1.3.8: 184n7, 238 1.3.14: 181, 219–220 1.3.15: 223

2.2–2.10: 280 2.2: 59, 101, 226, 259 2.2.13: 100 2.2.27: 276n8

1.4: 2, 69, 70, 132, 204, 252 1.4.1: 7–9, 28–29, 51, 81, 96, 138 1.4.2–3: 162 1.4.2: 41, 64 1.4.3: 228n7 1.4.5: 177 1.4.6: 177 1.4.8: 186 1.4.10: 64 1.4.12: 177

2.3: 101 2.4–2.7: 101 2.4.1: 62, 216 2.4–2.10: 51, 53 2.4.1: 41 2.4.6: 216

1.5: 54, 150–151 1.5.1: 149, 276n8 1.5.3: 166 1.5.4: 90 1.5.4–5: 72, 150 1.5.5: 165, 229n16 1.5.6: 105n11, 150

2.6: 217, 222, 236, 257, 274, 276n8 2.6.22: 149, 222 2.6.28: 212, 217 2.6.35–39: 255–256 2.6.35: 216 2.6.36: 215, 242

1.6: 8, 53, 54, 151–152, 218 1.6.1: 74 1.6.4–10: 177 1.6.5: 184n4 1.6.8–9: 151 1.6.9: 118 1.6.10: 149 1.6.14: 34, 41, 49, 118, 151, 276n8, 290 1.6.15: 91, 103, 143–144, 152, 224, 260, 275

2.5.1–2: 107n37 2.5.1: 41, 184n7, 216

2.7–10: 102, 280 2.7: 132 2.7.1 2.7.13–14: 32 2.9: 260 2.9.1: 41, 103 2.10: 103 2.10.2: 41

1.7: 53

BOOK 3

BOOK 2

3.1–3.7: 51, 52, 86, 103, 143, 152, 234, 260, 266, 280 3.2: 83 3.3: 83 3.4: 86, 276n2 3.5: 86, 181–182, 212 3.5.2–4: 24n13, 25n40 3.5.14: 182 3.5.24: 212

2.1: 8, 25n24, 54, 90, 109n50, 152–155, 158, 177, 184n7 2.1.1: 184n7 2.1.3: 149 2.1.4: 171 2.1.5: 171–172, 220 2.1.7: 149 2.1.8–20: 152–153 2.1.21–33: 32, 33, 36, 154–155 2.1.31: 177, 178 2.1.33: 177

3.6: 17, 91, 276 3.6.1: 99

Indices 315 3.7: 91, 99 3.8–3.9: 54 3.8: 8, 10, 109n50, 155–161, 176, 177 3.8.1: 25n24, 153, 184n15 3.8.1–7: 156–159 3.8.3: 12 3.8.4–7: 25n30 3.8.4: 178 3.8.8–10: 159–160 3.9: 10, 72 3.9.1–3: 25n30 3.9: 72 3.9.1–5: 161–163 3.9.4–5: 25n30, 158, 165, 169 3.9.4: 90, 137, 161–162, 173–175, 185n21 3.9.5: 25n30, 162–163, 174, 185n22, 276n8 3.9.6–7: 100 3.9.10–13: 25n30, 53 3.10–3.14: 54 3.10.9–15: 5 3.10.9: 229n16 3.11: 197, 222–223 3.11.3: 222 3.11.5: 229n16 3.11.10: 216 3.11.16: 197 3.12–14: 270 3.12: 132 3.13: 83 3.13.1: 34 3.13.5: 287 3.14: 83, 184n4 3.14.2–4: 107n37 BOOK 4 4.1: 28–29, 197 4.1.1: 49 4.1.1–2: 28–29 4.2: 10, 11, 35, 94, 138, 175 4.2.1–7: 107n37, 236

4.2.2: 184n7 4.2.9: 229n16 4.2.11: 11, 231 4.2.12–20: 25n30, 168–169 4.2.19–20: 137 4.2.22: 175 4.2.23: 163, 276n8 4.2.34: 202 4.2.40: 12, 67, 92 4.3: 2, 54, 69, 70, 132, 204, 252 4.3.1–2: 8–9 4.3.1: 93 4.3.2: 41, 42, 47 4.3.5–6: 177 4.3.14–15: 64 4.3.16–17: 127 4.4: 9, 10, 12, 25n24, 25n30, 25n34, 52, 97, 138, 146, 175 4.4.1: 67, 105n11, 230n42 4.4.1–4: 168 4.4.3: 204 4.4.4: 83 4.4.5: 11, 41 4.4.6–7: 51 4.4.8: 229n16 4.4.9: 11–12 4.4.10–11: 105n11, 168 4.4.19–25: 70, 175 4.5.2: 41 4.5.3: 163 4.5.6: 158, 164–167, 169–175, 182 4.5.7–8: 172–173 4.5.9: 149, 176–177 4.5.10: 118, 151 4.5.10–11: 150 4.5.11: 185n28 4.5.11–4.6.1: 167–169, 185n28 4.6: 10, 54, 72, 163, 175 4.6.1: 6, 132 4.6.2–6: 158 4.6.2–4: 25n30, 127, 174 4.6.5–6: 25n30, 174, 185n24 4.6.7: 162 4.6.8–9: 157 4.6.9: 25n30 4.6.10–11: 25n30, 158, 174 4.6.12: 25n30, 53 4.6.13–15: 259

316

Indices

4.7.1–8: 204 4.7.1: 67, 276n8 4.7.4–7: 204, 228n7 4.7.6: 68 4.8: 84, 120–122 4.8.1–3: 130 4.8.1: 61–62, 81, 120, 121 4.8.4: 17, 42, 83, 101, 117, 259 4.8.5: 144n7 4.8.6: 117–118, 151, 177, 178 4.8.7: 118, 121 4.8.8: 117 4.8.9: 125 4.8.11: 29, 31, 41, 46–47, 142, 175, 276n8, 289 Oeconomicus (Oec.) 1.1: 62 1.1–16: 236–237 1.16–23: 237 1.17: 237

4.18: 42–43, 45, 244 5.1.–11: 245 5.1: 247, 265 5.4: 248 5.9–10: 264–265 5.12–20: 245–246 5.12: 248 6.1: 247 6.2–3: 147 6.4–10: 257–249 6.11: 249 6.12: 234, 242, 249 6.13–17: 129, 249–250, 264 7.2: 270, 271 7.3: 250 7.11: 256 7.12: 272–273 7.13: 256 7.16–43: 251–252 7.42–43: 272

2.1: 237–239 2.2–8: 238–239 2.2: 102 2.5–6: 260 2.7: 201, 260–261 2.8: 270 2.9–12: 239 2.10–15: 277n12

8–9.10: 251 8.1: 252

2.16–18: 129 2.17–18: 240, 249 2.18: 277n14 3.1–6: 240–241 3.3: 251 3.6: 248 3.7–8: 240–241 3.9: 240–241 3.12: 240, 241 3.13: 250 3.14–15: 241–242, 254 3.15–16: 258 3.16: 242

10.1–9: 256 10.1: 228n7, 229n16 10.4: 253 10.5–13: 253 10.12–13: 272

4.1: 242 4.2–3: 242 4.3: 248 4.4: 243–245, 277n15 4.5–17: 243–244

9.1–5: 160 9.1: 252 9.11–13 9.19–10.1: 252–253 9.19: 277n25

11.1: 253 11.2–7: 258 11.2–3: 233 11.3–6: 262 11.3: 68, 108n40, 129, 145n20, 204, 258 11.6–7: 233 11.8–11: 259 11.9: 264, 271, 287 11.12–18: 259 11.14–20: 265 11.19–20: 259 11.19: 229n16

Indices 317 11.22: 116, 259 11.25: 259 12–15.1: 252 12–14: 260–262 12.1: 270, 271 12.10: 260 12.13–14: 261 12.15: 261 12.17–19: 261 12.18: 105n11 13.4–5: 267 13.4: 261 14.6: 261 14.8: 261 14.10: 261–262 15–20: 262–266, 280 15.1–2: 262 15.11: 263 16.3–5: 263 16.9: 24n18 18.10: 265 19.1–14: 5 19.15: 262–263 19.16–19: 263 20.15: 263 20.16–21: 263 20.18: 265 20.22–28: 263–264, 270 20.29: 264 21: 266–267 21.1: 262 21.2: 277n14 21.7: 266 21.10–11: 266 21.27–29: 251 On Horsemanship (Eq.) 27 Poroi (Por.) 16, 17, 289 4.40: 16, 291n12 5.12: 16, 291n12

Symposium (Smp.) 1.1: 62, 188 1.4–7: 209 1.4: 195, 198 1.5: 207 1.9–10: 188, 209, 210 1.12: 209 2.2–3: 210 2.7: 199 2.10: 225, 226, 257, 259 3.1: 199 3.2: 199 3.4.4: 185n25 3.5–6: 107n27 3.6: 195 3.10: 193 3.13: 208–209 4.1–5: 209 4.2: 195 4.3: 210 4.6: 107n27 4.6.1: 194 4.6–9: 195 4.10–18: 188 4.12–25: 238 4.19–28: 188 4.19–20: 218–219 4.21–22: 218 4.21–26: 201 4.26: 219 4.27–28: 218 4.29–32: 200, 239, 288 4.34–44: 194 4.38: 220 4.42: 71, 109n50 4.43: 197 4.44: 198, 200 4.45: 229n16 4.46–49: 112, 200 4.52–55: 200–203 4.54: 206 4.56–64: 188, 193–194 4.56: 193 4.61–64: 196–197 4.62: 210 5.1–9: 218–219 5.2: 191

318

Indices

5.8–10: 191 5.8: 194 5.9: 219 6.1–4: 112 6.1: 219 6.6–7.5: 129, 203–204 6.6–10: 196 6.6: 8, 108n40 7.4: 132 7.5: 225 8.1: 189 8.3–6: 197–198 8.7: 210 8.8: 207 8.9–10: 211 8.10: 216

8.11: 205, 206, 211 8.12: 189, 206, 211–212, 215 8.14: 229n23 8.15: 216, 223 8.18: 216 8.19–21: 213 8.20: 202 8.23–27: 213 8.23: 212 8.25: 216 8.26: 217 8.27: 105n11, 257 8.28–31: 213 8.32–35: 8, 213–214 8.32: 211, 214 8.37–43: 215–216 8.40: 215–216, 230n31 9.1: 204–207 9.7: 225

Indices 319

Topical index Note that reference to a statement does entail endorsement of it. For example “Alcibiades:.... corrupted by S” need not mean that Socrates in fact corrupted Alcibiades. Who knows? Smp. and Apol. refer to Xenophon’s Symposium and Apology “S” is short for Socrates or Socratic (generally Xenophon’s version); “X” refers to Xenophon or Xenophontic. Neither is used in headwords abstinence: aphroditic 216; means rather than end 187; see also eros; sexual morality accusers (of Socrates): fictional 39, 81–82, 100; specificity and historical expectations 82–84; see also Anytus; comic poets on S; Lycon; Meletus; Polycrates; trial of S Aeschines (orator): on execution of S 88; sexual morality 220–222, 230n37 Aeschines (Socratic): accepted pay 109n50; features Callias 207, 268; S ignorant 25n32, 79; S narrator 40–41; source for tale of Ischomachus and Aristippus 269, 271–272, 277n35; substantial fragments survive 283; X as character in 43–44, 254–255; see also Aspasia Aesop: low-status prose 33; model for S 32 Agesilaus 15, 244, 248–249 agriculture; see farming akrasia (lack of enkrateia): advice for akratic 150; bestial 171–172; distinct meanings in X and Aristotle 161; drags one from wisdom 164–167, 173; pleasure not provided by 176; prevents use of sophrosunē 173; results opposite to sophrosunē 172–173; slavish 150, 151; see also enkrateia; intellectualism; moral psychology; pleasure; sophrosunē; weakness of will Alcibiades: abuses elenchus 95; controversial 78, 88, 107n32; dissuaded from politics in Alcibiades I 91; love affair with S 22, 92, 197–198, 202, 227; not criticized by S 89, 95; in Polycrates 77–80; refutes

Pericles 46, 95–98; replaced by Euthydemus 52–55; sex life 202, 278n31; in Sokratikoi logoi 77–78; student of S 77–79; youthful ambition 89, 107n35; see also Alcibiades and Critias; corruption Alcibiades and Critias (as associates of S): 86–98; education by S 90–92; gain skill in speech 92–93; historical connections 88; and sophrosunē 90, 93; sought skill and enkrateia from Socrates 89–90; and trial of S 75, 80; X’s defense of S 87–88; X pairs off 88–89; see also Alcibiades; corruption; Critias; Polycrates Altman, William H. F. 24n11, 26n40 ambition 87, 91, 234, 237–238, 261–262 Ambler, Wayne 247, 248 anachronism: in texts 25n40, 42–44, 46, 58n18, 44, 75–76, 214, 244; in interpretation 1, 107n34, 224, 254, 282 Antiphon 25n24, 53–54, 151 Antisthenes: and Antisthenes the general 276n2; courage and wisdom can harm 185; on Cyrus 243; definitions 25n29; and el-Hibeh papyrus 34; eyewitness 58n17; foil for S in Smp. 190, 193–198, 203; harsh refutations 194–196; love affair with S 188–189, 196, 197–198, 210; on oikonomia 231; pimp 194, 196–197; on poetry 81, 194–195; psychic riches 200; praises thrift 71; rejects pay 109n50; source for X 24n15, 48, 194; “selfstyled philosopher” 82; sexual morality 220–221; Socratic 9, 194; stability of knowledge 181; virtue unalienable 181; on Xanthippe 226 Anytus: anonymous accuser in Mem 82; in Apol 12; see also accusers; trial of S Apology (Apol. of X): audience 61–62; commentary on Plato’s Apology 111, 130–131, 138–140; and defense of S in Mem. 122–124; differences from Plato’s Apology 111, 116, 139–140, 141–144; different approach from Mem 111, 112–114; easy death 118–119; forensic defense planned 115–117; impact of Hermogenes 112–113; intentions of S 21, 110, 113–115, 140–141; introduction to Socrates 142; and Mem. 4.8 120–122;

320

Indices

object lesson on dying 115, 119–120; old age 117–118; penalty phase 138–140; philosophical objections to 111–112; Plato as target 124–127; poor source for trial 60; shows S’ virtues 115, 119–120, 131, 140, 144; see also Apology (of Plato); defense of S; trial of S Apology (of Plato): arrogance of S 125; early date 23n2; forensic intent 125–128, 134, 140; introduction to S 142; penalty phase 138–140; political charges 79; poor source for trial of S 60; S philosophical martyr 104, 134, 141–143, 280; S ready for death 114, 126–127; see also Apology (of Xenophon); divine mission; trial of S Aristippus: accepted pay 109n50; criticizes democracy 153; historical 37, 152; Ischomachus introduces to S 16, 269, 271, 287; politics of 153, 154; questions S 12, 155–159; refuted by S 108, 152–153, 171–172, 184n7; seeks middle way 152; sexual morality 223; shuns politics 152; see also hedonism; pleasure Aristophanes 8, 191, 196, 198, 203, 258; see also accuser; comic poets on S Aristotle: 25n29, 85, 94, 100–101, 107n30, 107n31161, 164, 170–172, 179–180, 183, 186n31, 286 Armenian sophist 100, 205 arrogance see boasting art of words see dialectic Aspasia: exceptional woman 223; and Ischomachus 254–258, 274–275; on marriage 241–242, 254–258, 275; and politics 255; in Mem. 255–256; on self-improvement 255–258; see also Aeschines (Socratic); eros associates of S: 35; apolitical nature of 98–99; beauty of 224; “crooks and traitors” among 99; distinct from students 78–79; from home and abroad 100; lists of 73, 98–99; read with S 35; rival Socratics not included 99; see also corruption; sexual morality; teaching atheism: charge at trial 136–137; and daimonion 65–66; and natural philosophy 68; see also Meletus (in Plato); piety

Athens: contemporary decline 25n40, 181; defeat of 131, 244, 246; reconciliation with 187, 188, 204–206, 268; S reflects glory upon 103; Arginusae affair; see also democracy; see also Pericles; trial of S; X (bio); X (author) autarkeia see self-sufficiency Autolycus: athlete 422; beauty 209; in comic poets 208; death 204, 206, 215; love affair with Callias 189, 196, 208–209, 210–213, 215–216, 224, 226, 230n29; manly character 210; see also eros; sexual morality; Callias; Lycon Azoulay, Vincent 14 banausioi see craftsmen beauty see kalon benefit see utility Beresford, Adam 106n25 Bevilacqua, Fiorenza 25n34, 69, 72, 96, 105n8, 164 boasting (megalegoria): in Apol. 7–8, 110, 114–115, 120–124, 136, 140; missing in Mem. 121; in Plato’s Apology 127 Briant, Pierre 244 Brickhouse, Thomas and Nicholas D. Smith 23n2, 24n9, 73, 106n15, 112, 125, 139, 144n18, 145n25, 180–181, 186n31 Burnyeat, M. F. 185 Caesar, Julius 44, 285 Callias: biography 207–208; in comic poets 208; enriches others 195; love affair with Chrysilla 269–270; mixed impression in Smp. 209–210; political potential 215–216; remembers beauties 196; in Socratic writings 207, 255, 267–268; see also Autolycus; Chrysilla; Hermogenes; Oec.; Smp.; sexual morality Canterella, Eva and Edmund Lear: 229n25 Chaerephon 130 Charmides: arouses S 179; attacks S sexual morality 218; and democratic politics 156; praises poverty 200; and the Thirty 204 Chernyakhovskaya, Olga 149, 166 chremata see wealth

Indices 321 Chroust, Anton-Hermann 76, 105n16 Chrysilla (historical figure): children 252–253, 272–273; economic motivation 273; evidence for 269–270; love affair with Callias 269–270; previous interpretations of 268; sex appeal 272, 273; see also Callias; Ischomachus; Oec. Chrysilla (wife of Ischomachus, character): competent to run home 250–251; economic concerns 252–253; education of 250–254, 256–258; masculine mind 252–253; makeup 252–253, 256, 278n26; sex appeal 253; youth 250; see also Ischomachus; Oec. Cicero 283 Cohen, David 67 comic poets on Socrates 68, 74, 129, 203, 233, 258; see also Aristophanes; natural philosophy companions of S see associates of S Cooper, John 24n15, 24n16, 48, 194 corruption (of the youth): as alienation of affection 75, 99–101, 135, 202; and Autolycus 206–207; character as defense 31, 52, 71, 147, 148–149; Isocrates charged with 38; and Meletus 134–137; in Plato 52, 72–74; in Polycrates 77; sexual 189, 201–203, 213, 217–218, 221, 228n12; Syracusan and his boy 200–201; see also Alcibiades and Critias; Apologies; defense of S; sexual morality; trial of S courage 18, 141, 174, 180, 230n42 crafts/craftsmen: banausic 242, 247–248; craft analogy 11, 33, 163; S finds experts 249; S speaks with 29, 54, 128, 280; see also knowledge Critias: blamed for conviction of Socrates 88; and law against “art of words” 10–11, 46, 94–95; career of 58n16, 88–89, 107n34; disdain for humble work 101; intellectual 93; lust for Euthydemus 41–41, 94, 201–202, 224; redirects attacks against Socrates 95, 203; villainous reputation 88, 107n32; see also Alcibiades and Critias; Thirty Crito 37, 98, 124, 201, 237, 260, 264 Critobulus: beauty of 191, 218–219; boy problems 238, 261; cannot learn

directly from S 232, 235–236, 239; character flaws 237–238; drops oikonomia as topic 237; expenses outrun income 238, 288–289; interest in profit 239, 241, 246, 247, 249, 264; kalokagathia as a passion 234, 242, 246, 249; love affair with Kleinias 188, 201, 218, 224; limited self-knowledge 237–239; needs and wants 235, 239–240, 242, 274; order as interest 241, 251, 254; shoulderrub with S 218; stand-in for Xenophon 59n24, 286; and wife 241, 250–251; see also Oec; teaching Cyrus the Elder 114, 123, 224, 243–244, 286, 289; see also Persia Cyrus the Younger 25–19, 42–43, 123, 243–245, 286; see also Persia; X (bio) daimonion (“divine sign”): advice for S associates 65, 66; and atheism 65–66; conventionality in X 65, 66, 116, 128; “the divine” 64–65; excuse not to talk to Antisthenes 197; grounds for S superiority 123; in Plato 64, 128; and trial of S 64, 113–114, 115–116, 121–122, 123, 128; see also divination; piety Danzig, Gabriel 23n5, 24n14, 97, 107n32, 108n43, 113–115, 120–121, 144n8, 184n9, 184n10, 189, 190, 194, 209, 217–219, 224, 228n2, 228n11, 228n28, 229n29, 242, 246, 259, 286 Davies, J. K. 270–271 defense of S (in Mem. 1.1–1.2): abuse of poetry 101–102; addresses historical charges 20–21, 60, 104; best source for trial 20–21, 60–61, 63, 84; comprehensiveness 60–61; and defense in “recollections” 51–54, 69; and implicit charges 65, 67, 68; effective forensically 65–66, 70, 83–84, 104; problematic refutation of Pericles 95–98; reading order vis a vis Apol 61–62; reveals factual basis of charges 20–21, 85–86, 97, 100–101; S as man of the people 102–103; S innocent of capital charge 103; voiced by narrator 48, 50; see also Alcibiades and Critias; accusers; Apologies; corruption; daimonion; Mem.; natural philosophy; piety; Polycrates; S (historical); S Question; trial of S

322

Indices

definitions: list of 25n30; S habitual pursuit of 6, 10, 25n29, 25n30, 54; S successful with 72, 163, 174, 281; see also dialectic Delphic oracle: S and 128–134, 140, 141–142, 145n19, 145n23, 240, 281; X consults 18–19, 66, 265; see also divination; daimonion; divine mission; piety democracy: and Alcibiades’ refutation of Pericles 98; Aristippus criticizes 153; and associates of Socrates 99, 130; burden on wealthy 238–239, 250, 288–289; Charmides criticizes 200; conflict with expertise 86; laws 96–98; and Plato 70, 280; quietism 260; S advises democratic leaders 86, 143–144, 234, 280; S ambivalent about 103; S as man of the people 102–103; see also law; lottery; persuasion Denyer, Nicholas 185n19 desires: and enkrateia 21, 147–149, 151; promote pleasure 149–150, 176, 183n4; non-rational motivation in Plato and X 179–181, 182–183; see also enkrateia; intellectualism; moral psychology; pleasure; sophrosunē; weakness of will De Strycker, E. and S. R. Slings 144n5, 145n16, 145n25 Devereux, Daniel 179–181 dialectic: “art of words” 10–11, 94–95; classification phase 175, 167–168; decision-making phase 168–169; definitions phase 167–168; and enkrateia 167–169; see also Alcibiades and Critias; definitions; elenchus diligence see epimeleia Dillery, John 27, 63 divination: believers’ flexibility 65, 116; S seen to use 64, 122; when to employ 66–67, 178; seers cannot foresee their own fate 195; see also daimonion; Delphic oracle; piety divine mission (to philosophize); of Platonic Socrates 29, 128–129, 131–133, 137, 141–143, 282; X’s S does not share 6, 131–132, 142–144, 282; see also philosophy; Socrates (historical)

Dorion, Louis-André 3–4, 6–7, 9, 13, 23n5, 24n7, 24n10, 24n17, 43, 57n3, 64, 67, 69, 72, 74, 96, 99, 105n3, 105n8, 113–114, 146n30, 147, 165–167, 172, 179, 183n4, 184n15, 186n28, 186n30, 186n35, 239, 259, 276n3, 286 Dover, K. J. 31–32, 229n25 economics see oikonomia Edmunds, Lowell 105n12, 149 Ehlers, Barbara 255 elenchus: of Alcibiades and Critias 87, 91–92, 97; of Aristippus 108, 152–153, 171–172, 184n15; Aristippus tries on Socrates 12, 155–161; Antisthenes employs in Smp. 194–195; common Socratic approach 7–9, 11–12; concerns about 9, 96–97; of jury 130–131; of Meletus 133–138; of Euthydemus 35, 92, 168, 175; of Hippias 25n24; of Pericles 96–97; screens students 92; X’s; see also dialectic enkrateia (self-mastery): absent from Platonic argument 147, 179; account builds over the course of Mem. 148; cannot be taught directly 72; Critobulus lacks 238–239, 252, 258, 274; defining difference between Plato and X 6, 147, 179; distinct from sophrosunē 90, 162, 172–174; foundation of virtue 150; freedom provided by 163; implicit in Plato 179, 227, 280–281; inner peace 180–181, 224–225; and karteria (endurance) 149; loss of 166–167, 173; luxuries without danger with 149–150; pedagogical importance 132, 150, 280; prevents wrongdoing 148; required for acquisition of knowledge 72, 150, 165; required for dialectic 167–169; required by leaders 90, 152; required for use of knowledge 150–151, 180–181; and self-sufficiency 149; simple fare pleasant with 149–150; structural element in Mem 52, 53, 54; women equal in 251; see also akrasia; desires; intellectualism; moral psychology; pleasure; sophrosunē; weakness of will

Indices 323 envy 38–39, 114, 115, 144n4 epimeleia (“diligence”): in application of knowledge 240, 277n14; Critobulus lacks 238, 258, 260; overseers need 260–261; farming based on 263–265, 274; women equal in 251; see also Oec. Erbse, Harmut 31, 51 eros: and affection (philia) 187, 212, 216–217, 222; aphroditic sans sex 216, 223–224; asymmetrical in pederasty 213, 229n25; bodily vs. psychic 197, 211–216; Dionysus and Ariadne 225–226; entraps akratic 171; heterosexual 223, 226; moderate (sophron) eros 209; parallel with other desires 223–224; in Phaedrus 187, 210, 213, 215, 225; “Platonic love” 1, 187, 225; in Plato’s Symposium 187, 225, 227; and politics 215–216, 222, 224, 226–227; reciprocal 187, 213, 216–217, 224, 226; and self-improvement 22, 216–217, 224, 284, 255–258; unifying theme of Smp. 188–190, 225; see also abstinence; friendship; sexual morality; Smp. estate-management see oikonomia eudaimonia see happiness Euthydemus: beauty of 224; model student 12, 46, 56, 67, 92, 93, 236, 284; philosophical seduction by S 94, 202; refuted by S 12, 35, 168, 175; replaces Alcibiades 52–55; see also Alcibiades; Critias expertise see knowledge farming: aristocratic income source 287; easy to learn 248, 262–3, 265; epimeleia required 263–265; farmers eager to fight 244–245, 247–248; flipping farms 263–265; “gentleman farmer” 287–290; and Persia 242–246; pleasures of 245–246, 264–265; provides exercise 245–246; reveals character 263; risky 245–246; S motivational speech on 242–247; and warfare 243–246; see also Oec.; Ischomachus fathers: alienation of 75, 99–101, 135, 202; Armenian king 205; Callias and sons 207, 255, 268, 270; Crito of Critobulus 201, 238, 264;

Ischomachus’ father 263–264, 269, 270; Ischomachus’ sons 269–270, 273; Lycon as 190, 200, 205–209, 211, 215; protect sons from lovers 206; S reconciles son 53, 220, 226; Syracusan and his boy 228n13; as teachers 87, 89, 93, 99–100; X’s sons 16, 288 fine see kalon first accusers see comic poets on S Fisher, Nick 230n37, 230n38 Flower, Michael 27, 59n21, 65 freedom 130–131, 149, 152, 163, 175, 280; see also slavishness friendship: Crito and Archedemus 260; enkrateia and 153–155; and eros 212–213, 215–217, 222; kalokagathia and 276n8; long-term 74, 101, 187, 229n24; pleasure and 151–152; pursuit of 255–258; reciprocity and 184n13; selfimprovement and 101, 256–257; utility trumps affection 53, 100–101; Socrates & friends 34–35, 118, 119, 121, 123, 138–139, 238; Socrates alienates 100–101; Xenophon & friends 18–19, 288–289; see also associates of Socrates; reciprocity; eros gentlemen see kalokagathia Gigon, Olof 82, 96 Glazebrook, Allison 259, 278n26 Glaucon 13, 37, 91, 156, 231, 276 Gray, Vivienne J. 19, 33–36, 39, 56, 81–82, 107n30, 108n38, 256, 291n9 Gorgias 19 greed 261–262 Hallwell, Stephen 229 Hansen, Møgens Herman 82, 99, 126–127 happiness (eudaimonia) ambiguous if includes conventional goods 158–159; in awareness of progress 151; and pleasure 151, 159; S appears unhappy 151; a.k.a. Vice 154; see also hedonism; pleasure Harvey, F. D. 268 Hau, Lisa Irene 144n4 hedonism: ambiguous treatment in Plato 155; Aristippean 153–160; discreditable 155, 177; in divine order

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177; endorsed by Virtue 155; moderate (qualitative) hedonism of S 151, 161, 177–178; pedagogically imprudent 155–156, 158, 160–161, 177; in Protagoras 156, 176, 178, 184n14; S avoids direct endorsement of 158–159; X corrects Plato’s account 156; see also Aristippus; desire; happiness; pleasure Henderson, Jeffrey 50, 164, 277 Henry, Madeline 256 Hermogenes: notes S criticism of Callias 189, 206, 211–212; discusses trial with S 115; gods as friends 200; impact on Apol 112–113; source for trial 17, 42, 45–46, 84, 110, 141; status 98–99, 111, 212; upstanding associate of S 98; see also Callias Higgins, William 23n5, 25n36, 26n41, 184n12, 194, 196, 226, 290n10 Hindley, Clifford 190, 212, 217 Hippias: memory system 196, 210; Collection 33; critiques S 11–12, 51; and law 25n24 historical Socrates see Socrates (historical); Socratic question Hobden, Fiona 268 Homer 194–195, 199 Hordern, J. H. 58n6 Humble, Noreen 27 hunting 27, 153, 171, 202, 221, 245, 287–288 Huss, Bernhard 193, 203, 204–206, 209, 228n5, 229n23, 230n40 intellectualism Aristotle on 180; and enkrateia 21; in Plato 3, 147–148, 174; in X 161–163, 169, 175, 185n21, 237, 279, 282–283; see also knowledge; moral psychology; practical wisdom; weakness of will; wisdom intertextuality: defined 7–13, 214, 281–282 Ion of Chios: 31–32, 42 irony: in Oec 235, 268, 270–273; of Smp 22, 190–191, 225–227; of S 11, 95; in X 284–285; see also Callias; Chrysilla; Ischomachus; Strauss; Struassian interpretations Ischomachus (character): distinct from S 232–233; father of 263–264; fitness 259, 265; as kalokagathos 22, 234,

249–250, 258–259, 262, 264, 271, 275; on leadership 252, 261–262, 266–267; legal issues 250, 259–260; limits 22–23, 234, 250, 256–260, 265–266, 267, 273, 274–275; love of farming 263–264; moneymaker 234, 251, 259; on order 251–254; politically inactive 260; teaching method 262–263; training overseers 260–262; wealth put to use 250, 258–259; see also Chrysilla; kalokagathia; Oec. Ischomachus (historical figure): evidence for 269–270; father of 269, 270; politically inactive 270–271; previous interpretations of 268; Socratic 269, 271–272; spendthrift 270; wealth of 260; see also Chrysilla; Oec. Isocrates: Antidosis as parallel for Mem 36–39, 81; Busiris 76–79; and wisdom literature 33, 35; wonder as topos 63 Jones, Russell E., and Ravi Sharma 164, 185n21 justice: earth teaches 245, 248; in Apol 110, 112–113, 119, 138, 140; and knowledge 162–163, 174–175; skill may decline 117–118; teaching subordinates 261–262; topical for S: 11 234; see also corruption; trial of S Kahn, Charles 58n17, 185n27, 186n35, 255 kalokagathia (“beauty and goodness”) and the kalokagathos (“gentleman”): class connotation 234; coventional ideal 234, 275; as lovers 94, 222; at play 62, 188, 199, 190, 207; public role 234, 260, 271; S does not teach 71–72, 136; slaves as 262; Socratic ideal 234; sought by S companions 99; S search for 129, 249–250, 264; translations of 26n44, 277n23; see also Critobulus; Ischomachus; Oec.; sexual morality Kamen, Deborah 229n22 karteria (endurance) 149 knowledge: abstract 169–170, 173; bought 195; of experts 277n14; farming easily known 263; invincibility 136, 165, 170, 181–183; and leadership 266; limits to 65–66,

Indices 325 68–69, 128, 131; loss of in Antisthenes; loss of in Plato 182; loss of in X 181–182; and oikonomia 232, 236–237, 239, 274; self-knowledge 100, 179, 186n34; and virtue 72, 174; and wisdom 175; see also intellectualism; philosophy; practical wisdom; self-knowledge; teaching; wisdom Kurke, Leslie 32–33, 40 Lampe, Kurt 184n8, 198 Lanni, Adriaan 31 law(s) (nomos/nomoi): ad hominem 95; Alcibiades and Pericles discuss 95–98, 108n43; contempt for 52, 74–75, 84–86; in definitions of virtues 174; divine (unwritten) 70, 175, 252; persuasion and 98; re art of words 10–11, 94–95; S obedience to 52, 137; vs. violence 96; Arginusae affair; see also democracy; Ischomachus; order; trial of S leadership: Aspasia teaches 255; divine 266; enkrateia and 90, 152; Ischomachus teaches 261–262, 266–267; master–slave model 152–154; risky 267; same within self, household, state 231–232; use of force 102–103; wife’s 252; willing obedience 266; X in Anabasis 15, 19, 266, 276–277; see also democracy; lottery Lear, Andrew and Eva Cantarella 229n25 Lee John W. I. 25n26 Livingsone, Niall 78, 106n19, 106n24 Long, A. A. 10, 59n34 lottery (method for selecting public officials): Socrates attacks 52, 74–75, 84–86; see also democracy; law love see eros Lycon as accuser of S 82, 190; in comedy 208; praises S 204–207; relationship with son 200, 205–206, 208–209, 225, 228n13; replaced in Smp. cycle of speeches; redirects charges against S 202, 206–207; see also Autolycus; corruption; fathers; sexual morality; trial of Socrates Lysias: 106n26, 116, 124, 213

MacKenzie, D. C. 268 marriage: and affection (philia) 217, 273; and childbearing 226, 272; education of wives 235, 236; Oec. as source 234–235; in Smp 225–227; youth of wives 250–251; see also Aspasia; Chrysilla; Critobulus; Ischomachus; eros; order; sexual morality; women; Xanthippe; X (bio) McCloskey, Benjamin 44, 59n24, 59n25 McOsker, Michael 33–34, 58n7, 58n8 McPherran, Mark 68, 127–128 Meletus (in Plato): charges incoherent 136–137; interrogated by S 65–66, 72–73, 134; narrows impiety to atheism 65, 136, 201; narrows corruption to impiety 137 Meletus (in X): identified as “the accuser” in Mem 20, 83–84; interrogated by S 134–136; more reasonable than in Plato 135–136 Memorabilia (Mem.): amplification in 54–56; audience 61–62, 103; basic structure 50–51; comprehensive 20, 29–30, 40, 56, 57; connection between defense and recollections 51–54; and courtroom oratory 30–31; date 25n40, 105n4; dramatic features lacking 30, 57; frames X’s other S works 27, 62; goals 28–29; increasing depth 56, 284; incoherence 30, 50; and Ion of Chios 31–32; and Isocrates’ Antidosis 36–39; novelty of 40, 57; reception of 57, 59n24; repetition in 51, 54–56; unity of 31, 37–38, 40; variety and range 29, 50–51; and wisdom literature 33–36; see also Aesop; Apol.; defense of S; narrators; Sokratikoi logoi moderation see sophrosunē monarchy 53, 108n48; see also leadership money see wealth Moore, Christopher 24n18, 25n28, 108n39 moral psychology: account develops through Mem 148; compatibility with Plato 147–148; different advice for enkratic and akratic 150; egoism 162, 185n21; summary of in X 178–179;

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X resolves disputes about Plato 183; X studied by historians of ideas 147; see also akrasia; desire; enkrateia; hedonism; intellectualism; moral psychology; pleasure; practical wisdom; sophrosunē; weakness of will Morrison, Donald 23n5, 72, 73–74, 174, 175, 185, 236, 281 mutuality see reciprocity Nails, Debra 44, 107n34, 206, 268 narrator: in Aeschines 40–41; anachronistic 42–43; authority about S 44–45, 47–48; autopsy (eyewitness) 41–42; cites sources 41–42, 45–46; distinct from X 43–44, 49; external vs. internal 40–42; half-credible 42–45; identified with author 44; in Ion of Chios 32, 42; inserts X into texts 14; model for readers 49; “objective” in Anabasis 44–45; in Oec 42–43; and oral tradition 42; in Plato 40–41; in Smp 42; summarizes 48; unifies Mem 48; voices defense of S 48, 50; see also Hermogenes; , historical claims; see also Mem.; see also trial of S; X (as author) natural philosophy: and atheism 68; argument from design 2, 54, 69, 70, 177, 204, 252; idle wonders in Smp. 203–204; in Plato 68–69, 132; presumptuous 67; S interest in 132, 204; unknowable 68–69; useless 67–69, 204; see also knowledge; piety; philosophy Nightingale, Andrea 36 noble see kalon oaths: 69–70, 105n9; “by Hera” 206, 229n17; see also piety Odysseus 102, 149 Oeconomicus: biographical criticism of 235; genuinely Socratic 22–23, 231–232; false starts in frame conversation 236, 240; introductory sentence 62; lessons for Critobulus 22, 231–232, 235, 251–252, 258, 260–261, 264–265; open-ended 267, 275–276; promises by S 240, 247–249, 250, 254, 274–275; requires active reading 240–241; source for social history 234–235;

structure 231, 234–235, 248; summaries within 239, 247–249; teaching methods 240–241, 262–263; see also Aeschines; Aspasia; Chrysilla; Critobulus; farming; Ischomachus; kalokagathia; leadership; marriage; oikonomia; wealth oikonomia (“estate management”): conventional sense 239; dropped as topic 237; definition 236–237, 274; S expertise in 239; same skill required for friendship and leadership 231–232; topical for Socratics 231; see also Ischomachus; Oec.; wealth old age: bleak 117–118; of Chrysilla 272; cognitive decline 117–118; “troubles” of 114, 127; X active in 16 oligarchy 96, 98, 99 opson (“seasoning”) 149–150, 183n4, 245, 246 oracle see Delphic oracle; divination order: gender roles 251–254; household 251; importance for Xenophon 251; in the soul 181; see also law Pangle, Thomas 23n3, 45–46, 112–113 Pausanias 206, 210–215, 217, 221; see also eros; sexual morality pay for teaching: Aeschines accepts 109n50; Antisthenes rejects 109n50; Aristippus accepts 109n50; sophists take 102, 209, 229n24; S rejects 67, 74, 79, 102–103; X critiques Socratics for taking 102–103 pederasty see eros; sexual morality Pelling, Christopher 48, 49, 57n5, 58n21 Penner, Terry 182 Pericles (the elder) 6, 46, 89, 95–98, 244, 255 Pericles (younger) 25n40, 212 Persia: ambiguous status 17, 243, 285; decline of 59n25, 285; farming 242–246; rewards 261; see also X (bio); Cyrus persuasion: intellectuals choose over violence 85–86; basis of law 96, 98; corrupts more than violence 202, 213; see also democracy; violence Phaedrus 8, 99, 107n33, 214 Philippus 196, 203, 209 philosophy: Apol. as defense of 112–113; applied 6–7, 50–52; and art of words 94, 108n39, 128–129;

Indices 327 do-it-yourself 209; humane vs. natural 10, 54, 68–69, 131–132; Ischomachus on Socratic 271–272; in Isocrates 38; origin of term 108n39; self-proclaimed 82; shaped by Plato 5, 36; S as philosophical martyr 104, 134, 141–143, 280; substantive in X 2–3, 24n7, 27, 147, 187, 236–237; (and passim); X’s interests go beyond 291, 290; see also divine mission; knowledge; moral psychology; natural philosophy; practical matters; wisdom piety: acknowledging the gods 64, 65; conventionality of S in X 65, 66, 116, 122–123, 128; defined 174; extraordinary nature of S: 70 282; and oaths 69–70; orthopraxy 63–64, 127–128; religious cranks 66–67; sacrifice 63; structural element in Mem 52, 53; and uncertainty 246; argument from design; see also atheism; daimonion; divination; divine mission; oaths; trial of S pimping: Antisthenes 194, 196–197; S 184, 188–190, 193–194, 196–200, 202–203, 215, 226–227; see also corruption; sexual morality Plato see divine mission; intertextuality; moral psychology; Plato’s Apology; Smp.; X (on Plato) pleasure: artificial 154; best sort of 151, 154–155, 176–177, 178; continuous 176–177; in houses & shrines 159–160; implanted in soul 166, 179; missing answer in Mem 3; .8: 156–160; necessary 176; see also Aristippus; desires; enkrateia; hedonism; moral psychology; sophrosunē political charges against S; see Apologies; defense of S; democracy; lottery; Polycrates; trial of S politics: Aristippean 152–154; Ischomachus absent from 260, 270–271; Plato’s S avoids 143, 152; romance as aid 215, 220–223, 255; X’s S advises & encourages 52, 86, 91, 143, 152–153, 234, 260; see also democracy Polycrates: on Alcibiades 77–79; anonymous accuser in Mem 3, 20, 74–81; and Apol 123–125; and

Busiris 77–79; date of Accusation 75, 121; evidence for 75–76; on Homer 81, 102; influence on X 84; and Libanius 76–77; and political charges 77, 79–80, 106n25; trivial 80 Pomeroy, Sarah 235, 245, 246, 259, 264, 268, 271, 272–273, 276n3, 276n10 ponos see toil poverty: Charmides praises 238–239; of Critobulus 238; defining 168; of S 102–103, 119, 130, 139, 145n20, 151, 233, 258; S abuses poor 52–53, 76, 102; S helps poor 54; S praises humble work 101–102; see also wealth practical matters: houses 159–160; and natural philosophy 54, 68–69, 108n39; Platonic disinterest 143, 276n1, 280; X’s interest in 5–6, 29, 33, 49, 54, 72, 132, 239, 240, 274; and wisdom literature 33; see also philosophy; wisdom practical wisdom 85, 173–175, 178–180, 185n25, 240; deontological 175; and oikonomia 236–237, 239; and phronesis 85, 149, 175, 182; prudentialist 175; see also moral psychology; sophrosunē; wisdom practice (askesis); see training Presocratics see natural philosophy Prince, Susan 25n29, 82, 185n25, 186n37, 228n6, 243, 276n2 procurer (proagogos); see pimping Prodicus 36, 154, 184n11, 196 Protagoras 157, 208, 209, 276n2 reciprocity: and justice 245; in politics 153–155; in relationships 101, 184n13, 226, 255–257 Reeve, C. D. C. 24n9, 73, 125, 139, 145n18, 145n23, 145n25 relativism 156–158, 160 religion see piety Rood, Tim 277n18, 287 Rossetti, Livio 36–37, 43–44 rulers see leadership Russell, D. A. 76–77 Rusten, Jeffrey 146n31 Sanders, Kirk 96–97 Sedley, David 160, 177 Seel, Gerhard 169, 173, 175

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self-improvement: for friends and relatives 101, 256–257; makes life worth living 117–118, 121, 151; and pleasure 151; see also eros self-knowledge 100, 179, 186n34; see also knowledge self-mastery see enkrateia self-sufficiency (autarkeia) 90, 131, 133, 233; akin to enkrateia 149; intellectual 149, 175; solitude not required 151; see also enkrateia; moral psychology sexual morality: abstinence 187, 189, 190, 217, 221, 228n1; adultery 171–172, 220; advice for akratic 219–220, 222, 224; advice for enkratic 220, 222, 224–225; of Aeschines (orator) 220–222, 230n37; anal sex 230n37; of Antisthenes 220; of Aristippus 223; in Clouds 201; Critias’ lust 89, 94; fathers protect sons 206; flirting safe for S 222–224; heterosexual 220, 222–223, 253–254, 272; inconsistent 190, 217–218; lowstatus partners 220, 221, 222, 224; re kisses 218–219; S differs from X 190, 217; sex allowed in pederasty 211–214; sex widely available 220; S flirts safely 222–223; touching 213, 218, 223, 224; see also abstinence; corruption; eros; pimping; Pausanias; Smp. Sharma, Ravi see Jones, Russell E. Singpurwalla, Rachel 186n39 skill in speech see dialectic slavery/slavishness: Aesop 32; of the akratic 150–151, 237, 280; of begging for acquittal 116; of democratic rulers 153; of ignorance 10, 68, 163, 175; of knowledge 165; of lovers 94, 213; in Oec 245, 252, 253, 269–262; of subjects 152–155; of Syracusan’s actors 219; see also freedom Smith, Nicholas D see Brickhouse, Thomas Socrates (historical): disparate followers 226–227; general character of 46–47; hedonism 155–156; lacked divine mission 132; method 191; prudentialist 175; reception 1, 10, 34, 68, 283; tone of defense speech 47; see also Socratic Question; S (X’s); trial of S; X (as author)

Socrates (Plato’s) see Socrates (historical); S (X’s); Socratic Question; Xenophon (on Plato) Socrates (Xenophon’s): addresses conventional values 1, 23, 275–276, 283; beneficial 28–30, 118; embodied 280–281; distinct from Xenophon 190, 217, 289; embedded in society 29, 279–280; lacks divine philosophical mission 6–7, 131–132, 281; leading questions 10–11; philosophically substantive 1–2, 10, 236–237; practical interests 5–6, 29, 49, 54, 72, 132, 239, 240, 274; responsible teacher 73–74, 87, 93, 136, 191, 281; screens students 67; transparency of 11–12, 64, 67, 69–70, 284; unconventional 35, 70, 101, 112–113, 132, 221–222; see also S (historical); S Question; X (on Plato) Socratic literature see Sokratikoi logoi Socratic question: agreement of sources 47, 60, 110, 141, 283; Aristotle as source 25n29; breadth of evidence for 283; compatibility of Plato and X 3–7, 281–282; fiction and 24n8; historical constraints on Socratics 46, 78, 133; Plato given precedence 3, 23n2; qualitative claims 46–47; and speeches in historians 8, 142–144, 146n31; X as source 1, 3, 5, 24n34, 183; see also S (historical); trial of S; X (on Plato) Sokratikoi logoi (Socratic literature): collections of 34, 37–38; fictional 24n8; as genre 36–37; low-status prose 33; and mime 33, 58n6; retelling of conversations 36–37; see also X (as author) sons see fathers sophia see wisdom sophists: natural philosophers 67–68; Pericles once engaged in 96–97; S distinct from 74, 209; “selfproclaimed philosophers” 82; S remembered as 88; train in wisdom 85–86; X open to 36; see also pay for teaching; philosophy; teaching sophrosunē (“moderation”): distinct from enkrateia 90, 162, 172–174; about the gods 8–9; loss of 166–167, 173; and wisdom 160–161;

Indices 329 see also enkrateia; intellectualism; moral psychology; pleasure; practical wisdom; wisdom Sparta 15–16, 17, 25n40, 27, 74, 80, 131, 214, 215, 244–245, 275, 285, 287; see also Agesilaus Stavru, Alessandro 146n146 Stevens, John A. 245, 268 Strauss, Barry 99–100 Strauss, Leo 2, 23n3, 112, 156, 226, 230n31, 248–249, 268, 275, 284–285 Straussian interpretations 2, 23n2, 45–46, 113, 124, 233–234, 247, 248, 276n5, 284–285, 290n2 Symposium (Smp. of X): beauty contest 218–219; charm of S 21–22, 187–188, 190, 193, 198, 204, 207, 209; cycle of speeches 192, 199–200; display of wisdom 188, 192, 209; floor show 225–226; irony 22, 190, 216, 225–227; play 188, 193, 218; and Plato’s Symposium 21–22, 188–189, 193–194, 196, 197–198, 202, 206, 211–215, 224, 225, 227, 229n28; and Plato’s Phaedrus 187, 210, 213, 215, 225; and Plato’s Protagoras 207–209; proper sympotic behavior 188, 194, 207; S Golden Age 204–205; structure 187–190, 203; summary 191–193; and trial of S 190–191, 198–207; see also eros; pimping; sexual morality Syracusan impresario (of Smp.): and accusations against S 196, 198, 202–204; boy of 200–201, 206; in cycle of speeches 59n24, 199–200; floor show of 191, 225–226, 230n40; rival to S 198–199, 207, 225, 227; see also corruption; sexual morality; Smp. Tamiolaki, Melina 97, 98 teaching: by divine dispensation 79; by example 71–72, 74, 115, 120, 157, 241; and recollection 262–263; responsibility of teacher 73–74, 87, 93, 136, 236; S as teacher 72, 136; S does not teach kalokagathia 71–72, 78–79, 136; S disavows in Plato 72, 73, 78; S outsources to experts 240; see also Alcibiades; Alcibiades and Critias; associates of Socrates; Oec.; pay for teaching; S (X’s)

Theodote 197, 216, 222–223 Thesleff, Holger 189, 229 Thirty (Athenian regime) 15, 204, 215 Thomsen, Ole 210, 230n32 toil (ponos) 148–149, 153–154, 158, 215, 266 training (askesis): bodily 177, 245; psychic 85, 166, 181–182, 257 trial of Socrates: accounts other than Plato and X 124–125; amnesty 80; compatibility of Plato and X 21, 114, 141–143; historical reconstruction of 3, 20–21, 81, 124, 139–140, 141–144, 146n30; penalty phase 103, 138–140; synegoroi 31, 82; witnesses 135; see also Anytus; Apologies; corruption; defense of S; Lycon; Meletus; piety; Polycrates; Smp.; S (historical); Socratic question Tuplin, Christopher 26n41, 27, 96, 244, 245 tyranny 53, 77, 96–98, 101–103, 202, 286; see also leadership utility: and friendship 100–101; good will useless without 100–101; preferable to blood ties 100–101; required in commoners and nobles alike 102; S usefulness to all 53; see also virtue van Berkel, Tazuko 184n13, 229n24 Vander Waerdt, Paul 23n5, 68, 113, 125, 129, 132, 145n22 violence: S charged with fomenting 85–86, 102; striking soldiers 102 virtue: as knowledge 21, 68, 72, 90, 162–163, 173–177, 185n21, 233; loss of 181–183, 186n37; personified 154–155, 158, 177; and pleasure 154, 159; pursuit of 104, 115, 118, 131, 134, 142, 216; S turns toward 29–30, 47, 72; see also Apol.; courage; dialectic; enkrateia; eros; intellectualism; justice; knowledge; piety; sexual morality; teaching; wisdom Vlastos, Gregory 25n35, 112, 145n22, 146n31, 164 Waterfield, Robin 12, 50, 144n6, 164, 188, 236, 277 weakness of will: adulterers 171–172; animals caught by 171; appears to

330

Indices

trump knowledge 164; Aristotle 165; denied by S 160–161; and knowledge 182–183; pre- and post-deliberative 169, 172; in Protagoras 164–165, 170–172, 182–183; see also akrasia; intellectualism; enkrateia; moral psychology wealth (chremata): and kalokagathia 234; as defined in Oec 232, 236–237, 274; improves men 195, 210; irrelevant to virtue 233; psychic wealth 131, 133, 194, 196–197, 200; see also Ischomachus; Oec.; poverty Weiss, Roslyn 185n21 Whitmarsh, Tim 59n26 wisdom (sophia): akrasia counters 164–167, 169, 171; defined 174–175; displayed in Smp 188; greatest good 158–159, 163, 173, 175, 182; human 125, 128, 281; as lifetime learning 118; oracle on 130–133, 281; possession can harm 158; sophrosunē inseparable from 90, 161–163, 186n32; technical expertise 162, 174; types of 174–176; use unfailingly good 163, 173; virtue identified with 21, 72, 174, 185n21; see also knowledge; moral psychology; philosophy; practical wisdom; weakness of will wives see Aspasia; see Chrysilla; see Critobulus; see marriage; see Xanthippe; see X (bio) Wohl, Victoria 226, 228n13 women: equal potential to men 251, 253, 256–257, 272–273; gender roles 252–254; limits to relationships with men 217, 223; and property 252–253; see also Aspasia; Chrysilla; marriage; sexual morality; Theodote; Xanthippe wonder: at outset of works 63; S conviction continues to elicit wonder 70 X (biography): biographical criticism justified 13–14, 286; biographical criticism risky 14; birth date 15, 46n18; consults Delphi 265; death of 16; exile 15–16, 244; ignores S advice about Cyrus 17–19, 49;

Ischomachean lifestyle 286–290; leadership of 15, 19, 266, 276–277; Persian expedition 15, 17–19, 245, 286; piety 287–288; reconciled with Athens 16, 205; S chides re kisses 49, 219; at Scillus 15–16, 214, 286–290; similar to Critobulus 286; time spent with S 17–18, 49; wife 43–44, 254–255; writer above all 289–290 Xanthippe 34, 53, 225–226, 257–258, 259, 268 Xenophon (as author): anonymous characters 83, 107n29; and Athens 16–17, 243; benefits readers 152; chronology of writings 4–5, 16, 25n40, 61, 120–121, 205, 289; creativity re genre 27, 57; first-hand knowledge of S 5, 9–10, 45, 48, 49; as historian 2–3; inserts himself into texts 13–14; irony 284–285; neglect of 1–4, 5, 20; nostalgia in 204, 268; open-ended works 267, 275–276, 285–286; and Persia 17, 243, 285; readers’ pre-existing knowledge 9, 10, 142, 207, 212, 214, 256, 267, 286; reading order of works 61–62; repetition 14, 123–124, 247–249; revival of interest in 23n5; sources for 4–5, 48; and Sparta 17, 285; subtilty 17, 160–161, 236, 248–249, 285; and Themistogenes 43; wiser than youthful X 14, 17–19, 49, 219, 286; see also intertextuality; narrator Xenophon (on Plato): adds to Plato 2–5, 8–10, 183, 279–282; aids understanding of Plato 183, 282–283; clarifies Plato 22, 156; confirms early/ middle divide 13; as contemporary reader of Plato 4–5, 148, 183; Mem. 3.8 conversation with Plato 156; “mistakes” his S for Plato’s 10–12; parodies Platonic formula 193–194; Plato responds to 4–5; targets Plato 8–9, 124–127; varieties of difference 5–7, 110–111; see also intertextuality; Socrates (X’s); Socratic Question; X (as author) Xenophon’s Socrates see S (X’s)