like sort” (X. Hell. 7.5.17). After leaving Scillus he lived in Corinth, and then probably Athens, possibly dying at Scillus, for reasons that cannot be recovered. In any case, the shifts of residence between Athens and the
Peloponnese during his life indicate a cultural and intellectual attachment to both areas. Many have noted his high admiration for Spartan culture
at large and for Agesilaus in particular, yet his writing avoids overt
grandstanding or chauvinism. In general, Xenophon’s outlook and his
narratives were enriched by his varied cultural, political, and military experiences.
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The Anabasis
Xenophon’s own account of the events of the Anabasis, as related in the Hellenica, provides the best synopsis, and also poses a puzzle about the authorship of the text:
(401 bc) So ended the civil strife at Athens. Shortly after this Cyrus sent messengers to Lacedaemon and asked that the Lacedaemonians should
show themselves as good friends to him as he was to them in the war
against the Athenians. And the ephors, thinking that what he said was fair, sent instructions to Samius, at that time their admiral, to hold himself under Cyrus’ orders, in case he had any request to make. And in fact Samius did zealously just what Cyrus asked of him: he sailed round to Cilicia at the head of his fleet, in company with the fleet of Cyrus, and made it impossible for Syennesis, the ruler of Cilicia, to oppose Cyrus by land in his march against the Persian king. As to how Cyrus collected an army and
with this army made the march up country against his brother, how the
battle was fought, how Cyrus was slain, and how after that the Greeks
effected their return in safety to the sea – all this has been written by Themistogenes the Syracusan. (X. Hell. 3.1.1–2)
Plutarch read the reference to “Themistogenes” as a pseudonym meant to
make the first‐person narrative less hybristic, and modern scholars have mostly seen it as a means to deliver propaganda without personal risk (Rood 2004a: 322), though Themistogenes may have been an actual chronicler of the same event. We have also the question of what the intended audience was for the Anabasis, whether the aim was to impress with or to justify the author’s actions: was it written for the Athenians, to explain Xenophon’s involvement with a heavily Spartan force, or for the Spartans, to gain favor with them, or for the wider Hellenic world, to memorialize Xenophon’s
“finest hour” in what otherwise would have been an historical footnote? In any case, his authorial self‐erasure in the Hellenica suggests a man who resorts to obfuscation to manage his public image.
themes of the Anabasis
The narrative heart of the Anabasis is, then, both simple and absorbing: the story of a group of Greek mercenaries hired by the Persian prince
Cyrus to try to gain the throne from his brother Artaxerxes, and the
subsequent perilous retreat of the remnants of the Greek forces, the Ten Thousand, from inland Persia to the Black Sea and eventually to
Pergamum. Tragic‐like elements of fraternal strife for a throne are thus
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intermingled with epic dimensions of an odyssey of warriors returning
home through liminal peoples. The Greek term anabasis designates a
“march up country,” in this case from Sardis in Western Asia Minor to
Cunaxa. Yet the “road back down,” katabasis, constitutes most of the account, Books 2 to 7. What begins as a mercenary exploit for Cyrus,
being supposedly directed against enemy tribes, becomes at the Cilician gates an attempted fratricidal, power‐grabbing coup; after Cunaxa, the
narrative challenge is to sort order out of chaos, and with this come tests of leadership and strategy and a call for united action. The core is an archetype with affinities to the itinerant labors of Heracles or Theseus or to the mythic journey of Jason – a journey notable through the encounter with the Mossynoeci (X. An. 5.4.2–34), which Apollonius of Rhodos may have used as inspiration for his epic account of a strange “other”
people, frozen in time (A.R. Arg. 2, 1015–29; Rood 2008).
Xenophon’s expedition also has ominous echoes with that of Xerxes in
Herodotus: both relate journeys undertaken to exact revenge and to
assert the power of the supreme commander; both use the same term for
a “march” ( stolos); and both describe crossing a river with a boat bridge (Rood 2004a: 311). Aside from the myriad differences, the comparison
prompts readers to ask whether the mercenary expedition was to be seen
as doomed by fate as the Persian one, and, if so, why. In one sense, yes, both expeditions failed in large part because of their misdirected, self-centered royal leaders. And, although Xenophon’s Greeks were unpatri-
otic mercenaries and were fighting on the side of a deluded commander,
the Ten Thousand, despite their diverse origins, embodied, at their best, a spirit of Greek unification and a valorous tenacity, two qualities shared with the Greek armies and navies that fought Xerxes. As we will see
shortly, the Greek–barbarian contrast is a main unifying theme of the
Anabasis.
Another theme is, obviously, leadership, as seen in the noble but flawed Cyrus and in the series of Greek leaders who improvise, motivate, and
enable their men to survive. The importance of this theme and of
Xenophon’s account generally for later Greeks can be gauged from
Polybius’ understanding of the event told by Xenophon as an underlying
cause of Alexander’s undertaking his own “anabasis” against the Persians: The true causes and origin of the invasion of Persia by Alexander are patent to everybody. They were, first, the return march of the Greeks under
Xenophon through the country from the upper Satrapies; in the course of which, though throughout Asia all the populations were hostile, not a
single barbarian ventured to face them; secondly, the invasion of Asia by the
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Spartan king Agesilaus, in which, though he was obliged by troubles in
Greece to return in the middle of his expedition without effecting his
object, he yet found no resistance of any importance or adequacy. It was these circumstances that convinced Philip of the cowardice and inefficiency of the Persians. (Plb. 3.6)
So the work may have had supra‐literary importance for later Greeks,
marking a stage on the way to Alexander and characterizing the Greeks in the face of Persians. It is, however, unlikely that Xenophon envisioned such a cause and wrote for that purpose. While the historian celebrates the Greek successes against the barbarians, a careful reading shows that the Persian might was formidable and was not so much overcome as
evaded. The Anabasis could be read as a negative paradigm of why not to attack Persia. If freedom is an aim of the march of the Ten Thousand initially under a Persian prince, the goal is not the liberation of Greece from Persia, but liberty associated with salvation from an annihilation of the Greek army by the Persians. The historian’s text conveys more forcefully the individual and collective struggle in isolation amid a diverse collection of foes. Alexander and his troops may have gathered some hope and some
wisdom from Xenophon’s tales of survival and flexibility en route to
Persia, but their deeper inspiration was the desire to redress the insult to Greek honor from the invasions of the Persian Wars – let alone Macedonia’s own imperial ambitions.
Xenophon’s diplomacy and leadership qualities may not put him in the
ranks of Pericles, yet parallels can be drawn to both leaders’ reliance on learning from mistakes, speaking frankly to the group at the right time, planning well, and maintaining good order. In
mobilizing the men to
organize after the defeat at Cunaxa, Xenophon invokes the Athenians’
courage at Marathon and the Greek victories at Salamis and Plataea dur-
ing the Persian War (X. An. 3.2.13), and then again he voices concerns about the possibility of the Greeks staying in the king’s territory, as the monarch may prefer:
I really fear, however, that if we once learn to live in idleness and luxury, and to consort with the tall and beautiful women and maidens of these
Medes and Persians, we may, like the lotus‐eaters, forget our homeward
way. (X. An. 3.2.25)
This section resonates not only with the end of Herodotus’ History
regarding the enfeebling of men by a luxurious environment (Hdt.
9.122), but obviously also with the Odyssey, as Xenophon here steps into the role of Odysseus (Hom. Od. 9.94ff.). The rhetorical tropes are not
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highly original, but they illustrate how Xenophon situates himself in the historical and literary tradition, both as a leader with a great and perilous mission and as the narrator or author.
We noted above Xenophon’s first actions (X. An. 3.1.11–14) in the expedition, his dream that results in a call to action. He then gives a speech to rouse Proxenus’ captains (X. An. 3.1.15–25), denouncing the villainy of the king who mutilated his brother’s corpse and asserting that, despite the Persians’ daunting wealth, the gods as judges of the contest will likely side with the Greeks. Xenophon then refutes the suggestion to surrender made by a Boeotian soldier, who is later seen as an infiltrator from Lydia (X. An. 3.1.15–25). On this occasion Xenophon’s final speech encourages a Spartan‐like military order ( eutaxia) and impresses fellow soldiers:
For discipline, it seems, keeps men in safety, while the lack of it has brought many before now to destruction … those who are anxious in war to save
their lives in any way they can are the very men who usually meet with a base and shameful death; while those who have recognized that death is the common and inevitable portion of all mankind and therefore strive to meet death nobly are precisely those who are somehow more likely to reach
old age and who enjoy a happier existence while they do live. (X. An.
3.1.38 and 43)
Along the same lines is another episode later in the march in which a
court of inquiry is held and the generals review some men’s complaints
that Xenophon had struck them, in particular the grievance of a mule
driver (X. An. 5.8.2–8). Xenophon defends himself in an eloquent, virtually Socratic apology that explains that the mule driver had refused to follow orders and had begun to bury an invalid comrade alive rather than carry him. Xenophon compares himself to a good parent or teacher who
disciplines children or a doctor who cauterizes a wound to save a patient; his anger is never unreasonable, and others he has struck were disciplined for their good, to uphold order, he says. His arguments are in line with the strict and sometimes physical discipline allowed at times by the Greeks.
To an extent the historian’s text does constitute an “anti‐democratic
discourse” (Rood 2004a: 328), but this justice is a military justice that sometimes allowed the physical disciplining of fellow Greeks. The archetype is Odysseus’ beating of Thersites in Iliad 2.
Themes of divine and human guidance are intertwined, not just for
narrative effect, but because the author, like Herodotus and unlike
Thucydides, sees an intrinsic linkage between the parallel forces that
determine one’s fate. Yet for Xenophon there is no grand scheme of
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reciprocity, long‐term punishment for hybristic transgression, as there is for Herodotus. Rather Xenophon’s view is one of simple Greek piety,
which believes in theistic forces and responds with prayer or ritual, but comprehends them only fragmentarily. On one occasion a Greek soldier
urges his comrades not to make a truce with the foes but to fight them; then he sneezes. All take it as a sign from the gods, and Xenophon says that a sacrifice is due to Zeus the Savior (X. An. 3.2.9). Xenophon gives his men hope, since they have stayed true to their oaths to the gods and the opponents have not; during the Persian Wars too the Athenians
held to their oaths and the Persians were defeated (X. An. 3.2.10–14).
At another time a diviner in the army sacrifices to the winds, to make
them abate (X. An. 4.5.4).
After a victory over the Colchians and arrival at the sea at Trapezus, the Greeks sacrifice to Zeus for their salvation and to Heracles for guidance, and they hold celebratory athletic contests, punctuating war with games (X. An. 4.8.25–8). The games, oddly, feature free Greeks running against captive slaves and a horse race with horses running to an altar uphill and tumbling downhill on the return. The episode may make several points:
the Greeks adhere to Greek sacrificial rituals and games, but some say that the oddities may point to the soldiers being “less than Greek” (Golden
1998: 1–3). It is more likely that an improvised contest among warriors calls for improvised venues and rules, as in Iliad 23, for instance; the Ten Thousand are as Greek here as the Homeric warriors.
narrative of the Anabasis
The narrative proper starts directly with the death of King Darius and the subsequent Persian royal family tensions, which launch Cyrus into his
attempted coup. The absence of any introduction – be it the name of the author or a few lines on the topic or some programmatic reasons for taking up the topic – is itself noteworthy. This is certainly out of line with Herodotus, Thucydides, and others and suggests a deliberate authorial
invisibility. Whether the silence and anonymity were meant to counter an unfavorable account by a certain Sophaenetus of Stymphalus, or had
other reasons mentioned earlier, it is true that the reader, ancient or modern, has to enter the text clueless, without hints at the direction of the narrative or at what motivated the project (Flower 2012: 30–4).
Nonetheless, the sweep into the story involves us directly and does not obfuscate. It is the straightforward narration of a journey, with many
phases and reversals, and hence easy to follow. But the direct approach also has the strategic virtue of taking us along from beginning to end,
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with few distractions of explicit comment or digression by the author.
Surely Xenophon cannot have been without a “program” for his writing;
rather he embedded the themes, and he unfolds them as we progress
along with him. His views and didacticism are indeed present, but they
are less intrusive and transparent than those of his predecessors.
Cyrus gathers a force at Sardis and engages the mercenary help of
Greek friends (Clearchus from the Chersonese, Aristippus of Thessaly,
Proxenus of Boeotia – Xenophon’s friend – and others) on the pretext of regaining Miletus from Tissaphernes with the king’s knowledge. The
outbound trip is a tale of deception by Cyrus and performances of valor by the Greeks – a story contrasting ethnic and cultural differences between Greeks and barbarians. An early stop at Peltae features Greek athletic contests held by Xenias of Arcadia and in honor of Lycaean Zeus, the major Arcadian deity. A bit later, in the plain of Tyriaeum, Greek forces kitted out with bronze helmets, red cloaks, greaves, and uncovered shields stage a display of military prowess, which (somewhat humorously) terrifies the barbarian horsemen and infantry and sends the local Cilician queen
Epyaxa to flight (X. An. 1.2.18). Again the point is the thematic contrast between Greek discipline and prowess and barbarian inadequacy.
Barbarian licentiousness is further implied in the rumored aff
air between Cyrus and Epyaxa.
The first speech of the Anabasis – Book 1, chapter 3 – is that of Clearchus, leader of the Ten Thousand, at an assembly in which he attempts to quell a mutiny. Clearchus pledges to stay with his men and “never to prefer the friendship of the barbarians” to that of Greeks, adding: “I think of you as my homeland.” Through the rhetoric and the salutary results, Clearchus
proves his pragmatic leadership talents. He manipulates his men and reassures Cyrus that all will be fine in the end. In a second speech Clearchus reminds the Greeks that they need Cyrus’ resources at this point. There is an inherent mistrust of Cyrus and of his pretext for the expedition, and the Greeks go along after getting a pay raise.
En route to the Euphrates, Cyrus finally reveals to the Greek leaders
his true intent of going to Babylon and promises a supplement of
twenty months’ pay (5 minas in silver) to entice them to continue (X. An.
1.4.13). The fact that the Euphrates is lower than usual and crossable is taken, erroneously, to mean that Cyrus is to succeed in becoming king.
Human reading of omens, Xenophon seems to acknowledge, can be
fallible.
Xenophon uses the conventional catalogue of forces to illustrate that
Cyrus’ forces of 100,000 barbarians, 10,400 Greek regulars, and 2,500
peltasts (i.e., light‐armed soldiers) is about to be outmatched 10 to 1 by
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the king’s 1,200,000 men with 200 scythe‐bearing chariots (yet there
will be only 900,000 in the end, when Arbocomas arrives late) (X. An.
1.7). The actual encounter with the royal army at Cunaxa is marked by
signs of Greek piety (“Zeus the Savior and Victory” being the watch-
word, and a cry made to Enyalius, the war god, upon charging: X. An.
1.8.16 and 1.8.18). Cyrus boldly fights without a helmet and, though
he wounds the king, his brother, Cyrus himself is hit under the eye with a javelin and is killed. The historian notably affords Cyrus a lengthy, eulogistic obituary (X. An. 1.9.1–31), which begins: “Cyrus came to his end, a man who was the most kingly and the most worthy to rule of all
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