Chapter 4. Six Problemswith Loving Humanity

It is one thing to observe how a leader is portrayed with fundamental and derivative traits; it is still more important to determine how well these traits actually translate into effective leadership. In the next three chapters we consider the implications of Cyrus’ philanthrôpia, philomatheia, and philotîmia and their fundamentality for fourteen problems inherent in these characteristics. In doing so, we wrestle with some of the universal problems of leadership, ones that are tied to the problem of how to secure the willing obedience of followers, a central feature of Xenophon’s Theory of Leadership (see Introduction, p. 3). Unlike the so-called Classical virtues of wisdom (sophia), justice (dikaiosunê), self-restraint (sôphrosunê), and courage (aretê), which are often regarded as unequivocally good, [1] the love of humanity, the love of learning, and the love of being honored can in fact be as much of a liability to a leader as an asset.

In what follows, I do not mean to assert that the specific terms, philanthrôpia, philomatheia, and philotîmia, were always or even usually used in an ambivalent way. What I am asserting is that the underlying ideas that these terms captured were highly problematic for leaders and that Xenophon’s predecessors and contemporaries were well aware of this. The terms in question were more often than not used to capture the positive, unproblematic side of these concepts. It is this positive side, and the extent to which Xenophon’s Cyrus avoids the negative sides, that I am trying to understand in this chapter and the following two. I will attempt to contextualize each of the problems I identify with examples from Xenophon and his contemporaries. In some cases, for the purpose of clarity, I will use examples that come after Xenophon or that otherwise likely had no {79|80} direct influence on him. They nonetheless depict circumstances similar to what we see Cyrus facing in his leadership and they help to illustrate the pervasiveness of these problems in the ancient (and modern) world. Additionally, given their extent, these problems may be studied in greater detail in future work on ancient leadership.

Thus far into our study, we have seen places where it would be inaccurate to say that Xenophon pursues an absolutist notion of what it means to be a good leader, but rather a more relativistic or situational one. For example, the boy Cyrus evinces a situational view of beauty when he declares both his father, the king of the Persians, and his grandfather, the king of the Medes to be “most beautiful” (kallistos). The former is the perfect example of the modest style of Persian dress and the latter excels more luxuriously “in processions and at the Medan court” (1.3.2). We saw in Chapter One (pp. 28–29, 33) that Cyrus is good at forging relationships between others (“match-making”), but that he also tries to weaken the bonds even among family members in order to diminish the likelihood that anyone might plot against him. It is thus not always necessary for a leader to “bring people together” or to “divide them,” but to perform each of these tasks to the extent that it preserves the security and reputation of the leader as well as the prosperity of the followers—a delicate balancing act, to be sure.

Cyrus also seems to take a morally relativistic stance on the emotion of envy. He tells Tigranes to forgive his father for executing his tutor (3.1.40) and he weeps for his uncle when Cyaxares admits to envying the affection Cyrus receives from the Medes (5.5.35). Nevertheless, Cyrus pursues the Assyrian king with a vengeance for his actions committed out of envy against Gadatas and the son of Gobryas (4.6.2.9, 5.2.7–8, 5.3.19). Though morally similar, these acts have vastly different political significance and, accordingly, Cyrus as a leader forgives the envy in the former cases but not in the latter.

Xenophon expands on the relativistic nature of leadership in a passage in the Memorabilia where he has Socrates explain generalship to a young man intent on becoming a general:

In examining the fourteen problems before us, we will see how well Cyrus balances the contradictory roles of leadership. We begin with six problems associated with philanthrôpia.

Cyrus’ philanthrôpia involves a fondness for the company of others, benefaction, and expressions of sympathy and encouragement. But how well does Cyrus resist the ways in which these feelings may be manipulated? A fable has come down to us from Aesop in which a farmer happens upon a frozen viper (Fabulae 62). As a gesture of philanthrôpia, he places the viper inside his shirt to warm it, only to be bitten and killed when the viper thaws. The moral of the story, says Aesop, is that one should not show pity to the irredeemably wicked. The Spartan Clearchus, though not known for his fondness for others, makes a similar mistake by allowing himself to be charmed by the friendly gestures (philophrosunê) of the treacherous satrap Tissaphernes (Anabasis 2.5.27–34). We have also seen how Astyages in Ctesias’ Persica shows kindness to Cyrus, only to lament that he has been betrayed by him in the end (p. 26). During the Peloponnesian War the Athenians debate whether to spare or put to death the Mytilenians who have revolted from the Delian League. The statesman Cleon argues famously that they must not spare the Mytilenians because “pity, pleasure in speeches, and indulgence” are most detrimental to their empire (Thucydides Histories 3.40.2). To grant them this indulgence, he says, would invite further rebellion because no city would fear Athenian reprisal. In perhaps the most famous example from ancient literature of how feelings of kindness may be manipulated, Sinon in Virgil’s Aeneid persuades the Trojans to wheel the Trojan Horse inside their walls. He treacherously wins their trust and pity by describing the many ways that his kinsmen, the Argives, have betrayed him (2.195–198). {81|82}

Xenophon’s Cyrus is more cautious than Virgil’s Trojans, despite his philanthrôpia. Cyrus treats his enemies with a careful blend of friendship and caution—even ruthlessness. When the Hyrcanians intimate their desire to defect to Cyrus from the Assyrian army, he offers to welcome them as friends; but if they show any signs of hostility, he instructs his men “to leave no one alive” (Cyropaedia 4.2.18). Cyrus forms a friendship with the Assyrian nobleman Gobryas, who had defected from the Assyrian king because the king had treacherously killed Gobryas’ son. Cyrus is invited to win honor by avenging the son and to join Gobryas inside his castle. He proceeds more cautiously than Clearchus in the Anabasis. Rather than march directly into the castle and risk his entire army, Cyrus surveys the area and tests it for a possible ambush, a precaution Gobryas invites him to engage in: Cyrus checks his natural impulse to treat Gobryas as a friend by being attentive to his own self-interest and the well-being of his army. Furthermore, Cyrus turns down Gobryas’ offers of abundant wealth—and his daughter—showing not only that he practices philanthrôpia with restraint but that he practices restraint against the temptations of royal sovereignty, grand fortresses, and even women “worthy of erotic love” (cf. ἀξιέραστα, 5.2.9.9).

In fact, whereas romance abounds in the Cyropaedia (e.g. between Tigranes and his wife, Croesus and his wife, and especially Pantheia and Abradatas), Cyrus does not take a wife until the very end of his adventures. For Tatum, Cyrus’ detachment from others has seemed problematic:

For all his affection for others, Cyrus does not allow love to compromise with his goals as a leader. Yet Xenophon seems to endorse this position, as we have seen (p. 70), when he has Ischomachus explain that romantic love is one of the greatest obstacles to a person learning to be attentive (Oeconomicus 12.5). And ancient literature abounds with accounts of leaders who were, or appeared to be, tragically distracted by love for another: Paris, Agamemnon, Mark Antony, Aeneas.

Nor do preexisting friendships cloud Cyrus’ judgment or distract him from his ambitions. When Cyrus subdues the Armenians (they owed tribute to the Medes and were planning to revolt), he must decide whether to put them to death, which the Armenian king himself admits would be just. This occasion is ripe for the pity that Cyrus shows elsewhere: the king’s son, Tigranes, is a childhood friend and hunting-companion of Cyrus; he is newly married; he appears suddenly to plead for his family and weeps at the sight of their captivity (3.1.7). Cyrus gazes upon Tigranes in this condition but withholds any gesture of friendliness toward him (cf. οὐδὲν ἐφιλοφρονήσατο αὐτῷ, 3.1.8.2). This scene might have aroused Cyrus’ pity, but Xenophon highlights Cyrus’ self-restraint, a trait central to the Persian educational system (1.2.6–8). After showing restraint, Cyrus invites everyone to attend the trial of the king, including the women, and then allows Tigranes to plead his father’s case. Consistent with Cyrus’ lack of friendly gesture, Tigranes makes no appeals to pity (or justice), but rather argues that it is in Cyrus’ self-interest to spare the royal family (3.1.14). Their friendship is renewed only after Cyrus has established that he can again trust Tigranes and his father. In other words, Cyrus makes sure that the “viper” is in fact not irredeemably wicked, a task that requires him to be an extraordinary judge of character, both his own and that of others.

Sometimes it is difficult for the “philanthropic” leader to take an interest in discipline. In his eulogy to the Boeotian general Proxenus in the Anabasis, Xenophon captures well how leadership may suffer when a leader tries too hard to be a “nice guy”:

The Roman general and triumvir, Mark Antony, had no trouble being friends with his soldiers and he had a legacy of philanthrôpia that he inherited from his father (Plutarch Life of Antony 1.2–3, 4.4). Like Cyrus, he was merciful to the conquered, fond of hosting banquets, and even a helpful facilitator of his friends’ love affairs. Yet Plutarch says Antony was reluctant to hear complaints or issue judgments. He was moreover prone to manipulation by flatterers. As a result he was an embarrassment to his friend, Julius Caesar, and lost the respect of the leading men in Rome (6.5–6, 24.6–8). This kind of permissiveness is not only bad for the leader, however. Alexander the Great is said to have been so generous that his followers grew luxurious and slothful (Plutarch Life of Alexander 40, 41). The tendency for “soft countries to breed soft men” is of course thematic of Herodotus’ Histories, with the Persians being the prime example, and we see the same effects of spoils on Cyaxares and other Medes in the Cyropaedia (4.1.13–14, 4.2.11).

Cyrus, however, does not show care for others in such a way as to let them become decadent; nor does he lose their respect. He is equally severe in punishing wrongdoers and careful to ensure that his followers do not become lax through his generosity. [3] If prisoners of war try to escape, they are killed and their spoils go to their captors (4.5.6). If Cyrus’ soldiers sack and plunder a city (e.g. Sardis) without regard to fairness or safety, he upbraids them for their disobedience and ensures that only the obedient receive a prize (7.2.4–8). Such discipline is consistent with the education he receives from Cambyses (1.6.20). When Cyrus sets up a palace in Babylon, he challenges his followers to maintain their empire with strict attention to virtue and compels them pay court to him by taking away the property of those who fail to do so (7.5.85, 8.1.20). The fear that Cyrus inspires in such instances complements his ability to win enthusiastic gratitude through his numerous forms of philanthrôpia. Both gratitude and fear, Xenophon says, were the feelings that bound his vast empire (cf. τῷ ἀφ’ ἑαυτοῦ φόβῳ … ἐπιθυμίαν ... τοῦ αὐτῷ χαρίζεσθαι, 1.1.5). {84|85}

In Greek literature, gods regularly have their favorites, for whom they feel fondness, admiration, or concern; but when the gods feel philanthrôpia, they seem to feel it indiscriminately. Prometheus gives fire to mortals—not to mortals of a certain type, to mortals who follow a special rite of worship, or to mortals who “deserve” it. The same is true for the “philanthropic” Eros, as Plato presents him in the Symposium, or Cronus in the Laws. Xenophon’s Socrates asserts that the gods manifest their philanthrôpia by providing humanity with everything from the sun and the earth to food and the capacity for reason. [4]

As we have already seen, Xenophon and Isocrates see divine and mortal philanthrôpia as somewhat analogous, at least in powerful leaders (Chapter One, pp. 42–43). We might say that wanting to benefit one’s followers is a leader’s primary motive or goal and thus that philanthrôpia is crucial. Few people would follow a leader who did not take into account their wellbeing at least part of the time. Agamemnon seems to assume that his good will toward his men is crucial for their allegiance, for he tells the Achaeans at Troy that he will give back Chryseis to her father in order to stop Apollo’s plague because he wants the army “to be safe rather than perish” (Iliad 1.116). Similarly, Socrates argues to Thrasymachus that “all forms of rule, in so far as it is rule, look out for what is best for no one other than that person who is being ruled and tended to, both in civic and private rule” (Republic 345d). Xenophon’s Socrates says of Agamemnon that “a king is chosen not so that he may take beneficial thought for himself, but so that he may benefit those who chose him” (Memorabilia 3.2.2; cf. Agesilaus 7.1). Yet leaders, unlike gods, are not immortal and they do not have a fixed or permanent sovereignty. Thus, despite the connotations of the term, philanthrôpia for mortals is not, in practice, indiscriminate. This is to say that philanthrôpia cannot involve loving all of humanity, all of the time, in the same ways, and to the same degree. Leaders must regularly balance the more immediate interests, claims, and merits of family, friends, lovers, and fellow-citizens against those of another city-state, another country, or even strangers who have virtually no affiliation with anyone. [5]

This dilemma is at the forefront of the dramatic conflict for many kings in Greek Tragedy. In several plots (what Burian has called “Suppliant Plays”) the king of a city-state is asked to receive refugees that are being pursued by {85|86} someone from another city-state who threatens to reclaim them by force. [6] The question for the king then becomes should he care more for the suppliants or for his own city, which will come under attack for harboring fugitives? Theseus, the king of Athens in Sophocles’ Oedipus at Colonus, is one such example. He must decide whether to receive Oedipus and his daughter, Antigone, as suppliants into his city, risking a war with Creon, king of Thebes, who has learned from an oracle that Oedipus’ body may be used to ensure victory in war. Often there is encouragement from the gods to receive the suppliant; or the suppliant may have familial ties to the petitioned king. Oedipus, however, has no familial tie to Theseus or to Athens; moreover, he is blind, aged, and rather disagreeable. So, there are many reasons not to want to help him. Nevertheless, Theseus risks his city’s safety to help Oedipus out of what we might call philanthrôpia (though Sophocles does not use this term). He is motivated partly by piety and partly because Oedipus’ tomb will be a blessing to Athens. Perhaps most importantly, however, Theseus acts because, as a fellow human being, he knows what it is like to suffer the misfortunes of an exile (551–568). [7] Other kings in these “Suppliant Plays” face this same dilemma. [8]

This problematic aspect of philanthrôpia can be so acute as to make us wonder whether powerful leaders can have close friends or lovers at all. [9] In general, any kindness done to a friend or family member is potentially one not done to a citizen or a stranger, and may thus arouse envy or resentment. Or, in the case of Theseus above, any kindness done to a stranger may put at risk those more intimately connected to the leader. How much relative weight then should the leader assign to the roles of a philos, philetairos, philopolis, philellên, or philanthrôpos? Perhaps no other Greek leader had to face this question as much as Alexander the Great (at least as he is described by Plutarch), whose character and career greatly resemble Cyrus’. Despite his benevolence, generosity, and thoughtfulness, Alexander had to weigh the interests of his mother Olympias, his fellow Macedonian nobles and countrymen, the citizens of a conquered Greece, the members of the Persian Empire that he would eventually conquer, his own intimate band of comrades, as well as his lover and best friend Hephestion (Plutarch Life of Alexander 39.1–3). In one instance, Alexander tries {86|87} to strike a balance and to end a rivalry between two close friends by dubbing Hephestion “friend of Alexander” (philalexandros) and Craterus the “friend of the king” (philobasilês) (Life of Alexander 47.5–7).

Cyrus confronts this question of balance throughout the Cyropaedia. He must manage his ties to family (especially Cyaxares), friends (both upper-class Medan and Persian), fellow-citizens, and the members of the many other nations that he conquers and incorporates (Armenians, Chaldaeans, Hyrcanians, Sacians, Assyrians, Egyptians). As a rule, Cyrus seems to eschew any more personal ties and loyalties over considerations of fairness and also self-interest. We noted above that Cyrus has no time for love until the end of his campaigns. Moreover, the relationship he forms with his wife, the daughter of Cyaxares, though affectionate, is largely political (it unites the Persian and Medan nations). In other instances of justice and politics over personal preference, Cyrus invites the “uneducated” Persian commoners to join the Persian army and thereby gives them an opportunity to distinguish themselves according to their virtue (2.2.21). He incorporates numerous kings and peoples from other nations into his empire and awards them places of prominence. We have also seen where he expands the language of family to include even non-Persians (Chapter One, p. 41).

Cyrus does not submit to feelings of sympathy even among his closest friends, especially when it would be unfair to do so. In Book Eight, his devoted Persian comrade Hystaspas approaches him at a banquet to ask why Cyrus has shown greater honor to Chrysantas (8.4.9–12). Again, as in the Tigranes episode, this appeal might have elicited Cyrus’ pity or special fondness for a friend who sees himself as overlooked by his commanding officer. Instead, Cyrus registers no sympathy but gives Hystaspas a precise explanation for his preference for Chrysantas: Chrysantas is not only the more obedient follower but he also modifies Cyrus’ commands in order to accomplish what is best for Cyrus and everyone else. Hystaspas, for his part, wants to be rewarded for his true virtues and thus accepts Cyrus’ explanation, apparently inspired by the guidance it provides him. Perhaps to soften the blow, Cyrus soon arranges for a marriage between Hystaspas and the daughter of Gobryas, again on the basis of Hystaspas’ worthiness (8.4.26). By managing even his closest friendships according to merit, Cyrus discourages his friends from rivaling one another on the extraneous grounds of personal fondness, childhood or familial ties, or shared personal interests. Additionally, Cyrus ensures that his comrades continue to rival one another in obedience and thoughtfulness, lest they ever band together against their leader (8.2.28).

Yet, this principle of justice is applied by Xenophon’s Cyrus only so far. At the end of the narrative, the empire he governs still privileges the Persians, {87|88} and the highest honor in the land, kingship itself, is a hereditary one. Much as Cyrus’ fondness for competitions moves the empire in the direction of a pure meritocracy, he does not achieve one. Had Xenophon tried to portray a meritocracy, he might have portrayed Cyrus engaged in some kind of selection process through the Persian educational system he brings to Babylon. But there is no indication that his son, Cambyses, had to succeed in any trial to inherit his father’s kingdom. On his deathbed, Cyrus appoints Cambyses to the throne over his younger son on three grounds: that he has more experience (being older), that Persians believe in respecting their elders on all fronts, and that the succession of the eldest son is both the legal and the time-tested procedure (8.7.9–11). Moreover, Cyrus claims that forming ties on the basis of blood relation is most preferable (8.7.14–15).

After Cyrus dies, Xenophon is quick to point out the destructive rivalry that emerges between his sons and the precipitous decline of the Persian Empire. There are of course two ways to interpret this decline: Cyrus is such a great leader that the Persians are nothing without him; or Cyrus is a good leader but ultimately flawed for not establishing a succession of leaders, or a system of government, as virtuous as himself. Plato blames Cyrus specifically for not overseeing his children’s education, allowing them instead to be raised by women and eunuchs in the Medan style (Laws 695a–b). It is certainly worth asking why Xenophon does not present a Cyrus who could leave behind a better institution.

We may give several, perhaps not entirely satisfactory answers. First is an argument from the “nature of things.” Xenophon asserts at the beginning of the Cyropaedia that all forms of government eventually deteriorate even over a short period of time, though he does not explain why this happens of necessity. He suggests that humans simply cannot lead other humans as well as animals. At the end of Book One, he has Cambyses explain that many states have fallen because of ill-advised attacks against others and the mistreatment of their friends (1.6.45). Second, Xenophon suggests that a government, regardless of the quality of its laws, is only as good as the character of its leaders. “Whenever the person in charge is better,” he says, “the laws are implemented more purely; but whenever the person is worse, their implementation is sloppy” (8.1.8). A few pages later, Xenophon says that Cyrus regards the good ruler as a “seeing law,” who not only gives instructions but also observes and punishes the one who fails to carry them out (8.1.22). In the absence of Cyrus, then, it seems no institution is invulnerable. Third, Xenophon gives little reason to assume that a son will have the same character as his ancestors. Even though Cyrus agrees with his father, Cambyses, on the precepts of leadership, he still requires training from him to develop into the leader that he becomes (there is no indication that Cyrus educates his own son, Cambyses). Yet Cyrus does not resemble Astyages {88|89} much at all, nor does Tigranes particularly resemble his father, nor the Assyrian king his father. [10]

Fourth, Xenophon was somewhat bound by Persian history, at least as the Greeks understood it. Cambyses (the son of Cyrus) was seen as a degenerate king in several sources; Herodotus depicts him committing varied forms of hubris against family, friends, and enemies. And, however great it may have been in the past, [11] Persian culture was seen to be on the decline; Xenophon was thus left to account for these “facts” in his portrait of Cyrus. The best that he could come up with, it seems, was to portray a father holding fast to the custom (even if an unfair one) of primogeniture and trying desperately to stave off the degeneration that Xenophon and his readers were likely to see in the aftermath of his reign. If Cyrus had been an “ideal” leader, he might have applied justice to his “philanthropic” impulse consistently, even with his own sons. That depiction, however, would have flown in the face of perceived history. We should note that in making this criticism of Cyrus we are going beyond the bounds of Xenophon’s treatment of him; Xenophon gives no indication that Cyrus is somehow to blame for not ensuring the continued success of the Persian Empire. The most we may infer from what he does say is that Cyrus could not ensure the prosperity of Persia because human beings are very hard to lead and neither of the sons of Cyrus had his extraordinary character.

By being open to so many friends, the “philanthropic” leader may also be open to many enemies. In his generosity he may threaten the reputation of others or elevate his closest comrades to his own level. Alexander is portrayed as “prone to lavish giving” (megalodôrotatos) in a “spirit of good will” (philophrosunê), so much so that his mother, Olympias, cautions him against making all his friends “co-kings” while bankrupting himself (Plutarch Life of Alexander 39.1–5). [12] Cyrus arouses a similar concern in the Lydian king, Croesus, who believes that Cyrus may have given away all of his resources and compromised his own safety (Cyropaedia 8.2.13–23).

Philanthrôpia is a public act and to that extent it can be subjected to criticism and rivalry. One aspiring benefactor may not be able to benefit the people as much as another. Or, he might himself become a beneficiary and reduced to {89|90} a humbler station. Ferguson has noted an implicit condescension in many acts of philanthrôpia, and Gera formulates this rivalry in zero-sum terms: “for every happy benefactor there must be a humiliated recipient.” [13] Prometheus is the first and most obvious example. As Hephaestus chains him to the Scythian cliffs, he pronounces his sentence: “Such things have you reaped for yourself from your ‘philanthropic’ tendency; for, though a god, you did not tremble before the anger of the gods and granted honors to mortals beyond what is right.” [14] In rescuing the goddess Peace from beneath a mound of stones, the “most philanthropic” Hermes also transgresses a mandate from Zeus (Aristophanes Peace 371–372). The physician Asclepius brings a man back from the dead and is struck down by Zeus’ lightning (Pindar Pythian Odes 3.54–60). Socrates earns a bad reputation for generously sharing his wisdom with anyone he can. The Athenians prosecute him because his philanthrôpia corrupts the youth and ultimately undermines the authority of the city. Socrates, too, is severely punished. [15]

For his part, Cyrus rivals his uncle and the king of the Medes, Cyaxares. This rivalry has several sources beyond Cyrus’ philanthrôpia and builds over time. The boy Cyrus succeeds at hunting, for which Cyaxares dubs him already a “king” (1.4.9). When Cyrus pursues some Assyrians in a skirmish, Cyaxares joins the chase out of shame (1.4.22). On campaign against the Assyrians, Cyrus regularly contradicts Cyaxares’ orders and proposals (2.4.5, 3.3.31, 3.3.47, 3.3.56). Cyaxares envies Cyrus’ eagerness to wage war on the Assyrians but is too timid, as well as too drawn to luxury, to campaign with him (4.1.13). As this rivalry comes to a head, Cyaxares rationalizes his anger toward Cyrus, complaining that Cyrus had left him in a vulnerable position while pursuing personal glory. The more accurate explanation, however, seems to be that Cyrus has outdone Cyaxares in showing philanthrôpia. By doing so many good deeds for the Medes, he has stolen their affection from Cyaxeres, as one might steal the affection of someone’s most beloved companion. Cyaxares says: Even if Cyaxares seems ungrateful, envious, and petty here, his perspective is morally defensible according to one of Cyrus’ own prior judgments. When Cyrus attempts to reconcile Tigranes with his father, the Armenian king, over the execution of Tigranes’ tutor, the king explains that he had killed the tutor out of envy, in the spirit of a man who discovers that his wife has been seduced by an adulterer. Cyrus instructs Tigranes to forgive his father because he did not act out of malice toward him; it was, he says, a “human mistake” (3.1.39–40). Moreover, as we have seen, Cyrus himself uses philanthrôpia (in the form of specialized gift-giving) to prevent his followers from forming intimate attachments with one another that could divide their loyalty to him.

So the problem remains: how can an ambitious leader in a subordinate role (such as Cyrus) manage to excel in philanthrôpia without offending an officially superior (but actually inferior) leader? We might expect the rivalry to become public and irreversible, with the subordinate leader simply challenging and eventually supplanting his rival. So great was Alexander’s rivalry with his father, Philip, that he may have plotted his assassination (Plutarch Life of Alexander 5.2, 10.4). Cyrus the Younger, an otherwise generous and benevolent figure, plots rebellion against his older brother, Artaxerxes II. [16]

But this is not how our Cyrus handles his situation. Rather than aggravate his rivalry with Cyaxares, he manages his uncle’s envy with a delicate balance of assertiveness and devotion. [17] He cautions Cyaxares not to make light of the services that he and others have performed for him. He enumerates all the ways he has benefitted Cyaxares and how these acts were designed to benefit him and were not simply a consequence of Cyrus’ own ambitions. In effect, he argues that he deserves to be the dominant philanthrôpos. Yet, Cyrus also shows sympathy, even tears, for Cyaxares’ grief. Perhaps most importantly, he remains in the subordinate role and stresses Cyaxares’ authority, asking him, as his uncle, to do Cyrus the favor of forgiving him for hurting his feelings (5.5.35). Cyrus concludes this appeal by asking to give Cyaxares a kiss of deference, which Cyaxares grants. This gesture serves to allay the concerns of the Medes and Persians who watch anxiously as the two leaders work out their differences. In the end, it is a happy {91|92} consequence for Xenophon’s narrative that Cyaxares dies lacking a male heir and can bequeath the Medan throne to Cyrus without rivalry. [18]

Cyrus’ gratitude, devotion, and deference consistently offset the rivalry and implicit condescension associated with philanthrôpia, which, as we have already noted, can put the practitioner in the superior position of the “father.” [19] We have seen in his first act of philanthrôpia that he has a way of insinuating himself into the families of his friends by showing affection for the sons of the Medan noblemen (1.4.1). When the Assyrian nobleman Gobryas appeals to Cyrus as a suppliant to become his son by avenging the murder of Gobryas’ own child, Cyrus agrees (cf. παῖδα, 4.6.2.9; 5.2.7–8). Again, when Cyrus meets the Assyrian eunuch Gadatas, he vows that even though Gadatas cannot have children, Cyrus and his comrades will stand by him as if they were his biological children (cf. παῖδας ἐκγόνους, 5.3.19). For his part, Gadatas proclaims that he could not have asked for a better son (5.4.12). Finally, Pantheia declares that Cyrus treated Abradatas (her husband) as a brother by showing respect to his captive wife (cf. ἀδελφοῦ, 6.4.7.5). As such, Cyrus benefits others not only as a “father,” but as a peer and a subordinate, even in situations where he is clearly the figure with greater authority. In this way he minimizes the implicit condescension and potential for rivalry that face the other “philanthropic” characters we have considered.

For a long time many scholars have been troubled by the level of manipulation in Cyrus’ “philanthropic” ability to play up to others and anticipate their feelings. [20] Cyaxares has received special sympathy from commentators dating back to Machiavelli, who saw Cyrus’ deception of Cyaxares as an unfortunate prerequisite to empire (Discourses 2.13.1). More recently, Rasmussen has sympathized with Cyaxares, calling him “disgraced and emasculated” and “reduced to little more than a pampered houseguest.” [21] Stripped of its evaluative language Rasmussen’s portrayal of Cyaxares’ situation is more or less true: Cyrus does deceive him more than once, and Cyaxares does become marginalized in so many ways well before Cyrus undertakes the bulk of his campaign against the Assyrians. What Rasmussen’s portrayal leaves out, and what makes the evaluative language so inappropriate, is the literary and historical context that Xenophon inherited. In all other versions of Cyrus’ rise to power, Cyrus becomes king of the Medes by {92|93} force and by design. He feels that they do not deserve to rule over the Persians and thus conquers them in battle, relying on much more deception, betrayal, and cruelty than Xenophon’s Cyrus. Nowhere does Xenophon portray Cyrus as intending to become king of the Medes. Instead he portrays Cyrus as seeking the highest honors in whatever venue he can; empire, in Xenophon’s conception, is for Cyrus more or less an accident of circumstance (unless pursuing the highest honors is always tantamount to pursuing an empire).

Yet, Xenophon does not sidestep a central problem of leadership, namely, what an aspiring leader should do when subordinate to a less competent one. In an ideal picture, Cyaxares would recognize and admit his inferiority to Cyrus and simply allow him to take over. But Xenophon seems to believe that this is not how the real world works, that even the less competent need to feel important (in fact they may not even be aware of their incompetence). Thus Xenophon portrays Cyrus as “manipulating” Cyaxares in such a way as to avoid open hostility but still achieve his ambitions and what is ultimately beneficial for all parties—even for Cyaxares. By the end of the work, he is still in the magnanimous position to bequeath his daughter and his empire to Cyrus.

What Xenophon does seem to sidestep, however, is what we might think of as the ultimate rivalry between Cyrus and Cyaxares, the question of whose “house” will stand atop the Medan Empire. As Xenophon narrates it, Cyaxares has no male heirs and thus may bequeath his empire and his daughter to Cyrus without offending his (hypothetical) son. It is not clear at all how Cyrus could have remained “most philanthropic” and taken over the Medan throne from a legitimate male heir if Cyaxares had wanted to appoint his son and the son desired the position.

We have seen that Cyrus’ philanthrôpia entails giving abundantly (poludôria) and sharing spoils with his men. On at least one occasion he gives on the basis of need, with no apparent consideration for his own advantage (7.1.1.4). Elsewhere, the Lydian king Croesus voices concern that Cyrus may be so recklessly generous as to compromise his own safety and advantage. Yet, Cyrus shows that his generosity has been carefully calculated to win loyal friends. As proof, he asks them to supply him with all the wealth and resources they can, which results in even more generosity than he had initially shown (8.2.15–19). Moreover, Xenophon frequently shows Cyrus as giving gifts not indiscriminately, but according to considerations of merit and, perhaps most importantly, obedience. Even as a boy, Cyrus doles out meat from his grandfather’s table according to the services that each of his attendants has performed (1.3.7). Once Cyrus is in command {93|94} of an army, he proposes to the infantry, and by implication to the officers, that they divide their spoils according to how each man has performed in battle (2.3.4). Cyrus himself sometimes participates in the distribution and even allows his men to appeal for greater spoils (7.5.35). [22]

In addition to being a political burden, caring for others can be a psychological one. In Sophocles’ Oedipus Tyrannus, Oedipus describes this burden in order to reassure the plague-ridden citizens of Thebes that he is taking care of them. He plays up the leader-as-physician metaphor and emphasizes his “wakefulness”:

For Jason in his quest for the Golden Fleece the burden of caring for his followers reaches the point of helplessness. In an assembly of his Argonauts, he says to his comrade Tiphys:

For all of its benefits, material and psychological, striving to help others takes its toll on Cyrus. As we have seen, young Cyrus’ father tells him that as {94|95} a leader he will have to do more than everyone else, which will include losing sleep, while he devises ways to take care of his army:

Cyrus observes that whereas the Medes surpass others in luxury and sleep, a leader must not win fame for easy living but for forethought and the love of toil (1.6.8). How does Cyrus manage the stress of these responsibilities?

For most of his life, as Xenophon describes it, Cyrus seems immune to anxiety. Yet, at the end of his adventures, after conquering the Assyrians in Babylon, Cyrus establishes himself as a king and assumes new and stressful responsibilities (7.5.37). One of his first initiatives is to hear the appeals of all citizens, one by one, so that he may know as much about the affairs of his kingdom as possible. [24] This plan quickly backfires: Cyrus complains that he is given no time to help his most trusted friends, no leisure time, and no time to be alone (7.5.42–45). He is, as it were, on the verge of becoming like the Persian commoner Pheraulas, overburdened with the management of his vast empire (see Chapter One, p. 37). He confesses to his comrades that he must find a way to reconcile his own interests with the interests of those he must care for. [25]

Cyrus first solicits advice from his friends on how to solve this problem, a move which itself begins to relieve him by dividing the mental burden of devising new ideas. Additionally, he devises for himself several prudent remedies to rule his kingdom in ways that remove the psychological burden and keep him safe from what he now acknowledges to be a most bellicose city (7.5.58). He adopts Chrysantas’ proposal to establish a royal palace for himself (7.5.57). He surrounds himself with faithful and brave eunuchs (7.5.61). He appoints numerous overseers to the different functions of government, including tax collectors and superintendents of horses and hounds (8.1.9). As we saw in the discussion of his philokalia (love of beauty), he applies the extensive system of military organization (eutaxis) to the government, whereby he, as king, is responsible only for a few leaders at the top, who are then responsible for {95|96} others, on down the chain of command. With this arrangement Xenophon notes that Cyrus was able to alleviate his anxiety:

From the preceding examples of six problems that may arise from the practice of philanthrôpia, we have seen that it is not a “stand-alone” virtue, but one that needs the support, or constraint, of other character traits: self-restraint, justice, prudence, severity, obedience, organization (eutaxis), and self-mastery. As we saw in Chapter Three, many of these qualities themselves are often the result of the more fundamental traits of philomatheia and philotîmia. We have also seen that though Xenophon’s presentation of philanthrôpia stands up to many tests, it does not survive them all: Cyrus shows undeserved favor to his son and he wins an uncontested favor from Cyaxares (i.e. he does not have to supplant him to become king of the Medes). In the former case, Cyrus shows philanthrôpia without considerations of justice and, in the latter case, Cyrus is allowed to fulfill his ambitions without behaving in an “unphilanthropic” way. We will continue to test the comprehensiveness of Cyrus’ philomatheia and philotîmia in the next two chapters. {96|}