Xenophon’s Cyrus conceives of toil as a means to prosperity both for leaders and followers, not as an end in itself or as a means to legitimacy. He explains to his men as they divide up the spoils of conquest:

Besides being necessary for success, toil is demanding, dirty, and unglamorous. Persian youths endure heat and cold on the hunt as well as deprivation of food and water (1.2.10–11). In the Anabasis, Cyrus the Younger orders Persian nobles to dislodge some wagons from the mud, which they do in all haste while wearing their fancy clothes and jewelry. This exercise was, says Xenophon, an example of their discipline and orderliness (1.5.7–8). Xenophon himself chops wood in the snow, without a cloak, to inspire similar toil and endurance in his men (4.4.12).

Do philanthrôpia, philomatheia, and philotîmia somehow lead to a more restrained leader? In Xenophon, self-mastery (enkrateia) typically refers to a control over physical distractions, e.g. food, drink, hot, cold, and sleep, whereas self-restraint (sôphrosunê) refers to emotional distractions, with fear, anger, pity, and love being among the most potent. We may think of self-restraint and mastery as complements of philoponia, in the sense that they involve the strength not to engage in certain actions.

For Cyrus, self-restraint is learned in the Persian educational system and is thus presumably teachable. Youths learn self-restraint by observing their elders carry on in a moderate way (1.2.8). Accordingly, a good student should be able to learn it, the exceptional student even more so. Interestingly, so should a good teacher: Xenophon says that Cyrus became most accomplished at “self-mastery and the arts of exercise and war” by engaging in training his comrades (8.1.37). Insofar as restraint is something done in a public setting, we would expect the lover of honor to be able to possess more of it than others, just as he or she will toil more than others. As we observed above, the spotlight that shines on the leader lightens the burden; perhaps Xenophon means to imply that the same is true of restraint.

This is probably as far as we may go in drawing connections to Cyrus’ philotîmia, unless we assume that when Xenophon speaks of ponos, he means to include all forms of physical effort, from restraint to endurance to positive exertion. Finally, in pointing out a correlation between these traits, I am not saying that philotîmia is the only basis for becoming restrained. Xenophon has the stern Persian soldier Aglaïtadas explain that fathers teach sons self-restraint by making them cry, presumably by inducing fear (2.2.14). Tigranes argues, too, that someone can learn self-restraint through fear: his own father, he says, has learned to restrain himself first by being defeated in battle by Cyrus, the superior general, and then by being threatened with death (3.1.16-23). As we noted in the Introduction, Plato argues that an intense love of otherworldly wisdom {63|64} (philosophia) also renders someone restrained against the pleasures and experiences of the corporeal world (see Introduction pp. 12–13).

Xenophon says that Persians learn justice (dikaiosunê) in their educational system in the same way that Greeks learn their alphabet (1.2.6). To become proficient in this trait, boys play the part of prosecutors and judges, bringing charges against one another and passing sentence according to the offense. They are particularly keen to prosecute acts of ingratitude, which they see as a path to shamefulness. Xenophon says that Cyrus excels all others in learning his lessons in justice or otherwise, because he learns so quickly. The ability to become a just person is teachable and thus derives at least in part from Cyrus’ love of learning.

But this does not seem to be the entire picture. In Plato, the Philosopher King is also said to be proficient in justice, not only because of his intelligence but because of his love of otherworldly wisdom. As we noted in the Introduction, Plato’s lover of wisdom does not care about material possessions and thus would not be interested in cheating others of them (pp. 12–13). Justice is each person doing his or her part according to what is fitting for the community. The implication is that as long as the Philosopher King is benefitting the community (and not seeking personal gain), then it is appropriate to apply the notion of what is fitting or just without consideration for what others believe or feel. This lack of consideration goes as far as fabricating “noble lies” like the Myth of Metals, wherein members of the community are instructed to let the rearing of children take place according to a pairing of the most suitable children with the most suitable parents (Republic 415a–c). This level of deception is not occasional, but chronic in a community where (it is assumed) some members are leaders and some are not, some may understand the true reason behind a political decision and others may never be capable of comprehending it.

Cyrus seems to have learned from his incomplete understanding of justice when he proposes the alliance of land-sharing between the Armenians and Chaldaeans. We may think of this scene as the counterpart to the Two Coats story. Here Cyrus carefully asks permission from both parties before confirming the treaty (3.2.17–24). To the Chaldaeans he says:

When the Chaldaeans agree, Cyrus asks the Armenian king if he would be willing to let the Chaldaeans cultivate the untended land, to which he agrees. In reciprocal terms, he then requests a similar consent from the Chaldaeans to allow the Armenians to pasture their herds in their mountains—and then asks if this arrangement is agreeable to the Armenians. Nevertheless, the Chaldaeans and Armenians both stipulate that the mountains adjoining their two lands should not be occupied by either side (as they would feel mutually threatened), but that Cyrus should place a garrison there. Both sides then give their approval of the treaty. Both sides are then enthusiastic to build the fort for their common safety. Xenophon points out that the two nations shared the right of intermarriage and that the covenant is still intact in his day.

Again we see similar consideration when Cyrus plans to reward his comrades according to their performance in battle; here, too, he asks for their approval (2.3.4). Pheraulas approves of Cyrus as the distributor of the spoils because Cyrus is free from envy and takes more pleasure in benefiting others than himself (2.3.12). When Cyrus and his men have acquired spoils in their pursuit of the Assyrians, he insists that they wait for their allies to return in order to divide them fairly. Moreover, he insists that the allies be their own arbiters in the distribution, with mutual good will being the basis of their trust that the process will be fair (4.2.42, 4.5.44–45).

In short, justice for Cyrus is not simply about knowing what is fitting but also caring about the feelings and interests of others. It has an intellectual and sympathetic component; part of being fair is the desire to be fair. Indeed, Xenophon seems to agree with Aristotle, who says that just individuals need to have friendly feeling toward one another and that intense friendliness is characteristic of the just (Nicomachean Ethics 1155a26–28).

Contrary to Cyrus’ gentleness, the Armenian king envies Tigranes’ tutor (3.1.39) and the Assyrian king is murderously envious of his peers. After inviting the son of Gobryas on a hunting expedition, the Assyrian king is plagued with envy because the young man surpasses him by bringing down both a bear and a lion (cf. τὸν φθόνον, 4.6.4.1, 4.6.4.8). As a result, he impulsively kills him. The king’s father expresses sympathy for Gobryas’ misfortune (4.6.5.7), but his son shows no sympathy; neither does he try to make amends nor does he honor Gobryas’ son. Later, he has the noble Gadatas made into a eunuch because one of his concubines praised Gadatas’ beauty (5.2.28).

Rather than being instinctual or natural, Cyrus’ praotês may involve some calculation, or at least may be part of a larger network of considerations. For example, in the case of his gentleness toward the Armenians (i.e. patiently listening to Tigranes’ defense of his father), Cyrus sets out to gain tribute from the Armenians; on top of that, he ends up controlling their entire army (2.4.12, 3.1.42). To punish the Armenians might be just, but their services as allies are of greater advantage. Similarly, by showing gentleness and understanding to Araspas Cyrus can use him as a spy on the Assyrians (6.1.39). In competition, whether hunting or riding, Cyrus’ gentleness wins him the affection and later the allegiance of his Medan friends.

In the previous Chapter, when I noted Cyrus’ eagerness to learn about military affairs, I suggested that philomatheia and epimeleia were nearly synonymous, or that epimeleia was the activity that a philomathês tends to engage in. In the Oeconomicus , Xenophon explains that epimeleia is an important virtue that may {69|70} be taught. Ischomachus explains to Socrates how it is that he teaches the overseers of his estate to be good at what they do (12.5). Both speakers acknowledge that it is not enough for the overseer to be loyal and well-meaning, and so Ischomachus explains that he also teaches attentiveness (epimeleia). Socrates doubts that anyone can be taught to be attentive, but Ischomachus says that it takes a certain kind of student. Those who are vulnerable to alcohol or sleep, he says, cannot be taught, as well as those who are desperately in love (i.e. those with minimal self-restraint and self-mastery). When Socrates doubts if the greedy would be good candidates to learn, Ischomachus claims that they are, as long as it is explained to them that attentiveness is profitable, though he acknowledges that such people are dangerous. Finally, Socrates asks how he teaches the person who is only a moderate lover of gain and free from other faults, to which Ischomachus replies:

Ischomachus says further that he prefers lovers of honor to lovers of gain (philokerdeis). He prefers a man who is honest not only because it is profitable but because an honest man is eager for praise from him; the ambitious (philotîmoi), he says, are willing to toil however it is necessary, to take risks, and refrain from shameful gain (14.10). Ischomachus does not make the deduction, but he implies that the person who is highly loving of honor would also be highly attentive, assuming such a person saw opportunities to win honor by doing so. philomatheia and philotîmia, then, seem to work together to enhance epimeleia.

Piety is neither a virtue that boys study in the Persian agôgê nor is it part of Cyrus’ education at the court of his grandfather. Plutarch does say that the later Persian king, Artaxerxes II, learned the skill of the Magi from a priest who had been appointed to give him the traditional Persian education (Life of Artaxerxes 3.3). But Xenophon mentions neither the gods nor their worship until well into Chapter Five of Book One of the Cyropaedia. There he says that Cyrus, having selected his Persian comrades to join Cyaxares in his war against the Assyrians, consults the gods and does not march out until the omens were favorable (1.5.6). As a conclusion to his speech exhorting his men to fight with confidence, he assures them that he has not been inattentive to the gods (1.5.14). Though there {70|71} has been no mention of this practice thus far, he claims to have always set out with approval from the gods in matters both great and small.

Moreover, knowledge of religion for Xenophon, it would seem, is much like knowledge of farming, in that the information is readily available and comparatively unambiguous. Yet, few individuals make the effort to apply such knowledge vigilantly on all occasions. Often some character flaw gets in the way: for example, Herodotus’ Croesus is told that by invading the Persians he will destroy a mighty empire. As the oracle later explains to him, he had the opportunity to ask which empire he would destroy, but he neglected to, presumably because he was overconfident (Histories 1.19). In the Cyropaedia, Cyrus feels a similar temptation at the beginnings of his battles to presume favor from the gods, or to look for favor where there is none. Yet Xenophon has him check his impulses and pay attention.

The love of beauty is a character trait that appears early in the Cyropaedia and then sporadically, but its importance resonates throughout the work. When Cyrus arrives in Media, his grandfather dresses him in the traditional Medan style and teaches him to ride, which Xenophon says he delights in doing because he is a lover of beauty (philokalos) and a lover of honor (1.3.2). What is beautiful (kalos) is often easily recognized as that which is expensive or fancy. In {73|74} battle Cyrus wears the finest armor (1.4.18, 7.1.2, cf. Abradatas, 6.4.1–4). When he comes to rule Babylon, he instructs his associates to adopt the Medan style of dress, with eyeliner and elevated shoes, in order to make themselves more distinguished and thus charm their subjects (8.1.40–41).

Dillery shows that Cyrus, too, favors this love of order as a means to greater efficiency. Cyrus is raised in an educational system that is organized by tribe, age, and merit (1.2.4–16). As a leader, he encourages his subordinates to pick their troops not on the basis of native origin but on the basis of their excellence. He espouses the same general appreciation for order elsewhere in Xenophon: “things that are disorganized (ἀσύντακτα) are always troublesome until they are put in order” (4.5.37). He uses the analogy of a house that is better lacking {75|76} in slaves altogether than “disordered” by wicked ones (cf. ταραττόμενος, 2.2.26). He again follows Ischomachus in applying the analogy of the ordered household to the ordered army:

Xenophon explains that Cyrus assigned this preeminence to military organization because in war the dangers and chances for success are much greater. At its best, Cyrus’ army functions with greater coordination than a chorus, given its exceptional training and obedience to his commands (3.3.70). When his camp is conceived with good organization, it is easier for him to know who is and is not following orders (8.5.14). Outside of the army, Cyrus draws the greatest benefit from orderliness when he applies both the Persian system of education and military organization (suntaxis) to his government by dividing everyone into units of ten, with each administrator overseeing ten men below him on down the chain of command (8.1.14).

In his Funeral Oration in the Histories of Thucydides, which is the first extant use of the philokal– stem, Pericles says of his fellow Athenians, “we are lovers of beauty with a purpose” (Φιλοκαλοῦμέν … μετ’ εὐτελείας, 2.40.1). For Xenophon, and perhaps for Thucydides, the purpose of beauty (or order) was to charm, intimidate, and impress others. It was also a means to efficiency and to facilitate the leader’s grasp of a situation, whether an array of troops in battle formation or satraps in imperial administration. We may think of the love of organization that Cyrus shows as a necessary component of his love of learning: since it is important for a leader to have the kind of mind that maintains a hyper-attentiveness to all things, such a leader must also have the proclivity to organize all these data-points into a “beautiful” unity. Here again we see the extent to which the love of learning in Xenophon does not involve brilliance, cleverness, or invention, so much as a careful attention to all that is knowable, from the gods and from friends, guided by an orderly arrangement of the operation and all the information therein.

Cyrus’ superlative love of humanity, love of learning, and love of being honored seem conducive to several other traits central to his success as a leader. The love {76|77} of honor seems to do the most work, giving the leader the motivation to pay more attention, take greater risks, toil harder, endure more, and sacrifice love and other conveniences of the body. In some cases, a derivative trait may arise from the coordination of two fundamental traits: the love of learning and the love of humanity seem to produce a more just and gentle Cyrus; and the love of honor and the love of learning seem to make him more pious and loving of beauty (order).

While these superlative “loves” may be conducive to these other traits, they are not the only cause of them, as we have noted in several places. A leader might behave gently not out of a love for humanity so much as out of self-confidence or out of a desire to seem merciful. Similarly, a leader might show restraint not out of a desire to win honor but, according to Plato’s Socrates, because the emotions and the pleasures of the body hold no interest compared to understanding the Forms.

As I stressed at the outset of this chapter, such an approach to the fundamentality of Xenophon’s Theory of Leadership is of necessity conjectural, and can become reductive and simplistic. With few exceptions (like the love of honor producing the love of toil), Xenophon never says that philanthrôpia, etc. are the more fundamental traits. He does say that they are features of Cyrus’ soul, and he does repeatedly talk about “derivative” traits in associative ways, both of which facts invite us to explore how Xenophon may have conceived of leadership characteristics in fundamental and derivative ways. {77|}