In what scholars aptly have characterized as the first novel in European literature,Footnote ¹ Xenophon's Cyropaedia is a fictionalized biographical account of the life of Cyrus the Great, the founder of the Persian Empire. Xenophon has been recognized as an important author by many political philosophers throughout the ages; political theorists are once again turning to him, especially to his Cyropaedia, an important work in ancient political theory.Footnote ² Given the many declarations in both scholarly and popular works as well as in the media about the U.S. “empire” of spreading freedom and democracy, political theorists have turned anew in recent years to ancient accounts of the growth and consequences of empire, including especially Persia, Athens, and Rome. To take only the most relevant example, Tuplin argues that Xenophon in his Hellenica is highly critical of empire.Footnote ³ This essay attempts to build on these recent analyses and to shed new light on Xenophon and his contemporary relevance by arguing that the Cyropaedia also provides a thoughtful critique of empire and imperial ambition. In contrast to commentators who argue that the Cyropaedia shows that Xenophon “has no reservations about the concept of an empire or the desirability of acquiring imperial power,”Footnote ⁴ that he offered the Cyropaedia as a “manifesto of Hellenic imperialism,”Footnote ⁵ or that he meant it as a “utopian vision” of “an imperial state,”Footnote ⁶ I shall suggest that Xenophon's Cyropaedia is a work of irony and that its author was very skeptical and critical of empire. To the extent that contemporary U.S. foreign policy uses nation- or empire-building as a tool to promote its objectives, Xenophon's cautionary critique of empire in the Cyropaedia is especially important and timely. If he is correct, we ought to be very skeptical regarding the extent to which the international arena can be made amenable to reason, knowledge, and order. For Xenophon, the ambitious and well-laid plans of even the most virtuous and knowledgeable of leaders are no match for the chaotic world of politics.

In his explanation of why he decided to focus on the life of Cyrus and write the Cyropaedia, Xenophon wrote:

Prior to his study of Cyrus, Xenophon states that he believed that ruling human beings was impossible or at least very difficult (1.1.3). But after considering Cyrus, Xenophon apparently changed his mind and decided that ruling human beings need not be impossible or even difficult, provided that one rules with knowledge (epistamenōs) (1.1.3). In Cyrus, Xenophon thus thought that he had glimpsed the true nature of rule (archē) over human beings.Footnote ⁸

The manner in which Xenophon presents Cyrus's knowledge is somewhat curious. He does not disclose it by writing it down systematically in the form of a treatise. Instead, Xenophon rather indirectly and dialectically reveals Cyrus's knowledge by starting with Cyrus's boyhood and narrating the story and events of his life, from which the reader must draw his or her own conclusions. Apparently, Xenophon judged that Cyrus's knowledge could not, or perhaps should not, be stated in the form of a treatise. Why Xenophon may have thought this is not entirely clear. But one could understand his reluctance to be too forthcoming in his own name about the specific contents of Cyrus's knowledge if Cyrus's knowledge of how to rule turns out, as we will suggest, not entirely to be good for human beings. Moreover, Xenophon also seems to be interested in revealing how Cyrus attained or came by his knowledge, which suggests that he may have thought that a proper account of the nature of Cyrus's knowledge could not be separated from a genealogical or genetic account of how Cyrus's knowledge came into being. Though Cyrus picks up bits and pieces of his knowledge from various conversations he has throughout the book,Footnote ⁹ Xenophon's account of Cyrus's education comes primarily in two main stages: in Persia (1.2.2–1.3.1) and in Media (1.3.1–1.4.28).

Whereas all commentators known to me refer to Cyrus's Persian education as if it were a single, unified, and cohesive program, this essay suggests that, in fact, his Persian education was not one thing, but rather two—consisting of his traditional and heterodox educations, respectively. Because Cyrus's Persian education is thus much more complex than has commonly been recognized, this essay, of necessity, limits itself to providing a full account of both parts of his Persian education and shows how each lays the groundwork and charts the course for his unprecedented achievements throughout his life. As I shall try to show, Xenophon thought that the Persian regime was of great importance for understanding Cyrus and his knowledge because his twofold Persian education reflected and was a theoretically uneasy but strangely effective product of Persia's strengths and weaknesses. What were these strengths and weaknesses? How did Cyrus's twofold Persian education help prepare the way for his imperial revolution? And what was Xenophon's judgment of the empire that Cyrus used his knowledge to found, especially compared with the decent if unspectacular Persian regime that preceded it? To grasp not only Cyrus's knowledge, but also Xenophon's own judgment or view of that knowledge―which is to say, to understand the heart of the Cyropaedia―one must begin by exploring the connections between Cyrus's Persian educations and the character of the Persian regime.

The Character of the Persian Regime

The first regime that Xenophon describes in the Cyropaedia is the republic of Persia (1.2.2–1.3.1). He states that he was interested in Persia because he believed that a consideration of the Persian regime helped reveal the education Cyrus received there (1.1.6, 1.2.2), which in turn shed light on the overall content and nature of Cyrus's knowledge (1.1.6). I might also add that since the Persian educational curriculum sought to promote law-abidingness (1.2.2, 1.3.18), it follows that Cyrus's traditional Persian education cannot be separated from an analysis of the Persian regime, which was the source of the laws that Cyrus was taught to follow.Footnote ¹⁰

The first observation Xenophon makes concerning Persia is that both its laws and educational system aimed to promote the common good (1.2.2–3). Cyrus and the other Persian children were not only prohibited from acting in such a way as to harm the common good, but also even from so much as desiring anything shameful that would promote selfish interests over the good of others (1.2.2–3). In contrast to most modern liberal regimes, the Persian regime thus emphasized what is today called the “public” or “common,” as distinct from the “private” or “individual.” For example, instead of giving some of their most promising children who attended the schools of justice the freedom to, as we might say, “do their own thing,” the Persians required them to adhere to a rigorous standard of morality that was strictly enforced and equally binding on all of them (1.2.6–8). Xenophon stylistically reinforces the Persians' devotion to the common good and their public-spirited character by never mentioning Cyrus or anyother Persian individual by name in his discussion of Persia.Footnote ¹¹

The Persians created several institutions that sought to promote the common good, but that also make their regime difficult to classify. One of the most important of these was the Free Square, which was where the king's palace and the other government buildings were located (1.2.3). The Persians did not permit merchants in the Free Square, lest “their cries and their vulgarity” mix with “the good order of the educated” (1.2.3). This is the first indication Xenophon provides that the Persian education that sought to promote the common good was not actually a common education, since groups such as merchants did not receive it. While the Persians did not in theory disqualify anyone from receiving the systematic moral education that was prerequisite for ruling, Xenophon notes that in practice those who were forced to earn a living did not have time for the lengthy education in the schools of justice (1.2.15). If in theory Persia was a monarchic republic with equality under the law, such that even the king was bound as an equal under the laws (1.3.18),Footnote ¹² Xenophon suggests that in practice Persia was in some ways a de facto oligarchy, ruled by the wealthy few.Footnote ¹³ Instead of an unmixed regime, Xenophon's Persian regime was in truth a mixed regime, with monarchic, republican, and oligarchic elements.

Cyrus's Traditional Persian Education

Having sketched the backdrop of the Persian regime, we turn to a consideration of those elements of Cyrus's traditional Persian education that stayed with him his entire life and that helped him establish and maintain his empire. As a boy, Cyrus was taught moderation (sōphrosunē), which the Persian boys learned primarily by watching the adults behaving moderately and by imitating them (1.2.8). For the Greeks, sōphrosunē is the opposite of hubris, which means extreme arrogance or insolence. The distinction between sōphrosunē and hubris was a common theme among many Greek authors and provides a useful lens through which to view much (though not all) of Cyrus's behavior. For example, the hubristic Athenians, whom Thucydides describes in his History of the Peloponnesian War and who decided to brutally slaughter the Melians, stand in stark contrast to Cyrus's comparatively moderate behavior. Though Cyrus could easily have killed any number of individuals he captured, he typically spared the lives of those he conquered (3.1.30–37, 7.2.9–29). For Xenophon, such generosity on Cyrus's part was a sign of his moderation, one that should be contrasted with the comparatively barbaric acts of mass murder the Athenians committed against the Melians.Footnote ¹⁴ Moreover, Cyrus's moderation in turn proved highly beneficial to his rule. Cyrus made a habit of displaying his moderation, believing that when his subjects saw how moderately he behaved, even though he could have behaved insolently with impunity, they would be less willing to be openly impudent themselves (8.1.30). His moderation helped him gain a reputation for being benevolent; subjects who might have otherwise revolted against a less moderate ruler were content to be ruled by him. Nearly every conquered foe that Cyrus moderately and prudently spared became his ally, such that by the end of his life there were very few enemies left for him to conquer (1.1.3–5).

Cyrus's Persian teachers also encouraged continence (enkrateia), especially regarding food and drink (1.2.8). The Persian education in continence aimed to produce citizen-soldiers who took care of their bodies and who could survive with precious little food in times of war or hardship (1.2.11). This regimen made a lasting impression on Cyrus, as evidenced by the fact that he required of himself as ruler and his elites in the Persian Empire always to exercise before eating (1.2.16, 8.1.38, 8.6.12). The continence instilled in Cyrus as a boy also proved critical to his ability to rule over his subjects, particularly over those members of the lower class in the empire that he made no attempt to educate or instruct. Because of his rigid continence with regard to things like food and drink that were highly coveted by many of his subjects, Cyrus was able to cater to others' desires for things that he himself did not want. As Xenophon notes, whereas typically those who possess absolute power rule with an eye toward self-aggrandizement (1.3.18, 1.4.26), especially regarding things such as food and drink, Cyrus's continence enabled him to cater to others' incontinent desires and, in so doing, simultaneously satisfy his own desire for honor, which his subjects gladly granted him as their benefactor.

In the course of establishing and administering the empire, Cyrus liberally borrowed institutions and practices he had learned about in his traditional Persian education. For example, just as the Persians held public-spirited sporting events that promoted their citizens' courage and discipline, Cyrus also regularly held contests designed to encourage excellence in the virtues conducive to victory in war (1.2.12, 7.5.79, 8.1.38–39). Similarly, just as the Persians required their various divisions to be dutifully present at various places and times (1.2.4), Cyrus demanded that his elites regularly report to him, due to his belief that “those who reported were not willing to do anything either evil or shameful,” while those who did not show themselves were “absent because of some incontinence, injustice, or neglect” (8.1.16). Much as the Persians dishonored those who shirked their duties (1.2.14), Cyrus came down quite harshly on those who were not present at the proper appointed time (8.1.20, 8.3.21–23). Similar to the Persians who held ingratitude to be one of the most shameful of the vices (1.2.7), Cyrus also went out of his way always to show his gratitude to his subjects. He always made sure publicly to reward those who helped him establish his empire through acts of bravery and courage (6.2.5, 8.4.9–27). Finally, and most important, the Persians' educational curriculum attempted to promote the common good of Persia (1.2.2). Similarly, Cyrus took the Persian principle of caring for the common good and extended it internationally beyond Persia's borders in the effort to remake the world and establish an empire where he himself judiciously provided for the needs of all individuals across portions of the several continents that comprised his empire.

Cyrus's Heterodox Persian Education

While Cyrus learned a great deal from his traditional Persian education that proved useful to him, he also had, as it were, a second Persian education, one that he taught himself without his teachers' awareness and that proved more important than his traditional education, insofar as it proved to be the impetus for the empire. This second or heterodox facet of Cyrus's education consisted in his coming to see for himself the limitations and weaknesses of the Persian regime, which he attempted to correct by subverting the old Persian republic and establishing the Persian Empire on its ruins.

One problem within the Persian educational curriculum, the consequences of which Cyrus experienced firsthand, was that it taught the youth that when there was a conflict between justice defined as law-abidingness and what is simply good, they were simply expected to prefer arbitrarily the former to the latter, a “solution” in effect by fiat with which Cyrus refused to be satisfied. Xenophon expresses the potentially problematic conflict between the just and the good in a rather simple story involving two boys and two coats. It constitutes one of the most important passages in the Cyropaedia because it goes to the heart of what Cyrus learned from his heterodox Persian education regarding the need to move beyond the limits of the Persian conception of justice. While visiting his grandfather in Media, Cyrus explained that one of his Persian teachers once appointed him to judge a case involving the transfer of property between a small boy with a big coat and a big boy with a small coat (1.3.17). The big boy who possessed the small coat forcibly placed his small coat on the small boy and assumed possession of the big coat that had belonged to the small boy.Footnote ¹⁵ As judge, Cyrus attempted simply to ignore the Persian law that prohibited taking another's property by force because he recognized that it was better for both boys “that each have the fitting (harmottō) tunic.” He thus awarded possession of the big coat to the big boy and the small coat to the small boy (1.3.17).

This simple case perfectly captures the sense in which justice defined as following the law can sometimes conflict with the good. As Xenophon illustrates, the problem in this particular case was that the prescribed Persian verdict was not good since it was not―in the dispute over the coats quite literally―fitting. In the terminology of modern jurisprudence, this case may be seen as an early example of the difference between law (or what the law commands) and equity (or what is simply right.) In the conflict between what the Persian law held to be just and what was obviously or self-evidently good, Cyrus as judge chose the good. Most importantly, when he was punished for his decision, Cyrus learned firsthand the sense in which the good can sometimes conflict with what a particular regime understands to be just, as well as the harsh consequences in store for any Persian judge who ignores the law to serve the good.

The fact that Cyrus's teachers did not successfully persuade him to rethink his verdict proved highly consequential for them, as their most talented student apparently drew the lesson that no rational argument against his verdict existed. Consider the fact that when Cyrus returned home to Persia after his trip to Media, he did so only to avoid arousing his father's anger by remaining in Media in violation of his father's order to come home (1.4.25). The possibility that he might have had something additional to learn from the Persian system of education never even crossed his mind. It could not have been lost on a precocious and observant child like Cyrus that a benevolent person like himself who yearned to benefit others would need somehow to acquire enough power so as to be able to break the law with impunity when it prevented him from doing good. Cyrus drew the lesson from his own heterodox education that no procedural technicality would be able to bind him once he acquired an army and an empire. Seeing no reason to obey the law, the very foundation of which he believed to be the irrational and arbitrary application of force, Cyrus went on to make a career of ignoring and subverting it when he thought his will produced a better result (1.4.6, 2.2.19, 2.2.21, 2.3.12, 4.5.39, 4.6.7, 7.4.13, 8.1.22, 8.2.27, 8.4.19–20, 8.6.23).

Leaders vs. Laws

Since none of his teachers provided a defense of the rule of law to Cyrus that he found persuasive, and especially since he was surely correct that it was better for both boys to possess coats that fit, one wonders whether Xenophon, therefore, agreed with Cyrus's view that rule by law is at bottom indefensible insofar as it is inferior to rule by leaders like himself, who are themselves “seeing laws” (8.1.22). Can the rule of law still be defended even when it clearly produces a ridiculous outcome in a particular case? I will suggest that Xenophon's own answer to this question is different from that of Cyrus. While Xenophon is quite cognizant of the potential weakness of the rule of law—as evidenced by the fact that his Cyrus sees and exploits those limitations—he, nonetheless, offers a defense, albeit a qualified one, of the rule of law. In addition, Xenophon's skepticism about leaders stands in marked contrast to Cyrus's confidence in his own abilities. These disagreements in turn point to the most subterranean and important question raised by the Cyropaedia: Given Cyrus's impressive knowledge of how to rule (1.1.3, 1.1.6), to what extent might Xenophon, nonetheless, have found Cyrus's knowledge problematic, inadequate, or even mistaken? Might the Cyropaedia—and especially the lengthy praise of Cyrus with which the book opens―be somewhat ironic?

In contrast to those commentators who argue that the Cyropaedia reflects Xenophon's preference for rule by autonomous and omnipotent leaders,Footnote ¹⁶ Xenophon actually endeavors to show that rule by a single hegemonic individual is deeply problematic. The first problem with leaders, according to Xenophon, concerns the problem of succession. For Xenophon, leaders must ensure that those who succeed them are by nature fit to rule and properly educated. In his estimation, the problem of succession is in practice inexorably fraught with difficulty. Nature often does not properly equip successors to the throne with the requisite capacity for virtue needed for rule. In the case of Cyrus's sons, they were clearly not cut from the same cloth as their father. Moreover, while Cyrus did make a modest attempt to educate them (8.7.5–28), that effort fell far short of the systematic educational curriculum he received as a child and the numerous private conversations the young Cyrus had with his father, Cambyses, that provided the necessary educational compliment to his own natural virtue (1.2.2–16, 1.6.3, 1.6.5–8, 1.6.12–15, 1.6.43). While nature may occasionally create an individual with the requisite virtue for rule who also happens to receive a proper education (1.2.1–2), the possibility that such a fortuitous coincidence will occur again when that leader dies is for Xenophon unlikely in the extreme.

The second problem with leaders in Xenophon's judgment is that even, and perhaps especially, the best of them are apt to be less wise than they fancy themselves. It would seem that Xenophon was highly skeptical about the adequacy of Cyrus's knowledge, as evidenced by a humorous yet telling passage in which Cyrus attempted to play matchmaker (8.4.18–23). To the surprise of his friends, Cyrus claimed, during a drinking party, to be skilled in the art of matchmaking, which provoked highly unusual laughter and jokes from his companions at his expense; everyone knew that Cyrus, who was known to be “a frigid king,” had little discernable interest in erotic pursuits (8.4.22). Chrysantas was especially dubious about Cyrus's claim and asked the king to tell him what sort of wife would be proper for Chrysantas himself (8.4.19). Cyrus answered that since Chrysantas was small, his wife should also be little, so that he would not have to jump to kiss her. If a small boy needs a tiny coat, he apparently reasoned, then a short man needs a little wife. Similarly, Cyrus argued that since Chrysantas was hook-nosed, his wife should be snub-nosed so that the two would be complementary to one another. While the lighthearted passage is meant to be humorous, it also suggests that Cyrus's understanding of erōs was superficial and left much to be desired. Nor is the light-hearted conversation with Chrysantas an isolated instance of Cyrus's shallow treatment and profound misunderstanding of erōs. In one of the most moving passages in the Cyropaedia, the beautiful Panthea holds the mutilated corpse of Abradatas, her husband, as she mourns her loss after his death on the battlefield. Cyrus—attempting to be kind— lamely assures her that he will happily appoint an escort to take the grieving widow wherever she wished, as if she simply needed a change of scenery to forget all about her beloved (7.3.12).

The reason for Cyrus's inability to say anything meaningful about marriage or appropriate in a time of grief is directly tied not only to his misunderstanding of erōs, but also to the more important issue of his general ignorance of the soul. To borrow a phrase from Plato's Athenian Stranger—who, incidentally, was himself an astute observer of Cyrus's shortcomings, one who makes explicit much that Xenophon leaves implicit—on numerous occasions, Cyrus practiced politics poorly, in the sense of the art of caring for souls.Footnote ¹⁷ In this regard, Xenophon means for us to compare Cyrus with Socrates. Like Cyrus, Xenophon's Socrates also claims to be a matchmaker, and even a pimp (Symposium 3.10, 4.56—64). But Xenophon suggests that Socrates' understanding of matchmaking far exceeded that of Cyrus. Unlike Cyrus, who says nothing about speeches in his account of matchmaking, Xenophon's Socrates thought that erōs and speeches go hand in hand (a conclusion with which any reader of Plato's Symposium or Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet will heartily agree.) Whereas Cyrus's discussion of matchmaking only refers to choosing pairs based strictly on bodily attributes, Xenophon's Socrates' account includes not only “the appropriate arrangement of hair and clothing,” but also speeches that “lead to friendship” (Symposium 4.57–58). Moreover, whereas Socrates claimed that he was a true statesman in part because of his knowledge of the human soul,Footnote ¹⁸ Cyrus rarely speaks of the soul. On the rare occasion he does, he talks about it in a rather perfunctory, agnostic, and ultimately disinterested manner. For example, on his deathbed, Cyrus gives his lengthiest discourse on the soul. This speech has reminded, with some validity, one scholar of Plato's Socrates' speech about the soul as he waits for death in the Phaedo.Footnote ¹⁹ However, while the dramatic setting and topic of discussion in the Phaedo and the conclusion of the Cyropaedia are very similar, there are many important dissimilarities as well. Most important for our purposes, Socrates spends the little time he has left striving to learn more about the soul and, thereby, to benefit and console his bereaved companions in the process. In contrast to Socrates' kind-hearted purpose and lengthier and more detailed arguments about the soul, Cyrus permits himself only a few brief speculations about the soul and its possible immortality before driving his real, self-interested point home:

He continues:

The main purpose of Cyrus's discourse on the soul is to ensure that his sons, the heirs to his throne, do not turn against one another, as Cyrus presciently predicts that strife between them would put his entire empire in jeopardy. Whether his sons appreciate the need to avoid faction by reflecting on the soul, the gods, or history makes little difference to Cyrus, so long as they grasp the essential point about how to preserve the empire. In essence, Cyrus makes knowledge of the soul either inessential or, at best, a means to the preservation of empire. Herein lies one of the most important differences between Cyrus and Socrates. For Socrates, knowledge of the soul is the natural and proper telos or end of a life well-lived, and as such cannot be reduced to other “ends.”Footnote ²⁰ Unlike Socrates, Cyrus sees philosophic speculation about the soul the same way he sees everything and everyone with whom he comes into contact; namely, as a means to furthering and securing his empire. Thus, for Socratics like Xenophon, Cyrus, who places greater importance on empire than on the soul, profoundly misunderstands the human soul. Moreover, his ignorance of the soul means that, unlike Socrates, Cyrus is not truly qualified to rule. An overarching problem of Xenophon's writings may thus be stated: Socrates may possess adequate knowledge of the soul, but he has no desire to rule; Cyrus has plenty of ambition, but Xenophon finds his claim to knowledge wanting because he misunderstands the soul. For Xenophon, what is needed, therefore, above all else is a ruler who combines Socrates' knowledge with Cyrus's ambition (1.2.1). Insofar as no such individual is to be found in Xenophon's corpus, save perhaps Xenophon himself,Footnote ²¹ his writings would seem to point to the deeply problematic nature of all political rule.

A third problem with leaders, in Xenophon's judgment, is that their rule is good only if they are virtuous and free from passion, which always has the potential to corrupt by causing self-interest to overpower reason and the common good. Did Xenophon think that Cyrus always overcame such temptation? While Xenophon's narrative repeatedly indicates that Cyrus often truly desired to provide for what he understood to be his companions' good (1.2.1), Xenophon also shows that, despite Cyrus's benevolence, he was not above covertly sacrificing his companions' good to further his own whenever the two conflicted or once he thought they had served their purpose. For example, contrary to interpretations that Cyrus behaves “as a true gentleman” and shows “genuine concern” in the famous story involving Panthea,Footnote ²² in fact, he ruthlessly and with cold-blooded precision conspired to precipitate both her death and that of her husband Abradatas once they were no longer of use to him and their continued presence proved problematic. After Panthea—who was the Queen of Susa and the most beautiful woman in all of Asia (4.6.11)—was captured, Cyrus used her beauty to inflame the Mede Araspas's passions to the point that after she resisted his advances, he threatened to violate her to satisfy his desire. By knowingly appointing Araspas to be her “guardian,” Cyrus deliberately incurred Araspas's shame and guilt when he “discovered” Araspas's rough treatment of her, which Cyrus himself quite deftly orchestrated (6.1.31–34). Cyrus in turn used Araspas's shame to his own advantage by sending him off on an important yet dangerous mission as a spy (6.1.31, 6.1.38–45), which Araspas agreed to in order to regain Cyrus's good graces. Since Cyrus kept the true nature of Araspas's mission a secret, everyone, including Panthea and Abradatas, assumed that he fled because Cyrus was going to punish him severely for his assault against Panthea. By posing as the avenger of Panthea's honor, Cyrus thereby gained Abradatas's allegiance, which was important not only because he was the King of Susa, but, more important, because he was a formidable warrior and had many soldiers at his disposal, which he made available to Cyrus (6.1.45).

Xenophon portrays Abradatas as impetuous to the point of recklessness (6.3.35–36), which led directly to his demise. When Cyrus directed the soldiers to cast lots, it just so happened that Abradatas selected an extremely dangerous post right in front of the enemy (6.3.35–36). That Cyrus would allow a game of chance to determine a crucial military strategy in the most important battle of his career is extremely implausible. I suggest instead that the game was likely fixed by Cyrus, so that Abradatas would be put directly in the line of fire, because Cyrus actually wanted him dead. To see why this was the case, it is necessary to recall that the exiled Araspas desired more than anything to be united with Panthea, who was of course also Abradatas's beloved. From Cyrus's point of view, it must have seemed as though there were two big boys and only one big coat, which posed a major problem for him, because he knew that his subjects' willingness to let him rule was conditional on his uncanny ability to satisfy their deepest desires. Since in addition to Araspas and Abradatas many other men desired to have Panthea for their own (5.1.17), she represented a visible limit on Cyrus's ability to satisfy all of his subjects. Cyrus's solution to this problem was fairly simple, if ruthless. In effect, he conspired to bring about the death of Abradatas, which he knew would prompt the grief-stricken Panthea to take her own life in turn. When Panthea all but told him that she was planning to kill herself, Cyrus quite coldly did nothing to stop her or to secure her safety (7.3.13–14).Footnote ²³ As he correctly predicted when he initially captured her, she eventually proved useful to him, insofar as she became the link that gained him both Abradatas's troops and Araspas's willingness to spy on the enemy (5.1.17). But once Panthea served her purpose and Cyrus no longer had need of her, she became wholly expendable.

When Araspas returned from his reconnaissance mission (6.3.14–17), Cyrus embraced him, but the embrace Araspas truly longed for was that of Panthea, whose affection he would never know. Of the four—Cyrus, Araspas, Panthea, and Abradatas—the only one who gets what he wants is Cyrus, who excels time and again at this type of duplicitous scheming.Footnote ²⁴ While he was remarkably adept at bringing the desires of others into line with his own to achieve his imperial goals (1.4.13), when there was an irreconcilable conflict between Cyrus's desires and the good of another, Xenophon leaves little doubt that Cyrus put his own interest first. Cyrus's benevolence was, thus, somewhat shallow and self-serving, at bottom, a keenly effective means to promoting his own ends. If for Xenophon, rule by leaders is good only if they are free from the corrosive effects of self-interested passion, then to the extent that Cyrus was willing to sacrifice others to promote his own selfish ends, he cannot rightfully be considered, as the dominant scholarly interpretation of the Cyropaedia dating back to Cicero would have it, Xenophon's “hero,” “ideal,” or “model leader.”Footnote ²⁵

While Cyrus himself lacked the requisite amount of moderation and wisdom, possibly another more talented individual might conceivably possess the traits needed for successful and absolute rule of an empire. But Xenophon doubts it. While Cyrus has his shortcomings, for Xenophon he represents the best leader that one is likely to find in practice (1.1.6). By going out of his way to stress Cyrus's prodigious talents (1.1.3–1.2.2)—and especially his systematic, moderate education and knowledge—Xenophon suggests that the problem of absolute rule is not simply that Cyrus himself was not up to the job, but, more important, that no one is ever likely truly to possess enough of the necessary qualities for successful absolute rule on such a large scale. Precisely because of Cyrus's extraordinary talents, Xenophon's narrative would seem to be less about Cyrus's individual failure per se than the deeply problematic nature of all absolute imperial rule, even by the most talented of leaders. For Xenophon, Cyrus is a kind of exemplary test-case for the desirability and feasibility of absolute rule. Given Cyrus's failure, Xenophon asks, how likely is it that another omnipotent leader could ever succeed? Moreover, given this unlikelihood, might not a wise man be willing to take a second look at alternate, less spectacular, and more moderate forms of rule, even those that he knew had certain drawbacks, such as the rule of law? Read carefully, we believe that the Cyropaedia represents not only Xenophon's critique of absolute rule, but also his qualified case for the rule of law.

The most important argument Xenophon makes for the superiority of the rule of law is that, in light of an individual leader's unavoidable ignorance and self-interest, the rule of law potentially provides a superior alternative since in the best case it reflects the gradual and dispassionate accumulation of wisdom over time. Even if leaders lack perfect wisdom and moderation, as all of them qua human being surely do,Footnote ²⁶ laws compensate for this deficiency by reflecting the combined wisdom of various wise-if-not-omniscient legislators that has been gradually accumulated, tested, and modified through experience over time. By abolishing the rule of law in favor of his own absolute authority, Cyrus rejected the accumulated wisdom in the Persian laws, not least of which was that possessed by his father Cambyses, whose preeminent understanding of any number of issues far exceeded that of his son. Cyrus eagerly adopted some of his father's opinions on matters about which he himself had not reflected very deeply (1.6.1–46). Insofar as Cambyses warns Cyrus about the dangers of imperial overreach, and insofar as the prudence of his warning is borne out by the bleak conclusion of the Cyropaedia when the empire violently implodes, Cambyses would seem to be the voice of Xenophon, who does not himself appear as a character in the Cyropaedia. Unlike Cyrus, the great rebel of the Persian laws, Cambyses's prudent wisdom and recognition of his own limitations lead him humbly to submit to the rule of law. Cambyses or Xenophon—not Cyrus—is the true wise man of the Cyropaedia.

To the extent that Xenophon had grave concerns about the problem of succession, and to the extent that Cyrus abolished the rule of law in favor of his own absolute rule but was neither perfectly wise nor entirely willing to put aside his own self-interest in order to serve the greater good, the Cyropaedia represents Xenophon's qualified case for the rule of law. For Xenophon, the rule of law is not perfect, especially insofar as it can lead to absurd outcomes, as in the case of the coats, and can also be overthrown by ambitious leaders like Cyrus. Still, for Xenophon, the rule of law is superior to the absolute rule of leaders like Cyrus whose belief that they are wise and dispassionate enough to be “seeing laws” unto themselves leads them to seek absolute power, but who in truth lack the accumulated wisdom and sober nature of the rule of law that is more, if not always, conducive to the common good.

The Case For and Against Old Persia

As we have seen, Cyrus's knowledge of how to rule included the systematic application of equality of opportunity, moderation, continence, benevolence, duplicitous scheming, and absolute rule. If Cyrus's knowledge was a kind of art or expertise (technē) characterized by its method, then Xenophon's narrative suggests that Cyrus's technē is best judged by comparing the empire, which was the artifact or product his technē led him to create, with old Persia. In addition, the narrative structure of the Cyropaedia also invites this comparison. If one starts reading from the beginning, one begins with old Persia and the dramatic action of the book builds steadily to the account of the empire; when one completes the book and begins rereading it from the beginning, one immediately moves from the empire back to old Persia. This portion of the essay examines the case against old Persia and the case for it, with an eye toward determining whether Xenophon believed that the transformation of Persia from the small, mixed regime of Cyrus's childhood to the vastly expansionist empire that he autonomously presided over as an adult constituted an improvement, a decline, or perhaps both.

The first problem with old Persia was that it had to resort to force to rule the most discontented of the commoners. For Xenophon, as for the classical political philosophers generally, rule over the unwilling by force was characteristic of tyranny.Footnote ²⁷ In addition to its monarchic, republican, and oligarchic elements, the mixed regime of old Persia, in Xenophon's estimation, was also despotic. These tyrannical elements were an important strike against old Persia, insofar as any regime that requires perpetual force against its own inhabitants is seriously flawed.

The second problem with old Persia was that no one could defend the traditional and predominantly decent Persian conception of virtue when Cyrus issued a revolutionary challenge to it. Addressing his troops, before setting out for Media to defend against an impending Armenian attack, Cyrus boldly proclaimed:

While Cyrus credits Persia's ancestors for being virtuous, he argues that, as far as he can tell, their virtue was questionable in that it did not result in any kind of reward. Thus, the implicit premise of Cyrus's argument was thus that virtue should be practiced not so much for its own sake as for the sake of gain (6.1.12, 7.5.74, 7.5.82).Footnote ²⁸ On the one hand, his revolutionary speech stands as a testament to his remarkably rhetorical gifts and his overall ability to charm, insofar as with a single speech he entirely severed the Persians' attachment to the traditional conception of virtue that had provided the foundation of their regime. On the other hand, his reform, which was based on appealing to the desire for materialistic gain, was inconsistent with the dictates of both justice and moderation, which were the morally decent and praiseworthy foundational principles of the Persian regime.Footnote ²⁹

Cyrus's revolutionary speech virtually cries out for a response by one of those present, perhaps by one of the Persian gentlemen (kalos k'agathos) who, like Cyrus, had attended the schools of justice and moderation and was skilled at making speeches. In contrast to Plato's Republic, which depicts philosophers-in-training whose virtue is tested,Footnote ³⁰ and unlike the Spartan boys who, according to Xenophon's Constitution of the Lacedaemonians, were taught to deceive,Footnote ³¹ the flabbergasted Persians apparently lacked the wisdom necessary to defend their traditions against revolutionaries such as Cyrus who would entice them to abandon their decent, if unspectacular, way of life. Not a single Persian spoke up to challenge Cyrus's proposed revolution. Nor did anyone so much as ask for clarification about the meaning, intention, or potential implication of his words. At the end of Cyrus's speech, Xenophon sardonically suggests the extent to which the exhortation was a complete success by remarking of the Persians, “So this is what they were doing,” which implies that Cyrus barely had a chance to catch his breath after ending his speech before his audience immediately began acting on his revolutionary proposals (1.5.14). The complete success of Cyrus's speech suggests that Xenophon thought that conventional attachment to virtue can be easily severed when it is challenged by someone as talented and seductive as Cyrus.Footnote ³² Individuals in a republic like old Persia may be especially easy targets, Xenophon implies, because their decency may blind them to the fact that others may have motives more sinister than they themselves could ever imagine.

The third problem with the Persian regime—one that was surely at least partially responsible for the second problem—was the absence of philosophy and liberal education. While one commentator characterizes “openness” as the “hallmark” of the Persian education,Footnote ³³ Xenophon presents the Persian schools as somewhat insular. For example, Xenophon never mentions philosophy or philosophers in his discussion of old Persia as Cyrus knew it. King Cambyses does tell Cyrus that there had once been a philosophic teacher of justice present among the Persians of old, one who taught the youth that actions like lying to and stealing from friends were justified provided one acted so as to benefit them (1.6.31). Needless to say, the boys quickly took to stealing and deceiving, but frequently neglected to commit these actions so as to benefit others.Footnote ³⁴ The Persians, therefore, did away with their more nuanced philosophic education in favor of a safer, rule-based, and more clear-cut moral system of education that did not tolerate exceptions (1.6.32–33). Because the Persians' experiment with philosophy did not go well for them, it seems the Persian regime subsequently not only did not encourage philosophy, but also was somewhat hostile to it. The Persian resistance to philosophy and liberal education may be inferred especially by comparing Xenophon's suggestion that the Persians downplayed the importance of writing and reading (1.2.6) with the Socratic model for liberal education that Socrates describes in Xenophon's Memorabilia, which involves going “through the treasures of the wise men of old which they wrote and left behind in their books.”Footnote ³⁵ The Persian aversion to philosophy may also be surmised from the fact that any questioning of the established customs and laws—an activity characteristic of and essential to philosophy—was met, as Cyrus discovered firsthand, with swift and harsh punishment (1.3.17).

If the absence of philosophy was one of the defects in the old Persian regime, then we must wonder whether philosophy could have helped avert Cyrus's revolution. Specifically, when Cyrus asked the Persians what they gained from practicing their traditional conception of virtue and they had no answer, surely someone with a philosophic education would have been able to provide a few answers or responses that might have at least given the Persians, and perhaps even Cyrus, pause.Footnote ³⁶ Fortunately, we do not have to leave this question about whether philosophy could have saved old Persia solely at the level of counterfactual speculation. If, as we have suggested, Cambyses possesses philosophic wisdom and is a surrogate for Xenophon's own views, then it is especially striking that—in a manner reminiscent of SocratesFootnote ³⁷—immediately after Cyrus's revolutionary speech, Cambyses approaches him in private and attempts to dissuade his son's from his imperial ambitions and to moderate his potential for overreach (1.6.1–46). But unfortunately for old Persia, Cyrus chooses to interpret his father's warnings as individual problems that can be overcome, rather than as difficulties that when combined may be insurmountable, which seems to be the overall thrust of many of Cambyses' arguments. In light of Cambyses' apparent failure to dissuade Cyrus, one must be careful about placing too much stock in the possibility that philosophy could have saved the Persian regime. Moreover, even if a wise man such as the one with whom Cyrus's childhood Armenian friend Tigranes once associated (3.1.14, 38) had been present to offer a few, sound counterarguments, we should doubt whether Cyrus or his entranced audience would have actually listened. One suspects that if a philosopher had not sought out Cyrus privately, as Cambyses prudently did, and instead had publicly challenged him, Cyrus might have simply arranged for the philosopher to disappear, similar to the way in which, Xenophon notes, the jealous Armenian king had his son Tigranes' wise companion killed (3.1.38).Footnote ³⁸ While Cyrus certainly does not relish these sorts of violent and drastic solutions, he was not above quietly eliminating those who he saw as threats to his power. For example, when he reorganized the Persian army by eliminating the class differences, only Aglaitadas defended the traditional and elitist Persian methods of inculcating virtue. Not coincidentally, he promptly disappeared, never to be mentioned or heard from again (2.2.11–16).Footnote ³⁹

Even if Cyrus as a young adult would never have permitted a philosopher to badger him in public, we might still wonder whether a philosopher might have had better luck starting earlier with him and trying to redirect his boyhood desire (erōs) from honor (timē) to wisdom (sophia). Old Persia might have avoided Cyrus's revolution had there been a philosopher who could have befriended Cyrus as a boy and gradually converted him over from a philotimos to a philosophos. It is especially pertinent to wonder whether Cyrus could have become a philosopher if he had been raised in a regime like Athens that was more open to philosophy, given Xenophon's description of him as a philomathēs, a lover of learning (1.2.1, 1.4.3). In fact, Xenophon suggests that an important reason why Cyrus went abroad to Media as a youth was because he “clearly surpassed all his agemates both in quickly learning what was necessary and in doing everything in a noble and manly way” (1.3.1, 1.3.15–16), traits that are entirely consistent with the philosophic nature.

But having prompted his discerning readers to wonder whether Cyrus, given his philosophic proclivities, could have become a wisdom-seeking philosopher instead of a glory-seeking founder of an empire, Xenophon concludes that Cyrus's nature would have prevented him from ever becoming a philosopher, even if Persia had been more tolerant toward philosophy. Though he enjoyed learning, Cyrus loved it not as an inherently pleasurable activity in the way that a philosopher does,Footnote ⁴⁰ but rather as a means to the end of gaining honor by distinguishing himself and eventually establishing an empire in an intelligent or knowledgeable manner (1.1.3). Cyrus's interest in learning and wisdom was thus always with an eye toward the uses to which he could put his knowledge (1.6.23).Footnote ⁴¹ One could say that for Cyrus, all knowledge (epistēmē) was expertise or know-how (technē), the product of which was empire. If Socratic dialectic culminates in the recognition of ones ignorance and helps spark a desire to remedy ones lack of wisdom, then Cyrus's education culminated not in the recognition of his ignorance, but rather in his tenacious application of his knowledge, the value or goodness of which he, unlike Xenophon, never seems to have seriously questioned.Footnote ⁴² In addition, Cyrus's nature probably would have prevented him from finishing the philosophic curriculum Socrates describes in Plato's Republic. Whereas the philosophers-in-training that Socrates describes must be able to resist temptations at odds with their education,Footnote ⁴³ Cyrus's nature prevented him from completely resisting the temptations that enticed him when he traveled as a youth to Media and that were at odds with his traditional Persian education. For example, when he first encountered his grandfather, Astyages, dressed in lavish makeup and wearing an opulent wig and jewelry, he immediately expressed his delight with his grandfather's handsome (kalos) appearance (1.3.2–3). Since he had never seen such fine attire in Persia, his attraction to this particular manifestation of what he saw as the beautiful (kalos) must have been natural rather than conventional. Moreover, Cyrus's natural attraction to the sort of excessive personal adornment that the philosopher would find unbecoming and even morally suspect remained with him his entire life. At the end of the Cyropaedia, Cyrus's exquisite personal appearance was indistinguishable from that of his grandfather (8.1.40–41). Most important, I base my claim that no amount of regular conversation with a philosopher could have cured Cyrus on the fact that Cambyses's lengthy conversation with him was apparently the capstone in a long series of rather philosophic conversations between father and son (1.6.3, 5–8, 12–15, 43). It is not as though on a single occasion Cambyses tried to moderate his son and failed, as incidentally Cyrus seems to have done with his own sons at the end of his life (8.7.5–28). Rather, Cambyses frequently engaged his son in philosophic conversation, yet still failed to cure him. Because of Cyrus's pragmatic view of knowledge, his unwillingness to question his own knowledge, his lifelong inability to resist luxurious temptations that were directly at odds with the philosophic life, and the fact that his philosophic father labored mightily but was unable to moderate him, we conclude that, whatever his similarities with the philosophic nature, Cyrus's nature would have prevented him from ever abandoning the political life spent seeking honor for the philosophic life spent seeking wisdom. If that is correct, then one is justified in viewing Cyrus as one of the “incurables” that Socrates regularly encounters in the Platonic dialogues.Footnote ⁴⁴ Additionally, to the extent that Cyrus never turned to philosophy and thus never truly finished his education, Machiavelli's decision to refer to Xenophon's book as “the life of Cyrus”—rather than The Education of Cyrus—is justified.Footnote ⁴⁵ While we have criticized Persia for not having been more open to philosophy, we have also suggested that even had the Persians been more tolerant, in the end that would have made little difference, at least where Cyrus was concerned.

The fourth problem with old Persia was that the Persians never found a way to satisfy individuals like Cyrus who possessed extraordinary ambition and desire for distinction (philotimia) (1.3.3). While the Persians did attempt to provide honor to those who craved and deserved it (1.2.12), they apparently offered no honors great enough to appease Cyrus, for he wanted to be praised the world over (1.2.1). The fact that Cyrus was entirely indiscriminate in his longing for honor, in the sense that he desired to be praised not simply by the wise, but rather by all human beings tout ensemble, was a sign for Xenophon that he possessed tyrannical longings.Footnote ⁴⁶ Cyrus was willing to go to the ends of the earth and establish what Machiavelli called “new modes and orders,” all in the name of appeasing his insatiable needs for honor and praise, desires that Persia by herself could not satisfy.

Even though Xenophon harbored reservations about what he understood to be old Persia's weaknesses, he also approved of several facets of its regime. I must limit myself to discussing only the most important argument in favor of old Persia, which is, according to his account, that the Persians were a remarkably virtuous people. By requiring their peers to attend the schools of justice and moderation, the Persians produced a predominantly virtuous ruling class that was in large measure devoted to the common good (1.2.2). Xenophon points to the Persians' virtue by showing how Cyrus had to work harder to exhort his troops to fight as more and more foreign soldiers joined his army, since the foreigners apparently lacked the discipline of the Persians (6.2.14–20, 7.1.10–22, 7.5.20–24). However, as we have seen, not every deserving Persian was able to attend the schools of justice, which is to say that the Persian education in virtue could have been extended wider and more equitably than it was. What was Xenophon's view of this limitation?

The Cyropaedia, in effect, presents two possible alternatives to the Persian system of moral education, both of which Xenophon seems to have judged to be inferior. First, regimes could simply make no effort to provide any of their citizens with a moral education. For example, the absence of moral education was characteristic of the tyrannical Median regime that Cyrus visited as a child. Media was morally suspect in Xenophon's eyes to the extent that its citizens' behavior was immoderate and devoted to the tyrant Astyages' good, rather than to the common good (1.3.10, 1.3.18, 1.4.22, 4.1.13). After Astyages' death, Cyrus easily acquired rule over Media and kept the Medians mired in slavery, however benevolent, in part because they were accustomed to being treated as slaves and thus did not possess the moral fortitude that would have been required to resist him. Similarly, even though in his empire Cyrus made some effort to educate the upper classes, the empire was unable to preserve itself after he died because he did little to educate his sons (who were the heirs to his throne) to be virtuous. The resulting dissension among his sons quickly led to the empire's dissolution (8.8.2). As evidenced by both Media and Cyrus's empire, Xenophon's judgment was that regimes that do not sufficiently appreciate the need for moral education do so at their own peril. If the fall of old Persia reveals that the inculcation of morality in a sizable part of the citizenry is not always sufficient for a regime's survival, then Media and especially the collapse of Cyrus's empire suggest that moral education is at least necessary for a regime's perpetuation.

The second alternative to the Persian system of moral education is the life devoted to pursuing material gain, which was also characteristic of the empire Cyrus established on the ruins of old Persia. Rather than seizing and redistributing funds from the wealthiest Persians so that everyone, including the poor, would have the opportunity to attend school, Cyrus took property from other nations and redistributed it to the Persians.Footnote ⁴⁷ But even though Cyrus found a way to provide for equality of opportunity without redistributing the Persians' property, the fact remains that by helping himself to other nations' possessions, he seized what did not belong to him, often by force and fraud. In effect, he liberated the commoners from their lowly economic status and gave them an equal opportunity to excel under his rule by turning his soldiers' eyes on neighboring nations' property.Footnote ⁴⁸ Prior to Cyrus, Persia functioned fairly well and maintained an impressive level of virtue among its citizens by not succumbing to the desire for material gain, which the classical political philosophers, including Xenophon, saw as the root of injustice.Footnote ⁴⁹ From the point of view of Xenophon and classical political philosophy as a whole, one can point to old Persia's justice and overall virtue by noting that its laws encouraged its citizens to be satisfied with what they had, whereas one can point to Cyrus's injustice and dubious virtue by noting that he longed to seize riches that did not belong to him, to say nothing of the fact that he sought to awaken and encourage similarly immoderate desires in those he ruled. When Cyrus founded the empire and attempted to restore the old conception of virtue, he found that the immoderate desires he had sparked were difficult to extinguish. Thus, for Xenophon, failing to make any serious attempt at moral education and funding equality of opportunity by seizing the assets of foreigners were both less satisfactory alternatives to the commendable Persian system of education, whatever its limitations.

Xenophon's “Utopia” and the Limits of Politics

By examining the case for and against old Persia, we have been led to the position that, contrary to the view of one scholar that Xenophon made “no critique of the Persia of Cyrus's youth,”Footnote ⁵⁰ Xenophon's overall view of old Persia was, in fact, highly ambivalent. If, as several scholars have argued, Xenophon offered old Persia as an improvement on what he saw as the weaknesses of the Spartan regime,Footnote ⁵¹ then the foregoing analysis suggests that Xenophon's Persia was itself not perfect, either. If, as Strauss argues, Xenophon's Persia was his “utopia,”Footnote ⁵² then we must wonder why, whatever its merits, his utopia was, nonetheless, flawed on several counts.

One explanation for why Xenophon's utopia had several flaws was that he intended old Persia's shortcomings to be seen not as uniquely or idiosyncratically Persian, but rather as inherent to the nature of all regimes, and thus to the nature of the regime as such. If Cyrus knowledgeably and skillfully exploited certain facets and weaknesses of the Persian regime, as I have suggested, I must note that each of the four problems with Persia I have identified would also seem to be problematic for all regimes qua regime. First, through old Persia Xenophon suggests that no matter how just and devoted to the common good a regime is, there will always be at least a handful of individuals such as Cyrus and the commoners who will want to overthrow the regime, either out of self-interest, because of their belief that it could do even more to promote the common good, or perhaps a bit of both. For Xenophon, regimes are thus always in perpetual danger, insofar as at any given time some of their own citizens are in truth enemies who would happily overthrow the regime if given the opportunity. Second, by illustrating how easily Cyrus undermined the traditional conception of virtue of the educated and highly-disciplined peers, Xenophon suggests that public-spiritedness and devotion to the common good, however well-inculcated, always can be overcome by talented and shrewd individuals like Cyrus, who appeal beyond convention to what Cyrus and Xenophon both seem to have seen as humankind's latent natural desire for individual gain. The fact that Xenophon, perhaps alone among the ancients, considered the possibility of reconstructing political life around the core principle of the liberation of individual desire for gain is, we believe, part of what makes him, as Strauss suggested, the most modern of the ancients.Footnote ⁵³ Moreover, the fact that Xenophon anticipated and gave serious thought to unleashing human desire (à la the moderns) rather than bending, educating, or suppressing it (à la the ancients)—only to eventually reveal the grounds for reasonable skepticism about whether the liberation of individual desires is, in fact, a sustainable basis for political life—renders him a powerful critic of one of the foundational premises of modern liberal regimes. Third, while the absence of philosophy and liberal education likely contributed to Persia's decline, I have suggested it does not necessarily follow that had the Persians encouraged philosophy, they would have thereby preserved their way of life. While Persia's attempt to live without philosophy backfired and may have precipitated its destruction somewhat, Xenophon remained deeply skeptical about whether the presence of philosophy in Persia necessarily would have saved the regime. As he surely knew from witnessing revolution in Athens firsthand,Footnote ⁵⁴ philosophy cannot guarantee a regime's perpetuation. If the execution of his beloved teacher Socrates taught Xenophon that even the most cultured of regimes cannot quite bring themselves to live with philosophy, then old Persia's inability to defend its way of life to Cyrus must have suggested to him that regimes cannot quite live without philosophy, either. With respect to philosophy, for Xenophon regimes are damned if they do and damned if they don't; while philosophy can potentially save individual souls, it cannot save cities. Fourth, Persia's inability to satisfy Cyrus's indiscriminate, immoderate, and infinite desire for honor raises the question of whether the honors bestowed by any single regime short of a world-state could have satisfied him.Footnote ⁵⁵ Through Cyrus, Xenophon seems to be pointing to a weakness not only of Persia, but of all regimes, insofar as the honors any one regime has at its disposal will never satisfy an individual like Cyrus, the philotimos par excellence. To the extent that all regimes necessarily possess finite amounts of honor that will never satisfy some of their most supremely talented individuals, Xenophon suggests they are perpetually vulnerable at the hands of men like Cyrus who will be willing to destroy them, if necessary, in the quest to find ever-greater honors. For all these reasons, the Cyropaedia may be said to teach the limits of politics.