Since at least 2005, Shane Brennan has been engaged in Xenophontic studies (both for a general audience and specialists), notably focusing on the Anabasis. This had culminated in the co-editorship (with David Thomas) of The Landmark Xenophon’s Anabasis (New York 2021). To his oeuvre he has now added Xenophon’s Anabasis: A Socratic History, whose purpose he explains as follows: ‘This book explores Xenophon’s Anabasis as a work in its own right and as one that forms an integral part of the author’s oeuvre’ (viii). However, accessing Xenophon is no easy task, as observed by Fiona Hobden and Christopher Tuplin:
It is not merely for the prosaic reason that a large volume of work is inevitably difficult to navigate. Rather in the twenty-first century Xenophon is ‘always already’ in reception. The chain of thought that informs our basic understanding of his personality, methods and ideas stretches back from the modern period through the Renaissance and into antiquity. And with each link, Xenophon is tweaked anew, redirecting the contexts of his readings and especially the relationships built between the ancient author and his later reader. This started early on. (Xenophon: Ethical Principles and Historical Enquiry (Leiden and Boston 2012), 2)
Nevertheless, I believe Brennan has succeeded in offering a novel reading of one of the ancient world’s most famous and celebrated works, largely thanks to his tremendous familiarity with the text. He does so in an introduction, followed by five chapters and a conclusion, adding two tables as appendices, one presenting the data of Xenophon’s life, the other a list of his works. A bibliography and an index conclude this work: there is, sadly, no index locorum.
Brennan adopts what may be regarded in effect as an interdisciplinary perspective, if, as he indicates (viii), starting from historiographical and literary perspectives. Largely using the translation from the ‘Landmark’ volume, Brennan offers a broad-ranging consideration of Xenophon’s aims in writing this multifaceted work some 30 years after the events it describes. Using as his vehicle the story of Cyrus the Younger’s attempt on the Persian throne and its aftermath, Xenophon integrates several (Socratic) themes and concerns in his writings, including leadership (notably discussed in Brennan’s Chapter 3), Panhellenism, Sparta and an apology (the main subject of Chapter 4). Other chapters have been dedicated to ‘Xenophon the Athenian’ (Chapter 1) and the ‘Anabasis in historiographical and literary context’ (Chapter 2). However, above all Brennan brings the (hidden) presence of Socrates throughout the Anabasis to the fore (clearly summarized in Chapter 5): Brennan demonstrates how Xenophon, presenting himself in the story as a model pupil of the philosopher, elucidates Socratic teachings and values. Ultimately, the Anabasis thereby becomes a ‘Socratic history’, namely a narrative which, though rooted in a historical event or period, serves to embed a reflection of the philosopher and his values. By doing so, ‘[w]e are implicitly invited to compare the Socrates of Xenophon to other versions of the philosopher, and to other philosophers such as Gorgias, … and to judge for ourselves which is most beneficial to us, our friends and country’ (245).
Brennan also observes, rightly in my view, that the fact:
[t]hat Anabasis is set in a historiographical form is undoubtedly one of the reasons why for modern readers it has remained separated from the author’s other philosophical writings, yet in light of their prominence in the oeuvre, perhaps what we should have been looking for is evidence that the work is positively disconnected from the world of Socrates. By way of an answer to the question ‘What is it?’, I suggested Anabasis is primarily a ‘Socratic history’, with the philosopher’s values perpetuated through the character of his student on the long retreat homeward of the Greeks who went upcountry with Cyrus the Younger (246).
Brennan’s major contribution to the ongoing assessment both of Xenophon himself and of his oeuvre is to have shown the various ways in which the influence of Socratic education on Xenophon is tangible throughout the Anabasis. He concedes that his position nevertheless, and naturally enough, is open for further discussion: ‘[t]he interpretation offered here is incomplete, and another reader might take up one or more of its loose strands, or upend the whole by presenting a case for something entirely different’ (256). All the same, I find his a challenging and very worthwhile voice in the ongoing discussion of this sometimes elusive work (notably as regards Xenophon’s intended audience, in Chapter 2) and Brennan has well served this constantly fascinating author.
