[In the following review, Rosen provides a mixed assessment of Xenophon's Socrates.]

There are two main reasons for Xenophon's bad reputation today. The first is a radical change in taste and perception, associated with the rise of Romanticism, and connected at a deeper level with the “transcendental turn” in philosophy, which takes its bearings by the twin stars of subjectivity and linguistic construction. The second is a denial of the natural difference between philosophers and non-philosophers. These two dogmas are by no means simply compatible, but this is not the place to analyze them in detail. Suffice it to say that they combine to obscure our awareness of the natural origins of philosophy in everyday life. This natural or everyday origin is Xenophon's central concern. Since we ourselves find theoretical access to the “ordinary” only by means of extremely complex technical activities which tend to detach us from the everyday, even when it is ostensibly the standard of our discourse, Xenophon strikes us as “unphilosophical” and indeed simple-minded. [In Xenophon's Socrates,] Leo Strauss has devoted his usual intelligence and care to a study of Xenophon's writings, in an effort to suggest the injustice of the contemporary verdict on Xenophon. However, for reasons of his own, he adds to the difficulty of the contemporary reader by imitating the style of Xenophon. In this brief space, I must limit myself to summarizing the main theme of his book, and giving the most important example of his art of writing.

Xenophon is fundamentally concerned with the difference between speech and deed, and the concomitant variations in each which arise from the general difference. This concern takes the explicit form of a study of philosophical virtue, or the difference between philosophical and political gentlemanship. The difference in virtue arises from the relation (by no means straightforward) between wisdom and justice, or from the ambiguities implicit in the Socratic thesis of the unity of virtue. The philosopher is most concerned with answering the question “what is it?” with respect to each of the beings. This concern for the true or good in the sense of what is common by nature, detaches the philosopher from the non-philosopher, who is primarily concerned with the useful or pleasant in the sense of “one's own.” For example, there is a difference between a philosophical study of politics, and political life, or the duties and pleasures of the citizen. This difference imposes a certain solitude or silence upon the philosopher, which is itself similar to a silence within the philosophical activity itself, understood as theoria or vision of “what is.” For different but related reasons, the philosopher must talk, both to himself (or other philosophers) and to his fellow citizens, about “what” he sees. Since he cannot say the same thing to his two audiences, and since the citizens require deeds which interfere with philosophical activity, the philosopher, because he wishes for selfish as well as philanthropic reasons to preserve the city, is faced with the problem of justice or moderation. Socrates attempts to solve this problem by (a) reducing his deeds, wherever possible, to speeches, and (b) by speaking in accord with the nature of his companions.

Xenophon's treatment of this problem makes us think inevitably of Plato. Xenophon is more sober and more modest than Plato. As Strauss delicately conveys this point, Xenophon “carries in” Socrates, whereas Plato “leads in” his old teacher (p. 3). To illustrate this is also to give the most important example of Strauss' Xenophontic style. Whereas Xenophon shows us a good bit of Socrates talking, there is no conversation with Plato. The peak of Socratic discourse is missing. Instead, we are given a conversation between Socrates and the courtesan Theodote, upon whom men look because of her beauty (cf. pp. 74, 87, 116f.). Curiously enough, the episode with Theodote (which must be compared with Socrates' praise in the Symposium of his art of procuring), forms the approximate center of Strauss' book. Xenophon shows us how moderate Socrates was in looking at beautiful bodies. But he does not show us how Socrates spoke about heavenly bodies, except in very brief or tangential ways (cf. p. 159f.). The speeches which Xenophon presents must be considered in terms of his indications of Socratic silence (pp. 8, 11, 29f., 36, 116-120, 124, 131). Xenophon's inaccessibility to the contemporary reader can also be illustrated in this connection. Whereas Nietzsche speaks (or rather shouts) about philosophy as a solitary and dangerous kind of dancing, akin to tight-rope walking, Xenophon indicates playfully the “private, partnerless character of Socrates' dancing” (p. 148; cf. 144, 170).

The two main difficulties which this book raises can only be mentioned. First, should one present a moderate account of moderation in an immoderate age? Second, is there some way to overcome the “alienation” (my term) of Socrates from his wife and city (p. 178) which is not known to Xenophon?