Relatively few scholars tackle Plato in Syracuse, historians perhaps because the matter is too philosophical, philosophers perhaps because the matter is insufficiently philosophical. In Plato and the Tyrant, Romm evaluates the impact of Plato’s travels to Syracuse on Plato’s philosophy and teachings as well as Plato’s impact on Syracusan politics and history. Beyond this, Romm reevaluates the ‘Syracusan Letters’ of Plato and makes a reasonably compelling case that more than just the seventh letter are genuine, and moreover that understanding these letters provides invaluable context for Plato’s much more famous works.[1] Plato visited Syracuse on three occasions (?387-?385, 366, and 361-360 BCE), each time essentially at the behest of his student Dion, the brother-in-law/son-in-law of the elder Dionysius. Romm utilizes the slight ambiguity of the titular tyrant to encompass Dion and the two Dionysii as well as the general role of the tyrant in various works of Plato, particularly Republic. As a bonus, each chapter also carries a depiction of Dionysius or Plato in early modern artwork. The text is divided into fourteen chapters and also into five ‘acts’ of the tragedy of Syracuse.[2] Each chapter weaves Plato’s writings and the history of Syracuse into a complete, intertwined narrative.
The first Act (ch. 1-3) outlines the career of the elder Dionysius in a jaunty, compelling manner. The account of Diodorus Siculus, books 14-15, is supplemented with tidbits and anecdotes from a wide variety of authors. Romm does not quite sensationalize Dionysius, but he does tend to favor the more salacious anecdotes, which he cleverly defends by pointing out genuine acts of 21st century autocrats that might seem similarly ludicrous in the future. Syracusan excess is juxtaposed with the autocrats’ support of literary and philosophical merit. This section includes Plato’s initial visit, his famous subsequent sale into slavery, and his foundation thereafter of the Academy.
Act Two (ch 4-7) is a set of chapters which outline events in Syracuse after the death of Dionysius, describe the influx of artists and thinkers to Syracuse, and assess how Plato’s sojourns in Syracuse affected his philosophy, particularly Republic, which Plato continued to revise and re-revise. Elements examined here include the education of Glaucon in Republic 1 as influenced not just by Plato’s teachings in Athens but also by Plato’s attempts to educate the younger Dionysius, and how the assessments of tyranny in Republic 2 and 9 subtly invoke Syracuse. Dion, of course, looms large in this section as part of Plato’s efforts to educate a benevolent king, but the bulk of these chapters remains a discussion of Plato’s writings after leaving Syracuse, not yet disillusioned by the possibility of educating a future tyrant.
Act Three (ch. 8-9) accompanies Plato’s third trip to Syracuse and his attempt to broker an agreement between the younger Dionysius and Dion (now living in exile in Athens). Chapter 8, covering the years 363-360 BCE, seems to me the strongest chapter in the book, and it sharply accentuates how much Plato’s dialogues were themselves in dialogue with the thoughts of Xenophon, Isocrates, and even Diogenes of Sinope. Chapter 9, by contrast, is more much rooted in Plato’s internal debate about authority and dominance of the state in Republic, Critias, and Timaeus, and Romm reminds us that Plato has both Syracuse and Athens in mind, not Athens alone.
In Act Four (ch 10-12), Plato remains in Athens, attentive to the civil war in Syracuse, events in which command most of our attention for now. In that war, Dion successfully deposes the younger Dionysius (who flees to Locri) and establishes himself as tyrant of Syracuse. Was Plato’s experiment finally successful? This section debates Dion’s sincerity while also tying affairs in Syracuse into the model of Thucydidean stasis. Romm emphasizes the struggle between the landowners (backing Dion) and the poor (backing Dionysius, and later, the navarch Heraclides). Romm is surely right to make these connections, but these elements of class struggle are not absent in accounts of the elder Dionysius decades before. As stasis gripped Syracuse, Romm depicts Dion as striving to appear evenhanded and merciful. Yet as it happens, Dion’s lack of despotic paranoia soon resulted in his assassination the following year. The brevity of Dion’s time in charge leaves his impact and intentions unclear, though Plutarch’s Dion and Plato’s letters both defend Dion’s motives.
Act Five (ch 13-14) reveals Plato, via the seventh and eighth letter, trying to affect Syracuse following the death of Dion. The seventh letter constitutes a defense of his goals in Syracuse and explanation of his interactions with Dionysius; the eighth contains observations that Syracuse is on the verge of total self-destruction in its cycling between democracy, oligarchy, and tyranny—and accepting Dionysius as tyrant is better than destroying Syracuse.[3] This last point, however pragmatic, has been seen by some as disqualifying for the letter’s authenticity, but may instead speak to Plato’s disillusionment with his Syracusan experiment. Plato then turns to the Laws, a response to himself on how to build the best possible tyranny, no longer a philosopher-tyrant, but a tyrant who employs a philosopher. Following the death of Plato, the Syracusan drama ends with a darkly comedic set of changes, with Dionysius evicted from Locri, seizing power in Syracuse, driven out again by the Corinthian Timoleon, and seeking exile in Corinth where he re-devotes himself to hedonism. The final chapters strike me as rather abrupt and bare-bones in comparison with earlier chapters. Moreover, Romm repeatedly raises the old question of how democratic or oligarchic Plato’s ideal politeia might be, but avoids committing to an answer.
In all chapters, Romm makes a point of clarifying how accepting these five letters as genuine in turn helps contextualize the relevant period. Romm certainly makes ample use of authors besides Plato, particularly Plutarch and Diodorus. I was especially interested by the initial discussion of Xenophon’s Hiero (168-170) and disappointed at the extent of the discussion, which peters out quickly—for example, Dion’s failure to pay his Greek mercenaries also should invoke this text. Romm notes the similarities and acknowledges overlap in the two writers’ recommendations, and advances the intriguing speculation, following Aalders, that the Hiero was explicitly offered as competition to Plato’s Syracusan teachings (170 n. 22).[4] Surely the Syracusan letters on the nature of tyranny, if indeed genuine, are in conversation with Xenophon’s dialogue on the nature of tyranny—even if that conversation is two ancient scholars shouting past each other. I also would have been interested to see some discussion of how this study might intersect ancient historical fiction, such as Xenophon’s near-contemporary Cyropaedia, which invokes the same themes of education and monarchy, or even of Chariton’s novel, which opens in this Syracuse, features a love triangle with yet another Dionysius, and also engages in philosophical dialogues. There is little discussion in the book either of the later impact of Plato (fair, as this topic is well-worn) or Syracuse (which might have merited just a tad more on Timoleon).
Overall, this book is a lovely, engaging story which elucidates a period of classical history (4th-century Syracuse) that has been neglected. It is clearly aimed at and accessible to the general public and to undergraduate audiences and succeeds well at that goal—to the point I might recommend it as a model for writing public-facing scholarship! The specialist will generally have enough endnotes to work with, though some assertions could benefit from more bulk to run down the specifics.[5] Romm nevertheless strikes a balance of citations, and the bibliography, while not as comprehensive as a more academic text, is ample.[6] Moreover, it comes at a price point quite suitable for popular audiences or a book club.
Notes
[1] Romm allows the Third, Fourth, Seventh, Eighth, and Thirteenth as genuine. Only the First is described as an ‘obvious fake’ (xxiv), with judgement set aside for the remainder.
[2] The usage of these ‘act’ divisions appears to be a reference to the ‘great tragedy’ of Dionysius noted in Plutarch’s Pelopidas 34, which is itself a reference to the lost work of Philistus. Romm explains the structure partly at 78, and party at 285. For all my initial confusion, the narrative structure works quite well.
[3] Romm sadly avoids getting into the weeds of how this line of argument intersects with Polybius 6 or Aristotle, Politics 3. A reasonable decision for the book, however.
[4] See G. J. D. Aalders, “Date and Intention of Xenophon’s Hiero”, Mnemosyne 6/3 (1953), pp. 208-15.
[5] Two examples stood out to me: pp. 69-70 describe the interwoven family tree of Dionysius, but I was not readily able to find the particulars in the cited bit of Plutarch; p. 208 describes an interesting context for the delivery of the letters in the first half of the page that does not appear in in the sources cited (which accurately describe the details of the bottom half of the page).
[6] The only omission that truly stood out to me was the volume edited by Heather L. Reid and Mark Ralkowski, Plato at Syracuse, Fonte Aretusa, 2019.