In Tragedy, Philosophy, and Political Education in Plato’s Laws, Ryan Balot defends a fascinating tragic interpretation of the text, arguing that the Magnesian citizens are ultimately incapable of rational self-governance through education and legislation alone. Instead, they require the guidance of philosopher-rulers, who hold authority over the laws.
Balot’s interpretation resists a purely optimistic reading of the Laws, which envisions ordinary citizens (i.e., non-philosophers) capable of living virtuously.[1] Optimistic readers often highlight the preludes accompanying the laws, which aim to persuade citizens to willingly obey by providing reasons (Laws 4, 722e). However, critics note that the preludes often appeal to emotions and, as I have argued previously, sometimes utilize falsehoods.[2] Since the use of emotions like fear and untruths hardly count as philosophical reasons for beliefs, these features undermine the optimistic interpretation. Nevertheless, Balot’s reading of the text is not entirely pessimistic either.[3] While he acknowledges the use of non-rational means to motivate acceptance of the laws, Balot maintains that the goal of the law is to cultivate flourishing (eudaimonia) in the citizen body—a point with which I also agree.
Accordingly, Balot interprets the Athenian Stranger as both an idealist and a realist. The Laws presents an aspirational vision of a polis where virtue is cultivated through laws and the rule of law prevails. Yet, it also recognizes the practical challenges of realizing this ideal. The Athenian Stranger acknowledges that humanity is vulnerable to irrationality, making rule by purely rational law impossible. For this reason, philosophers must govern the city, as they do in Magnesia through the Nocturnal Council. Thus, Balot argues that the Laws delivers a conflicting political image: part of it advocates for the rule of law, but it ends with an appeal to philosopher-rulers who have absolute authority. This conflict is intentional, according to Balot, as it is designed to encourage readers to reflect deeply on the limitations of political life.
Balot claims to employ three distinct approaches to scholarship that set his work apart from other authors: (1) providing a holistic reading of the text, (2) paying attention to its literary and dramatic elements, and (3) recognizing that the Athenian Stranger addresses both the readers of the text and the interlocutors within it in different ways (9–11). However, I would say that the key methodological difference lies elsewhere, namely in the way in which Balot interprets unscrupulous claims and apparent tensions within the text. Rather than interpreting potentially problematic passages as authorial mistakes or attempting to reconcile them as many scholars do, Balot instead treats them as being made by the Athenian Stranger with full awareness of their implications. In doing this, Balot seeks to excavate hidden meanings from the text which, in my opinion, have kernels of truth but stretch beyond the evidence. Stylistically and thematically, Balot’s book discusses the Laws sequentially, with the chapters loosely following the chronology of the Laws. While the book is readable, it does meander a bit, raising at times a cumbersome number of questions. That said, the general ideas are always clear thanks to extensive signposting.
The book comprises 12 chapters and includes both a subject index and an index locorum. After Chapter 1 introduces the book, explaining the methodology and providing a summary, Chapter 2 explores Kleinias’ views of human nature, politics, and cosmology and how these will shape the conversation to come. Kleinias has an antagonistic view of human nature, viewing humans as being in a state of perpetual conflict, and this clearly connects to his thinking of war as the chief human concern. Many scholars discuss how the Athenian seeks to guide Kleinias towards thinking that war is really for the sake of peace and that, while courage is important, it ranks lower than wisdom, moderation, and justice. However, Balot steers the discussion to a less traversed path, exploring novel connections between Kleinias and the young atheist of Book 10. Additionally, Balot explains how the Athenian sets out to address the three parts of Kleinias’ soul (his appetite, spirit, and reason). Chapter 3 seeks to unearth the roots of Kleinias’ psychology through Book 3’s discussion of history. Against the view that war is inevitable, the Athenian presents a more optimistic outlook in which, through education and reasonable law, citizens can guard themselves against tyranny.
Chapter 4 turns to the foundation of Magnesia in Laws 4, which marks a new beginning in the dialogue. In thinking through the Athenian’s discussion, Balot pays careful attention to the intellectual and cultural discrepancies between the Athenian and the Dorians, Megillus and Kleinias. Because the Dorians will see a philosopher-ruler as an unjust tyrant, the Athenian presents them with a religiously infused rule of law as an alternative. But this does not mean that the project of rule by philosophy has been abandoned; rather, it indicates that the Athenian is addressing his specific interlocutors and acknowledging human limitation. Chapter 5 explains the role of the preludes in the laws. As explained above, Balot adopts a balanced position with respect to them. Chapter 6 explains how the Athenian addresses the appetitive part of the soul by exploring the material conditions of Magnesia. In developing his account, Balot offers an interesting comparison between Magnesia and the Republic’s Callipolis. In terms of character, Balot argues that the Magnesians fall between the soldiers in Callipolis and the citizens of the timocracy described in Republic 8. Chapters 7 and 8 address the spirited part of the soul. Chapter 7 explains how physical education and military policies aim to moderate spirit, transforming warriors into citizens. Chapter 8 analyzes how the spirit is addressed through the elections and courts of Magnesia. The discussion of the Socratic Paradox (that no one does wrong willingly) and of punishment in this chapter is particularly illuminating in how it highlights the idealistic aspirations of the city, yet shows the ways in which it falls short in practice.
Chapters 9–12 explore how the Athenian addresses reason. The discussion of the Socratic Paradox and punishment in Chapter 8 points to the need for philosophical discretion in the city, which requires philosophical education. This idea is continued in Book 9 with the discussion of the “young atheist”: in order to successfully respond to the threat of atheism, Magnesia will require citizens with philosophical backgrounds, which paves the way for the Nocturnal Council. Balot argues that members of the Nocturnal Council will be recruited from young atheists with sound characters. Balot explains that, in fact, the ideas of atheism come from the Athenian himself (250):
Where could a young atheist have steeped himself in sophistical, materialist theories within the confines of Magnesia? How could he have adopted views about nature and force resembling those of figures such as Callicles and Thrasymachus? Did he go to the library to read Plato’s dialogues? No. The only possible answer is that the hypothetical young atheist—or any potential young atheist who might appear in the future Magnesia—was exposed to such ideas only through the Athenian himself, in this very conversation.
This is certainly an interesting suggestion, but why not think that the Athenian believes that some version of atheism can crop up in naturally curious individuals and that, even in a rigid society like Magnesia, this is bound to happen in light of human nature? It makes sense that the author, Plato, would express this version of atheism as one that readers would be familiar with and take seriously. This suggestion regarding the origins of atheistic ideas is an example of the type of speculation that Balot’s book engages in from time to time. While I have no problem with this approach in general, I think it is still important to consider more plausible alternative possibilities, or at the very least, to acknowledge that it is more of a speculative claim.
Chapter 10 explores the Athenian’s three theological arguments. Balot examines how the arguments address both Kleinias’ and the ordinary citizen’s psychology at the mythic level while also inspiring intellectual fodder for the young atheist. Chapter 11 then turns to the Nocturnal Council, which Balot argues will have absolute authority. This creates a tension in the dialogue with the rational rule of law that pervades much of the book. Balot argues that this tension is intentional: “Readers are invited, even forced, to explore the aforementioned questions for themselves, and in particular to wonder about the worth of nomos in the absence of philosophers (or even in their presence)” (330).
Chapter 12 brings the book to a close by offering an interpretation of the Athenian’s “truest tragedy” statement (Laws 7, 817b, quoted from p. 337):
“O best of strangers, we ourselves are, to the best of our ability, poets of a tragedy that is as beautiful and excellent as possible; at any rate, our entire politeia is framed as a mimēsis of the most beautiful and best life. We, at least, say that just that is really the truest tragedy.”
Balot argues that scholars have not adequately captured the tragic dimension of this passage. A common reading sees Plato as making a distinction between the false tragedy of the poets, which presents happiness as being subject to chance, and the truest tragedy in which happiness is connected to virtue. Balot points out that, beyond not actually being tragic, this interpretation ignores the mythical aspects of the civic religion, which indicate that the citizens are not rationally self-governed, nor are they intrinsically motivated toward virtue. In addition, the project of the Athenian is tragic because of his own limitations as an educator and reformer. Again, this is an interesting idea, but it seems to reach beyond the evidence. The context of the passage is a hypothetical poet asking if they can bring their tragic work to Magnesia (817a). The Athenian rejects this offer, noting that they have their own tragedy, which is superior (817b). This seems to favor the traditional reading because it indicates that the tragedy of the poet is being replaced with the tragedy of the laws. While I actually agree with much of Balot’s tragic reading of the Laws, it is not needed to make sense of this specific passage.
Overall, this is a stimulating and well-researched book. Rather than sweeping the pessimistic dimensions of the text under the rug, Balot meditates on them. However, regarding the book’s central claim, I am not sure if the textual evidence regarding the Nocturnal Council necessitates reading it as being in direct conflict with the rule of law. It seems possible that philosophers could be utilized for making judgment-calls and finding ways to revise the law, when necessary, but it remains the case that, by and large, the law plays an essential role in governing the citizens. Even if one does not accept its conclusions, the book raises many fascinating questions and will be of use to graduate students and scholars of classics and philosophy.
Notes
[1] E.g. C. Bobonich, Plato’s Utopia Recast: Hist Later Ethics and Politics. New York: Oxford University Press, 2002.
[2] See N. R. Baima & T. Paytas, Plato’s Pragmatism: Rethinking the Relationship between Ethics and Epistemology. New York: Routledge, 2021, chapter 2; and N. R. Baima, “Persuasion, Falsehood, and Motivating Reason in Plato’s Laws.” History of Philosophy Quarterly 33 92014), 117-34.
[3] E.g. K. Popper, The Open Society and its Enemies. 4th ed. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1963; T. Pangle, The Laws of Plato. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988.