The Authority of Writing in Plato’s Laws

The Laws and Plato’s Political Thought

While traditionally Plato has been read as a critic of democracy and an advocate of philosopher-kingship, a number of interpreters have challenged this view, arguing that Plato’s position on these issues changed over the course of his life. Several scholars maintain that Plato shifts from an authoritarian outlook in “middle period” dialogues, such as the Republic, to a more democratic view in “late” dialogues, such as the Laws. ¹ In contrast to these scholars, I focus primarily on the Laws to argue that Plato’s attitude toward authority and democracy remains consistent. ² This article is not the first to claim that the Republic and the Laws are consonant with one another, ³ but it proposes a novel explanation for the manner in which they fit together. I demonstrate that Plato defines “law” as the writing of political experts, and that in the Laws he turns to written law as a second-best method for instituting the rule of the wise. This interpretation enables us to understand the Laws as a dialogue about the political use of writing, which helps illuminate some of the more peculiar features of the Laws and account for its place in the Platonic corpus.

On the face of it, the relationship between the Republic and the Laws is quite puzzling. The Republic’s Greek title is Politeia, a word that can be translated as “polity,” “constitution,” or “regime.” It refers to the basic structure of political authority and the arrangement of ruling offices. The Laws’s Greek title is Nomoi, which means “laws” or “customs.” One might therefore assume that they are complementary works, with the Republic outlining the ideal political regime and the Laws describing the appropriate laws or customs that belong to that regime. ⁴ But this will not do as an explanation; as V. Bradley Lewis points out, the Laws expressly treats both politeia and nomoi, and the Republic addresses both as well. ⁵ Furthermore, the regimes and laws considered in the two dialogues are not compatible with each other. In the Republic, Plato’s Socrates sketches an ideal city, Kallipolis, in which philosopher-kings rule over a communized warrior class and a servile producer class. In the Laws, by contrast, an anonymous Athenian Stranger proposes what he explicitly designates a “second-best regime” and a corresponding set of laws for the city his Cretan interlocutor Kleinias is going to found. The city’s name is Magnesia, and it differs from the Republic’s Kallipolis in a number of respects. Importantly, the Athenian does not attempt to abolish the family or private property. Nor does he advocate philosopher-kingship—the Magnesian regime features the rule of law and magistrates elected by the entire citizen-body.

The differences between the Republic and the Laws are striking, and the interpretive literature tends to account for them in one of two ways. The first view maintains that Plato intended the Republic to articulate a theoretical ideal, whereas the Laws contains his practical political program. ⁶ The strong version of this position, defended by Glenn R. Morrow, denies that the Laws has any ideal or utopian character at all. ⁷ The weaker version, propounded by André Laks, Trevor J. Saunders, G. F. Ferrari, Malcolm Schofield, and Kenneth Royce Moore, characterizes the Laws as a “practical utopia”: in Moore’s words, “the Kallipolis of the Republic represented the ideal form that a city-state might take whereas Magnesia signifies a condition that is more realistic yet somewhat less than the ideal.” ⁸

Scholars who assert that the Laws contains Plato’s practical program are correct to note that it is in a sense less “ideal” than the Republic. The Athenian Stranger refers to the Magnesian regime as “second-best,” and to the extent that he describes the nature of the best regime, it sounds very much like Kallipolis (e.g., Laws, 739c–e). Nevertheless, it is difficult to maintain that Plato thinks of the Laws as a readily implementable list of laws and institutions. The Athenian advocates measures that are radically out of step with existing Greek practices, insofar as they institute the equality of the sexes, prohibit pederasty, establish a comprehensive public education system, and create a Nocturnal Council that engages in philosophical (or, on some interpretations, quasi-philosophical) debates. The Athenian recognizes the difficulties his interlocutors will face attempting to put these proposals into practice. Conceding that he has to some extent been outlining the city as though he were telling dreams or molding citizens from wax, the Athenian claims that they will have to adapt them further, creating a regime inferior to the second-best now under discussion (ibid., 746b–c). He thereby explicitly acknowledges the elements of idealization and utopianism within the Laws.

The weaker version of this position, which refers to the Laws as a “practical utopia,” is closer to the mark. But it still suggests a misleading contrast with the Republic, implying that Plato regarded the city sketched there as theoretical and impractical. Plato’s works consistently refer to the Republic’s best regime as improbable, but not impossible (e.g., Republic, 456c–57c, 471e, 473c, 499d; Laws, 710c, 711d). ⁹ And the second-best regime outlined in the Laws is quite improbable in its own right. Over the course of the dialogue, its necessary preconditions prove to be considerable. For example, the Athenian states that Kleinias’s ability to implement the measures they have been discussing will be restricted by his own traditions (Laws, 739b), chance events (e.g., ibid., 709a), the nature of the territory (ibid., 704a–05b, 747d–e), the willingness of the citizens to accept radical social and economic policies (ibid., 745e–46d), and the fact that he is not founding the regime alone (ibid., 752e; cf. the discussion of oligarchy at 710e). The second-best regime does not seem to be within reach of most cities; the Laws is more “practical” than the Republic only in the limited sense that its preconditions are slightly less “demanding” (ibid., 740a). Thus the label “practical utopia” is not a particularly useful way of articulating what is distinctive about the city of the Laws nor of differentiating it from the city in the Republic.

The second view, championed by Gregory Vlastos and other revisionist readers of the Laws, holds that Plato changed his mind about key aspects of the Republic and wrote the Laws in part as a repudiation of it. Vlastos, for example, argues that Plato became more pessimistic about the possibility of philosopher-kingship as a result of shifts in his epistemological and metaphysical views and his experiences advising a tyrant in Sicily. ¹⁰ This view is implausible for several reasons. As noted above, the Laws describes Magnesia as a second-best regime, and its references to the best regime point to the one outlined in the Republic. Christopher Bobonich objects that the Laws’s praise of communism does not imply that Plato still sanctions the rule of philosopher-kings. ¹¹ But philosopher-kings were introduced in the Republic specifically to explain how communism could be established (Republic, 472eff.). In fact, the Republic almost passes by the discussion of communism and philosopher-kings completely. Socrates makes three radical proposals in the Republic: the first is that the sexes should be treated as = the second is the communism of women, children, and property; and the third is the rule of philosopher-kings. Socrates introduces the least controversial of his three proposals, that the sexes should be equal, on his own, but he mentions communism only briefly and is prepared to omit the discussion of philosopher-kings entirely. These topics are only treated in any depth because Adeimantus and Polemarchus interrupt him—without their interruption at the beginning of Book V, Socrates would have passed directly to the subject matter of Book VIII. This corresponds exactly to the Athenian Stranger’s procedure in the Laws: the Athenian proposes the equality of the sexes on his own, mentions the desirability of communism in passing, and does not explicitly call for the rule of philosopher-kings. The conversation might have taken a very different turn if he had been pressed to explain his cryptic remarks about communism.

Furthermore, although the Laws does not describe the best regime at length, it does outline how it might come into being. According to the Athenian Stranger, the best regime would come about through the rule of a tyrant, who is young, possessed of an able memory, a good learner, courageous, and magnificent by nature (Laws, 709e–10a). These qualities match the five that Socrates claims a potential philosopher must have in the Republic (487a). It seems just as unlikely as it did in the Republic that someone with these qualities will come to possess tyrannical power, but the Athenian does not foreclose the possibility: “What is difficult is the following, which seldom comes to pass even in a great span of time, but which, when it does happen in a city, brings to that city myriads of all that is good,” namely, the “possibility that a divine erotic passion for moderate and just practices should arise in some of the great and all-powerful rulers” (Laws, 711d; this passage and the surrounding discussion recall Republic, 499a–d).

Finally, the Athenian seems perfectly willing to grant kingly power to some individuals, and those individuals appear to be philosophers. Vlastos argues that the Laws repudiates philosopher-kingship and holds that no human being can rule responsibly as an autocrat; as evidence, he cites Laws, 691c, 713c, 875b, and 875d. Yet the passages he references do not support this conclusion. The first only denies that a mortal soul can rule unaccountably “so long as it is still young and irresponsible” (Laws, 691c). The third does say that “there is no one among human beings whose nature grows so as to become adequate both to know what is in the interest of human beings as regards a political regime and, knowing this, to be able and willing always to do what is best” (ibid., 875b), but this statement is quickly qualified:

Of course, if ever some human being who was born adequate in nature, with a divine dispensation, were able to attain these things [power, a good character, and knowledge], he wouldn’t need any laws ruling over him. For no law or order is stronger than knowledge, nor is it right for intelligence to be subordinate, or a slave, to anyone, but it should be ruler over everything, if indeed it is true and really free according to nature. (ibid., 875c)

Vlastos acknowledges this passage, but thinks that the Athenian is mentioning this possibility as an exception “too slight to be worth talking about.” ¹² This is a dubious assertion, given that Plato spends significant portions of multiple dialogues talking about it (e.g., the Statesman and the Republic), and the Laws itself discusses the possibility as well as the desirability of wise rulers repeatedly (e.g., 711c–12a, 713c–14a; the Athenian also praises two monarchs, Cyrus and Darius, for their excellent rule, and these men ruled as autocrats—see 694a–96a). Vlastos seems to regard the exception as slight on the basis of the fourth passage he cites, which immediately follows 875c and appears to qualify the qualification: “But now, in fact, it is so nowhere or in any way, except to a small extent [nûn de ou gar estin oudamou oudamôs, all’ ê kata brachu]” (ibid., 875d). As I interpret this sentence, the Athenian asserts that no human beings with adequate natures are ruling anywhere or in any way now. One might also construe it to mean that no human beings with adequate natures exist anywhere or in any way now. Regardless, neither reading denies the possibility of such human beings emerging nor implies that this is so improbable as to render it unworthy of discussion.

The second passage Vlastos points to, 713c, is the most interesting and complicated. There the Athenian tells a myth in which the god Kronos saw that “human nature is not at all capable of regulating the human things, when it possesses autocratic authority over everything, without becoming swollen with insolence and injustice” (ibid., 713c). For this reason, Kronos set up “demons, members of a more divine and better species” to rule us (ibid., 713d). The Athenian explains that what this myth is saying, “making use of the truth [alêtheia chrômenos], is that there can be no rest from evils and toils for those cities in which some mortal rules rather than a god” (ibid., 714e). This last assertion is a striking paraphrase of Socrates’s claim in the Republic that cities will have no rest from evils until philosophers rule as kings or kings philosophize (473c–d). Some interpreters have noted this and argued that the Laws’s substitution of “god” for “philosopher” means that Plato no longer regards beings of this description as a human possibility. ¹³ But the fact that the Athenian uses theological or mythical language to describe them does not have this implication. The myth’s argument is said to be “alêtheia chrômenos,” that is, using the truth or consulting it as one would an oracle. This suggests that the Athenian is expressing a deeper truth in a somewhat distorted way, using mythical language.

Both the procedure (using a myth to illustrate a deeper truth) and the particular language the Athenian employs here have ample Platonic precedent. Plato often employs myths as a pedagogical device, and he frequently uses the language of gods, demons, and divinity when he is referring to exceptional human beings and the highest human capacities. In particular, he commonly employs it when he is discussing wisdom, philosophy, and philosophers. To list but a few examples, philosophers are called divine in the Republic (497b–c, 500c–d, 540b–c); the Athenian Stranger speaks of the types of knowledge one would need to be a god, demon, or hero for human beings (Laws, 818b–c; see also 792d, 945c, 966d, and 969b); he claims that “there are always among the many certain divine human beings—not many—whose intercourse is altogether worthwhile” (ibid., 951b), referring to individuals of a philosophic temperament; and he also says that a city that practices communism “is inhabited, presumably, by gods or children of gods” (ibid., 739d–e). These considerations strongly suggest that the “divine human beings” of the Laws are equivalent to the philosopher-kings of the Republic, and that Plato’s account of them in the former is not intended to contradict what he wrote in the latter.

Against these two interpretations, I argue that the Laws is neither a practical program nor a repudiation of the Republic. Rather, it is a “utopian” exercise of a different sort. Whereas the Republic outlines a best regime in which philosophers rule directly, the Laws describes a second-best regime in which a philosopher (i.e., the Athenian Stranger) rules indirectly, by means of written law. The Laws does not turn to law as a democratic or practical alternative to the rule of the wise, but rather, as a second-best method for realizing it.

The fact that Plato envisions law as a second-best vehicle for wise or philosophic rule follows from the very manner in which he defines law. He rejects the common understanding of law as a collection of rules promulgated by the authoritative part of a community. Instead, he defines law as the writings (grammata or suggrammata) of political experts. This is particularly explicit in Minos. In that dialogue, Socrates and a nameless companion debate the nature of law. When Socrates first asks his companion what law is, the companion responds that laws are the resolutions and decrees of a political community (Minos, 314c). Socrates objects that law is held to be something noble and good, and not every measure enacted by a political community is good. Law, according to Socrates, expresses a judgment; for it to be noble and good, it must express a true judgment (ibid., 314e–15a). Therefore, we should not call any political judgment a law, but only those that are propounded by individuals who know and judge rightly (ibid., 316d–17c). He concludes that a law is nothing other than the true judgment of an expert on a particular subject, expressed in writing: just as the treatises of doctors express the “laws of medicine” and farming treatises the “laws of farming,” so too “the writing which people call laws are treatises [suggrammata] on politics—treatises [suggrammata] by kings and good men” (ibid., 316d–17a). ¹⁴

This definition is echoed in Phaedrus, the Statesman, and the Laws itself. For example, in Phaedrus, Socrates addresses his discourse on writing in part “to Solon and anyone else who writes political documents [suggrammata] that he calls laws” (Phaedrus, 278c). The Statesman similarly treats political laws as a species of “written rules [suggrammata]” (Statesman, 300c; see also 300a–b and 300e–301a), and defines them as “things issuing from those who know which have been written down as far as they can be” (ibid., 300c). As for the Laws, the Athenian equates law with rules or principles laid down by reason, asserting that “we should obey whatever within us partakes of immortality, giving the name ‘law’ to the distribution ordained by intelligence” (Laws, 714a). He also makes it clear that laws are something written: the Athenian claims that there were no lawgivers prior to the advent of writing (ibid., 680a), and that lawgivers are writers and poets (ibid., 811c, 817c, 858c–59a). ¹⁵

Plato’s definition of law as the writings of political experts has a number of important implications. First, it explains the titles of the Republic and the Laws. The reason the former’s Greek title is “regime” and the latter’s title is “laws” is not to delimit their subject matter, but to indicate the vehicle through which wisdom or philosophy enters the polities they describe. In the Republic, Socrates informs Glaucon that there will “always have to be present in the city something possessing the same understanding of the regime as you, the lawgiver, had when you were setting down the laws” (Republic, 497c–d). In the Republic’s case, that something is the rulers of the regime. In the Laws’s case, that something is the laws.

Second, it explains why the regime outlined in the Laws is second-best. In the Statesman, the Eleatic Stranger argues that the best regime is one ruled by intelligent kings: the constitution “that is alone a constitution [politeia] is the one in which the rulers would be found truly possessing expert knowledge” (Statesman, 293c). He admits that “in a certain sense it is clear that the art of legislator belongs to that of the king; but the best thing is not that the laws should prevail, but rather the kingly man who possesses wisdom” (ibid., 294a). He then proceeds to criticize law on four grounds:

These criticisms of law echo many of the criticisms of writing that Socrates makes in Phaedrus. Like all writing, law is unable to tailor itself to particular individuals, but is compelled to speak to many people at once (Phaedrus, 275e). Therefore, its rhetorical character and its prescriptions must address the general case. This renders it unable to deal adequately with anything idiosyncratic, exceptional, or unexpected. In addition, law is ineffective as a vehicle for instruction. Laws and writings cannot answer questions or explain themselves further (ibid., 275d). What is worse, they leave people with the impression that they have sufficiently understood the subject matter of which the laws or writings treat, but in fact they remain ignorant (ibid., 275a–b). Believing they are wise, people become “difficult to get along with” (loc. cit.), and extremely hostile toward anyone who calls authoritative writings into question. (Here and in the Statesman quotation above, Plato seems to have the fate of Socrates in mind.) Thus, for many of the same reasons that writing is inferior to speaking, a regime with a legal code written by a philosopher is inferior to a regime in which philosophers rule directly.

Third, Plato’s definition of law explains why the Magnesian regime’s turn to the rule of law is not a repudiation of philosopher-kingship as an ideal. In the Statesman, the Eleatic Stranger addresses the question of why it is sometimes necessary to have recourse to law, given that law is “not completely correct” (Statesman, 300d). While in the best case an intelligent king would be everywhere in the city, advising everyone on an individual basis, in practice, this is plainly impossible. Instead, he is forced to issue general rules that are intended to handle most cases tolerably well. Thus, even the best regime, in which wise human beings are present, will have laws. But the Eleatic Stranger also suggests law as a remedy for the absence of wise rulers. Supposing an intelligent king were to go away for a long time, he would leave behind written instructions in the form of laws to guide his subjects in his absence (ibid., 295b–c). The Eleatic Stranger claims that if the intelligent king were to return or another like him were to arise, he would be perfectly justified in breaking those laws so long as he did so on the basis of true political expertise (ibid., 295c–96a). The same is not true for others, however. No large collection of people, neither the rich nor all the people together, “could ever acquire this expert knowledge of statesmanship” (ibid., 300e). Hence in regimes where political experts are absent, “no one in the city should dare do anything contrary to the laws, and . . . the person who dares to do so should be punished by death and all the worst punishments” (ibid., 297d–e; see also 300e–01a).

Plato’s definition of law and his discussion of it in the Statesman lend strong support to the view that the Magnesian regime is not a constitutional or representative democracy, but rather, a grammatocracy, in which the laws of a wise man comprehensively regulate the conduct of each citizen from cradle to grave. At the same time, Plato is well aware that a polity of this description has a number of inextricable flaws connected to the very nature of written law. In what follows, I will show how these dynamics structure the discussion of political authority in the Laws.

Political Authority in the Second-Best Regime

At first glance, the structure of ruling offices in the Laws seems considerably more democratic than in the Republic. Whereas Kallipolis’s philosopher-kings appoint their own successors, most of Magnesia’s rulers are either appointed by elected officials or elected by the citizens themselves. Against interpreters such as Bobonich and Vlastos who construe this as evidence that Plato changed his mind about the political competence of ordinary citizens, I contend that Plato turns to elections as a second-best method for appointing officials. In the absence of philosopher-kings, Plato envisions the election of magistrates as a way of ensuring loyalty to the laws rather than to a particular faction within the polity, and he tries to mitigate the need for wise or exceptional rulers by means of the wisdom embodied in the laws themselves.

There is a considerable degree of continuity between the Laws’s attitude toward the political capacity of ordinary citizens and that of other Platonic dialogues. In keeping with earlier dialogues, the Laws contains passages that are critical of democracy (e.g., Laws, 648c, 698b–701c), such as its discussion of the Athenian regime. According to the Athenian Stranger, in ancient times, Athens had a good and well-measured government. The Athenian people were not sovereign over everything; instead, they were voluntarily enslaved to the rulers and the laws, and were kept within measured bounds by the awe they felt for them (ibid., 698b–c, 700a). Subsequently, however, they were corrupted by ignorant poets, who flattered them and made them believe that “everyone is wise in everything” (ibid., 701a). As a consequence, the Athenian people lost their respect for their laws and traditions, and this threatened to overturn authority in every facet of life (ibid., 701a–e). The Athenian Stranger’s arguments here are similar to those found in Gorgias (517b–19d), the Republic (557a–63e), and the Statesman (292e, 297b–99a). Like Socrates and the Eleatic Stranger, the Athenian maintains that the majority of people are not competent to care for and educate others in the deepest sense, and that, in a democracy, freedom becomes so extensive that it leads to anarchy and lawlessness.

Of course, it is important to recall that what Plato means by “democracy” is not what we often mean by the term today. Whereas we tend to associate it with representative government and elections, Plato and his contemporaries associate it with direct democracy and the selection of public officials by lot (e.g., Statesman, 300a, 301a). Elections were an important part of many ancient Greek non-democracies, including Sparta and various Cretan cities, ¹⁶ and were conceived of as an aristocratic or oligarchic device. Thus, for Plato, there is no contradiction between rejecting democracy and embracing elections. The question therefore remains: even if Plato is still a critic of Athenian democracy, might the presence of elections in the Laws nevertheless mark a change in his estimation of the political capacity of ordinary citizens, and thus imply a “democratic turn” in that sense?

I maintain that it does not, for several reasons. For one, the Laws does not go as far in granting political power to ordinary citizens as it might initially appear. Although the Laws extends suffrage to the citizen-body as a whole, a significant countervailing consideration is that artisans and laborers who would be considered free citizens in Kallipolis are classed as slaves in Magnesia (Laws, 806d–e, 846d–47a; cf. Republic, 547c, which identifies this as a difference between the best regime and the second-best). Suffrage is thereby restricted to a group of people corresponding roughly to the Republic’s guardian class or Sparta’s warrior-citizens. What is more, the Athenian further subdivides that group into four “unequal classes, so that when it comes to offices, revenues, and distributions, the honor that is due to each person will depend not only on the virtue of his ancestors and himself, and the strength and handsomeness of bodies, but also on the way one uses money or poverty” (Laws, 744b–c). This bias is explicitly formalized in Magnesia’s procedure for electing councilmen, which favors the wealthier classes (ibid., 756c–e).

Second, it is precisely because the judgments of non-philosophers are taken into account that Magnesia’s system of choosing officials is a second-best. The Athenian makes it clear that his desire to prevent civil conflict leads him to structure the regime’s offices in a less-than-ideal manner. As the Athenian explains, a strictly just arrangement would allot authority to those who deserve it on the basis of education and virtue (ibid., 757d), with no regard to “someone’s wealth or any such possession, be it physical strength or size or descent” (ibid., 715b–c; cf. 744b–c). But because this is an affront to citizens’ self-love and leads to civil strife, most cities (i.e., all but the best) are compelled to recognize spurious claims to rule. Thus, to secure the allegiance of the wealthy, the Athenian introduces the four unequal property classes (ibid, 744c); he also makes concessions intended to forestall the “discontent of the many,” such as sanctioning the use of the lot despite his injunction that it ought to be used as little as possible (ibid., 757e–58a, 759b–c). The necessity of satisfying non-philosophers means that Magnesia’s procedures for filling offices look to criteria other than wisdom and virtue, thereby falling short of the best regime.

While elections are inferior to the appointment of philosopher-kings by philosopher-kings, they are still superior to every other alternative. The Laws’s core criticism of autocracy as it is normally practiced is that even good non-philosophic rulers will not have adequately educated successors (ibid., 694c–96a). Plato believes that this problem is surmounted by the best regime, whose philosophic rulers are capable of identifying and educating new, perfected philosophers to succeed the old. ¹⁷ But in all other cases, autocratic succession is dangerous, because it is extremely likely to empower corrupt and vicious individuals who favor themselves or their faction at the expense of everyone else in the city. If the presence of elections in the second-best regime is supposed to be evidence of a democratic turn, it must be shown that Plato would have favored a regime without elections as a second-best option in an earlier period. Yet earlier dialogues suggest that Plato has remained consistent on this point. ¹⁸ As was noted above, most officials in the Spartan and Cretan regimes were elected, and those regimes are held up as superior models in multiple dialogues (e.g., Crito, 52e; Minos, 318c–d); in the Republic, Sparta and Crete are identified as examples of the second-best regime type (544–45a). Hence there is good reason to believe that their presence in Magnesia does not indicate a change of mind.

To the contrary, I maintain that the Athenian endorses elections and the rule of law not as an alternative to the rule of philosophers, but as a second-best method for realizing it, by ensuring the competent and perpetual administration of a philosopher’s writings. That is to say, the purpose of elections is not to empower ordinary citizens, but to safeguard the Athenian’s grammatocracy. Like the Spartan and Cretan regimes, which serve as central inspirations, the Magnesian regime is structured to resist change and maintain fidelity to the founding lawgiver’s prescriptions. The Athenian Stranger claims that one of the finest features of the Spartan and Cretan regimes is the law “that does not allow any of the young to inquire which laws are finely made and which are not, but that commands all to say in harmony, with one voice from one mouth, that all the laws are finely made by the gods; if someone says otherwise, there is no heed paid to him at all” (Laws, 634d–e). In keeping with this, he repeatedly appeals to the gods in order to impart a similar authority to his own legislation (e.g., ibid., 624a, 630d–e, 634d–e, 641d, 762e, 811c, 818b–c, 838b–e, 951b).

The supremacy of the Athenian’s laws relegates Magnesia’s rulers to the status of administrators with very little legislative power. To the extent they are permitted to make or alter legislation, it only pertains to relatively minor matters, and only for a short period of time (ibid., 772b–d). After a ten-year period of tinkering, all of the laws are to be set in stone, and no one can revise them without the unanimous consent of everyone in the city (ibid., 772b–d; see also 799a–b). Even where rulers are not explicitly bound by legal regulations, they are expected to look to the lawgiver for guidance (e.g., ibid., 727c, 728a–b, 770b–71a, 811b–e, 835a–b, 858d, 926b–c, 957d); they are subservient to the point that the Athenian refers to them as “slaves” (ibid., 762e) and “servants [hupêretas] of the laws” (ibid., 715d). The Athenian’s characterization of Magnesia’s rulers as hupêretai (“under-rowers, servants, helpers, assistants”) is especially provocative, because it suggests a resemblance to the Republic’s auxiliaries. In Book III, the Republic introduces a distinction between true guardians, who are said to have “gold souls,” and their “silver-souled” helpers or auxiliaries (414b–15a; the auxiliaries are usually referred to as epikouroi [“auxiliaries, helpers, allies, assisters”], but they are called hupêretai at 552b). Like the silver souls of the Republic, Magnesia’s rulers are capable of competently following the instructions of a philosopher without being philosophers themselves.

It is clear, then, that contrary to Bobonich’s claim that the “Athenian’s confidence in the capacities of Magnesia’s citizens is evident,” ¹⁹ Plato’s turn to the rule of law in the Laws is not animated by a newfound appreciation for the wisdom of the masses. The Athenian proposes that Magnesian citizens elect their leaders because the best way of choosing rulers—having philosopher-kings appoint their own successors—is impossible in that regime. And the central reason he is able to endorse elections as an acceptable second-best is that his laws have mitigated the need for citizens to choose exceptionally well. The regime absolves its elected officials of most legislative responsibilities and therefore does not require a succession of extraordinarily outstanding leaders. Sparta and Crete have shown that it is possible to construct a regime of non-philosophers that maintains fidelity to the writings of a founding lawgiver; Magnesia’s innovation is to make that lawgiver a philosopher.

Shortcomings and Self-Critique

The Athenian’s solution as it has been articulated thus far resembles a modified version of the Spartan or Cretan regime, with the Athenian assuming the place of Lycurgus or Minos, and “Kronos” standing in for Apollo or Zeus (Laws, 713a–14a, 897b). The regime is framed by the writings of an absent but purportedly wise lawgiver whose authority is traced back to god, and whose laws must administered in perpetuity. ²⁰ This solution, however, is a problematic one, given what Plato takes to be the essential shortcomings of law. In this section, I will show that some of the most peculiar and interesting aspects of Magnesia are in fact attempts to answer criticisms of writing and law discussed above. I will focus in particular on three of the Athenian’s proposals: (1) prefacing the laws with explanatory “preludes”; (2) incorporating the Laws itself into the regime as an educational text; and (3) introducing a Nocturnal Council that secretly meets and debates philosophical issues, such as the unity of virtue. Each of these devices is innovative and cannot be understood as a modification of prevailing Greek practice. Rather, they are radical measures intended to address the weaknesses of law as fully as possible. Importantly, however, they are not wholly successful; the Athenian manages to mitigate some of the worst features of law but cannot eliminate them. Thus, the argument and action of the dialogue ultimately vindicate the claim repeated in Phaedrus, the Republic, the Statesman, and the Laws itself, to the effect that law is a second-best solution to the political problem.

In Book IV, the Athenian claims that important laws should be introduced by “preludes” that attempt to explain the law and persuade citizens to follow it. This claim is prefaced by a discussion of doctoring intended to clarify the purpose of the preludes. According to the Athenian, cities contain two different kinds of doctors: “free doctors,” who care for free citizens, and “slave doctors,” who act as “servants [hupêretai]” to the free doctors and care for slaves (ibid., 720a). As the Athenian explains, these two kinds of doctor treat patients in radically different ways:

In describing and objecting to the methods of the slave doctor, the Athenian repeats many of the criticisms of law and writing contained in the Statesman and Phaedrus (cf. the discussion above). He intimates that while all existing legislation resembles the doctoring of slaves by slaves (ibid., 857c), he intends to imitate the free doctor to the extent that he is able (ibid., 857e), and the preludes are a means of accomplishing this.

Although his description of the free doctor would lead one to expect that the Athenian’s preludes will “teach” Magnesia’s citizens, scholars such as Karl Popper, R. F. Stalley, and Morrow have argued that they are essentially pieces of propaganda intended to produce compliance. ²¹ In support of this claim, the Athenian himself distinguishes the persuasive rhetoric of a prelude from an argument (logos) (ibid., 723b), and many of his preludes eschew rational demonstration in favor of emotionally charged exhortations employing religious and mythical language (e.g., ibid., 854b–c, 870d–e, 872e–73a, 873e–74a, 913c, and 930e–31c). These preludes may imitate the free doctor in taming “the sick person with persuasion,” but they certainly fall short of “teaching” (ibid., 720d). Yet, as Bobonich has pointed out, not all of the preludes are of this character. ²² In contrast to the monological and highly rhetorical preludes found elsewhere in the Laws, Book X contains dialogical preludes that are said to include “arguments” (ibid., 903a). Because the simple, exhortative preludes are not well suited for presenting demonstrative arguments or responding to potential objections, the Athenian increasingly turns to the dialogue form as a way of imitating the free doctor (cf. the distinction between rhetoric and dialogue/discussion in Gorgias, 448e–d and passim). This is manifest in the debates he stages between himself and a hypothetical young atheist in the Book X preludes (Laws, 885b–907b), the question-and-answer he carries on with himself when his interlocutors are unable to keep up (Laws, 893b–94a; cf. Gorgias, 451a–c), and his description of the Laws itself, up through the end of Book IV, as a prelude (Laws, 722d).

Having introduced the notion of a legal prelude and broadened it to include portions of the very dialogue in which he and his interlocutors are engaging, the Athenian advances his second radical innovation. He proposes that all of the speeches that they have been exchanging since dawn (that is to say, the ones we have been reading—the Laws itself) should be written down and enshrined as the cornerstone of the new regime (ibid., 811c–e). Judges are to look to the Laws when judging (ibid., 957d), and citizens will study the dialogue in school. This is an astonishing proposal. A Platonic character is suggesting that a Platonic dialogue—and, he adds, writings that are “brothers” to it (ibid., 811e)—should be made authoritative. What does Plato hope to achieve by this? As noted above, Platonic characters in multiple dialogues argue that writing and law are defective insofar as they cannot say different things to different people, answer questions put to them, or defend themselves from criticism. Leo Strauss has argued that it is reasonable to suppose that Plato intended his own dialogues to avoid some of these difficulties. ²³ The dialogue format permits him to record philosophic exchanges in which questions are posed and statements are interrogated in a manner that helps the reader to philosophize along with the speakers. The fact that Plato never speaks in his own name means that one can only attempt to understand his opinions by carefully considering the interplay between his characters, which serves as a further invitation to think. Plato is also able to say different things to different people, by writing dialogues in which philosopher-characters say different things to different people. The perfectly written dialogue would contain something for everyone, speaking to every reader and providing him or her with an appropriately tailored education. The Laws, in insisting on itself as educational material, purports to do this for the citizens of Magnesia. It will give them deeper access to the Athenian—to his character, to the reasons underlying his legislation, to his doubts and hesitations—than any law or persuasive prelude possibly could. Perhaps the Laws itself could lead suitable readers to a life of philosophy.

This is an improvement, but it still will not do. The Athenian argues that the Laws should be read by every citizen, but this same fact prevents him from clearly disclosing his full understanding. Like Socrates, the Athenian believes that philosophy is politically dangerous in the wrong hands: philosophy unsettles established convictions and thereby poses a risk to political communities (Republic, 537e; cf. the Athenian’s claim that “there is a danger in imbuing the children with much learning” [Laws, 811b; see also 819a]). He is therefore forced to speak in elliptical (and at times mythical and theological) language about matters that are discussed much more plainly in other Platonic dialogues. Furthermore, he is not a god, and not everything he has said is bound to be correct (Laws, 641d). Readers cannot become philosophers simply by repeating the opinions expressed in the Laws. They must go beyond it and genuinely philosophize for themselves; rendering the Laws authoritative will actively impede this process.

For this reason, the Athenian turns to a third device: he calls for the establishment of a Nocturnal Council. The Council is first mentioned in Book X, where it is created to carry on secret discussions with imprisoned atheists. These atheists have been jailed because they refuse to accept the public teachings about the gods, and the Council’s job is to reform them through philosophical argument. Evidently even the long, dialogical preludes of Book X are insufficient to resolve the atheists’ objections; the Council is introduced because the legislator’s writings are still inferior to face-to-face conversation with a wise person. This interpretation is confirmed in the twelfth and final book, where the Athenian greatly expands the Council’s role. Now the Athenian reveals that although all of his legislation had been for the sake of virtue, it will amount to nothing unless he and his conversation partners can define virtue and explain how the various individual virtues fit together to form a whole. The Athenian implies that it is not within his power to do this. Instead, he suggests that the problem should be dealt with by the Nocturnal Council. The Council, composed of the highest magistrates in the city along with qualified young men of their choosing, must meet for a few hours before sunrise and discuss the issue (ibid., 951dff., 961aff.). The Council should also receive foreign guests and hold discussions with the select few Magnesian citizens who are permitted to go abroad to study other regimes. The Athenian goes further—the Council should be placed at the head of the entire regime, and the whole city be turned over to it (ibid., 969b).

The abrupt insertion of the Nocturnal Council into the heart of the Magnesian regime has occasioned a great deal of interpretive controversy. Following the suggestion of Aristotle, scholars such as George Klosko, Ernest Barker, and Peter Brunt have argued that Book XII brings Magnesia much closer to Kallipolis, and that the Nocturnal Council members are more or less equivalent to the Republic’s philosopher-kings. ²⁴ Others are more cautious about the philosophical credentials of the Council members, ²⁵ and/or maintain that the Council is meant to play an informal, advisory role analogous to Plato’s Academy. ²⁶ While I cannot enter into the debate about the exact nature of the Council here, I maintain that Plato introduces it in order to reaffirm his consistent contention that writing is not an adequate substitute for the presence of living philosophers.

In keeping with this, Book XII reveals the insufficiency of the Magnesian regime as it has been sketched in the previous books. Because the regime cannot make do without a “gold-souled” element in its ruling class, the Athenian now draws the Republic’s distinction between fully educated guardians and those who are merely their assistants or hupêretai (Laws, 968a; see also 965a). Accordingly, the Athenian begins to refer to the Nocturnal Council members as “Guardians [phulakes],” recalling the Republic, rather than “Guardians of the Laws [nomophulakes]” (e.g., ibid., 964c–e, 965b–c, 966a–b, 969c). By permitting each Nocturnal Council member to bring a young man of his choosing to the meetings, the Athenian also introduces a wise, partially self-selecting elite into the polity (ibid., 961a–b). He is finally ready to declare that in the absence of living beings who understand the true end of the political art and grasp the Ideas of virtue, goodness, and beauty, the regime cannot succeed (ibid., 962b–c, 964b–d, 965c, 966a).

By the end of the dialogue, the Athenian’s interlocutors have absorbed the lesson. The Spartan, Megillos, tells Kleinias that “from all that has now been said by us, either the city’s founding must be abandoned, or this stranger here must not be allowed to go, and by entreaties and every contrivance he must be made to share in the founding of the regime” (ibid., 969c). Kleinias agrees. The written speeches the Athenian has left with them are not sufficient; the regime requires the Athenian’s active participation.

Conclusion

I have argued that Plato’s Laws ought to be understood as an extension rather than a repudiation of the political position he articulates in the Republic. Whereas the Republic sets out to demonstrate that the best regime requires wise, philosophizing rulers, the Laws argues that the second-best alternative is a regime in which philosophic writings rule. Thus, Plato retains his earlier conviction about the incompetence of most people to judge political matters well, and continues to reject the claims to political power advanced by wealthy elites and the dêmos.

We might still ask why Plato chose to write a dialogue about a second-best regime of this nature. I believe he has left us a hint as to the answer. There is a moment in the Laws where the Athenian suddenly voices a concern about whether he will be able to finish the account he has begun, and prays that he and his interlocutors will manage to “overcome old age sufficiently” (Laws, 752a). Seth Benardete claims that the Athenian’s fear that he might leave the laws incomplete makes little sense in terms of the dialogue, given that the conversation takes place over the course of a single day. He suggests that perhaps the Athenian is breaking the fourth wall and expressing the worry of an elderly Plato who is thinking about his own death. As I argue above, the Statesman suggests law as a remedy to the problem of absence. Written law is a solution to the problem of succession, because the intelligent king can leave behind his own laws as his successors. We might imagine that Plato, nearing the end of his life, began to think about his own future absence, and to reflect upon the political possibilities as well as the limitations of the writings he would leave behind. This would explain why the Laws is the only Platonic composition that advocates the political use of a Platonic dialogue, calling for itself to be enshrined as the centerpiece of the Magnesian regime: the Laws is the dialogue in which Plato explores the political uses of his own written work. For that reason, it is of particular importance to Plato scholars who want to understand his political project and his attempt to continue shaping a world in which he is no longer present.