For Love of Democracy: Eros, Reverence, and Ritual in Plato’s Laws (Part I)
Both deontological and classical liberalism have been criticized by communitarian thinkers who contend that liberalism is rooted in an incoherent conception of the self because it fails to take into account the communal aspect of our self-conception, thereby making the liberal doctrine of acquisitive individualism inadequate as a foundation of civic virtue for a community of free and equal citizens.[1] According to these critics, liberalism as both a theory and a practice is incapable of creating institutions aimed for a common good because it is unwilling to acknowledge the necessity of our moral and political attachments to our fellow human beings. The only way to cultivate a common good for society is for moral and political authority to be grounded in a shared understanding of our institutions rather than to rely upon individual choice and social contract theory.
Liberals, however, criticize communitarians’ vision of the common good as a potential threat to the individual’s rights and liberties: a citizen, or group of citizens, can be denied their rights and liberties in the name of the common good or the community.[2] It is better to have a society with a “thin” understanding of the common good so everyone can enjoy their rights and liberties as opposed to a “thick” understanding where people’s rights and liberties could be denied to them. Although the liberal conception of the common good is not as robust as communitarians want–and therefore is vulnerable to some of the criticisms made against it– liberal society is still a better alternative of having all citizens’ rights and liberties protected than a society which could deny one or a few citizens’.
Communitarians recognize the threat that communities can pose to the individual and consequently seek to incorporate liberal political institutions, which safeguard our rights and liberties, within a communal framework. As Kautz aptly puts it, the communitarian vision “often takes the form of an imagined synthesis of the ancient polis, so to speak, with the modern liberal state, a synthesis that is said to be superior to either alternative.”[3] But is such a synthesis possible? Can communitarians construct a civic culture that orientates the individual towards the common good while at the same time create political institutions that would protect citizens’ rights and liberties against communal demands? Or are we stuck with an impasse between these two schools of thought and simply just have to pick one without the other?
One possible way to push past this stalemate is to return to a classical conception of politics, such as Plato’s Laws, where ritual, reverence, and reason play a role in forming a civic culture conducive to the common good. Although Socrates in the Republic had expressed a disparaging view of democracy because of its love of excessive freedom, the Athenian Stranger in the Laws resurrect democracy as one of the two paradigms for establishing the “second best regime.” By exploring the Athenian Stranger’s proposal to create a cohesive civic culture for his newly-founded polis, I show how the practice of philosophy, the acceptance of revelation, and the habituation of ritual contributes to an understanding of human flourishing that transcends the liberal-communitarian dichotomy. What we find in the Laws is the creation and encouragement of an array of participatory modes for citizens to partake in the life of the polis which ultimately leads to a conception of politics that avoids the liberal reductive account of human nature and the communitarian inclination to absorb the individual into the community.
If this is the case, then the Laws is not merely an ancient treatise of how philosophers can chisel out of the polis a refuge place of rational bliss for themselves; rather, Plato’s dialogue recognizes the value of reverence for the philosopher qua philosopher. By accepting reverence as a check on rational inquiry, the philosopher’s reason does not turn into rationalism, the supremacy of reason as the constitution of wisdom. As Strauss points out, this tension between reason and revelation is the “secret vitality” of western civilization; therefore, Strauss recommends that philosophers be open to the challenge of theology.[4] If Strauss is correct, then some form of reverence is required, whether for the neo-Kantian liberal state, the communitarian society, or the classical polis. Although Plato did not have access to biblical revelation of which Strauss spoke, my analysis of the Athenian Stranger’s defense of the gods in Book Ten reveals that the Greeks did recognize the value of reverence as a check on reason.
Equally important is the practice of ritual for the philosopher as philosopher. Ritual compels the philosopher to recognize that he or she is merely part of a greater whole–that the practice of philosophy alone is not sufficient for virtue. Confronting the philosopher is the danger that he or she becomes enraptured with the study of immortal things, thereby neglecting other relationships with reality (e.g., familial, social, political) and possibly fall into the rut of rationalism. Thus, the philosopher must be forced back to return into the cave to realize that he or she is part of something greater than him or herself. As Socrates informs us, philosophers long to comprehend both human and divine things (Republic, 486a5-11); and the Athenian Stranger constructs a polis in speech that also aims for both human and divine things (Laws, 631b4-631e1). What the philosopher requires, then, is a re-orientation towards both the human and the divine–a knowledge of the whole–which ritual compels him or her.
Finally, the introduction and cultivation of philosophy in the “second best regime” affords the individual a certain type of armor against the conformity of the polis. The Nocturnal Council accedes a place for the philosopher to explore rationally how both human and divine things are interrelated as a singular whole. Within the confines of reverence and ritual, the practice of philosophy therefore resists the passionate pressures and irrational demands of the community. For Plato, the practice of philosophy is reserved only to a few because only a few are capable to engage in rational inquiry. The institution of the Nocturnal Council is way to allow philosophy to exist in the polis for those few who are qualified.
The acknowledgement of the few and the many may be an uncomfortable but necessary truth to both liberals and communitarians to accept, especially with our recent past of imperialism, racism, and sexism that have arbitrary categorized and excluded people. However, this acceptance that only a few are capable of philosophy does not necessarily equate into denying rights and liberties to the many. The practice of philosophy in the Laws is based on a person’s ability rather than his or her right or liberty as a citizen of the polis. Philosophy therefore is neither a right nor a liberty but a privilege for those few capable of practicing it.
Again, the restriction of philosophy to the able few may make both liberals and communitarians uneasy because it appears to violate the principle of equality. But in our liberal society we assign certain activities to those who are capable: not everyone gets to go to Harvard or play in the NFL or elected Senator of your state. Furthermore, we allow only certain people access to privileged information and conduct secret activities to protect our country. If we think of philosophy as something akin to activities in this category, the Athenian Stranger’s proposal of the Nocturnal Council seems less controversial.
Although the practice of philosophy is reserved to the able few, the practice of ritual and reverence is required for everyone so citizens have a shared understanding of the common good. The Athenian Stranger requires that all citizens participate in reverence and ritual to create a cohesive civic culture for his regime. Philosophy is merely an additional rather than the sole epistemological inquiry into both human and divine goods. The Laws therefore can help us see how to explore the manifold ways citizens can participate in politics–reason, reverence, and ritual–so a common good can be formed without sacrificing the rights and liberties of all citizens.
Education and Politics in the Second-Best Regime
By asking Kleinias whether to a god or to some human does he attribute the authorship of Crete’s laws, the Athenian Stranger raises the more general question about the nature of law and its essence (624a1-624a2).[5]8 Is the law grounded in divine revelation, in nature, or something else? For now, the Athenian Stranger holds back from answering these questions since neither Kleinias nor Megillus have agreed with the Athenian about how best to proceed in their investigation of the laws (638b1-638c). In fact, Kleinias’ quick response that it is most surely a god who had founded Crete’s laws reveals his disposition towards tradition: the neglect to mention Minos as the human legislator of Crete would have diluted tradition’s claim of the polis’ divine foundation (624a3-6). Though Kleinias’ and Megillus’ attachment to reverence is admirable, the Athenian Stranger recognizes that the sanction of reverence alone cannot provide a firm foundation for politics. Until Kleinias’ and Megillus’ prejudices about what is best have been adequately peeled away, the Athenian Stranger will continue his parallel task of education: the cultivation of the Dorian’s synoptic capacity for the practice of dialectics and the introduction of education into the polis.
Appealing to his reverential nature, the Athenian Stranger replies to Kleinias with a question whether he follows the tradition of Homer that it was Minos, not the gods, who establishes Crete’s laws (624b1-3). Kleinias corrects himself, after which the Athenian proposes to the two Dorians whether they would like to discuss about political regimes and laws on their way to the Cave of Zeus (625a5-625b2). Consenting to the Athenian Stranger’s proposal, Kleinias remarks that it would be a pleasant way to spend their journey talking about politics and law (625c1-3). The Athenian Stranger, knowing that Kleinias is reverent about the myths of Apollo as the founder of Dorian law, recognizes that he must proceed carefully in his criticism of Crete (i.e., the political foundation of Crete is defective). Thus, the Athenian Stranger praises the reputation of Minos as a legislator to remove any hard feelings that Kleinias may hold against him for correcting the Dorian’s mistake (625a5-625b2).
Starting over in his synoptic task, the Athenian Stranger asks Kleinias towards what telos does the laws of Crete aim with its custom of common meals and gymnastic training (625c7-9). According to Kleinias, the legislator had the view of was in mind when he founded the city since cities are by nature in a continual state of war against one another (625e1-2; 626a4-5). Instead of directly rebuking his answer, the Athenian Stranger agrees that Kleinias has a fine understanding of the legal customs of Crete, however, he does not understand exactly what Kleinias means that a well-ordered polis seeks victory over other cities in war (626c2-3). Kleinias and Megillus react in surprise in having to repeat what the Athenian Stranger had just heard for is it not obvious that the polis’ telos is victory? What other ends could exist besides warfare? (626c-6).
In an attempt to correct Kleinias’ misapprehension of the polis’ telos, the Athenian Stranger invokes the analogy of the family (627c8-627d5). He no longer plays the role of the “student” but seeks to investigate the subject in common only after Megillus had asked the Athenian Stranger to explain what other goals are possible besides warfare for the polis. This plead of ignorance is the first peeling away of the Dorians’ unthinking dogmatic reverence towards tradition. By switching roles from “student” to “co-investigator,” the Athenian Stranger embarks on the first step towards a gradual unfolding of a new ground and a new goal for the polis. The purpose of the laws is not towards war, the Athenian Stranger claims, but towards peace and the whole of virtue since the ground of the polis is rooted in nature and not solely in tradition (626b-632d; 688a-d).
To prove this point, the Athenian Stranger invokes the analogy of the family where a judge, not parental authority, is the arbitrator between two brothers who are quarreling among themselves. However, the Athenian Stranger wants to uncover what is correct and faulty according to nature, a standard which would seem to have parental authority as the arbitrator of the conflict (627d5-10). The apparent inconsistencies of the Athenian Stranger’s proposal are resolved if we understand that the Athenian Stranger is subtly removing tradition as the sole ground of authority: the judge, not parental authority, is the best arbitrator because he knows what makes people worthy according to nature and not according to (a flawed) tradition (627e3-5).
By resorting to arguments of analogy and other rhetorical devices, the Athenian Stranger recognizes that the mere presentation of a superior logos will not convince the Dorians’ mistaken opinion about the polis’ end. At this point in the dialogue, the introduction of a superior logos would only degenerate the debate into eristics, the presentation of arguments that merely talk past one another (refer to 638c2-638e9). The Athenian Stranger therefore must engage the debate indirectly to foster Kleinias’ and Megillus’ synoptic capacity to practice dialectics. That is, the Athenian Stranger must re-orientate Kleinias’ and Megillus’ fundamental disposition–their synoptic capacity–towards reality by means other than logos. It would seem that human nature demands more than a superior logos to change its orientation toward what is most best and just. Kleinias’ refusal to acknowledge the supremacy of the Athenian Stranger’s argument confirms the fact that an educative effort other than logos is required to re-direct Kleinias’ soul toward the practice of dialectics (628c-628e).
In a series of arguments and exchanges, the Athenian Stranger demonstrates the contradictions of Kleinias’ answer about the proper end of the polis being war. However, Kleinias still clings, albeit not with the same conviction, that the customs of Lacedaimon pertains somehow to warfare (628e2-4). Sensing Kleinias may revert back to dogmatism, the Athenian pleads that, as friends, they should not disagree with one another so harshly; rather, they should continue the inquiry calmly about the matters at hand (629a1-3). The Athenian Stranger then invokes the authority of tradition (i.e., Theognis) to slip in a new ground for the foundation of Dorian laws on the pretext that he is actually defending the goals of Minos and Lycurgus since they all have misunderstood the goals of these “most just” legislators (629b-630d). Not only does this invocation of Theognis lends the Athenian the opportunity to introduce the idea of virtue as the goal of political order but it also inflicts a sense of shame in Kleinias and Megillus for not properly understanding the intentions of their legislators and consequently leads them onto the preliminary path of self-examination (630c-632d).
It is virtue, not war, towards which the polis should strive because the city will receive both the divine and human goods: wealth, strength, beauty, health (the human goods), courage, justice, intelligence with a moderate soul, and prudence (the divine goods). These rewards will be dispensed to the polis if it follows the gods, who, in turn, looks towards nous for guidance (631b4-631e1; 688a-b). By categorizing and ranking both the divine and the human goods, the Athenian Stranger implicitly affirms that a metaphysical order exists within the cosmos to which the polis should conform. The Athenian Stranger rejects Kleinias’ contention that all laws should aim for victory in war, the agon, as the ground to order the polis since the Athenian wants to assert that a hierarchy of values exists within the universe.[6] If Kleinias is correct–all are enemies of all in public and each is an enemy of himself in private–then the cosmos would seem to be inherently contradictory and consequently tend towards disorder than order (626d8-10). The political consequences of such a metaphysical position is that the polis cannot conform to order as rooted in being since ends do not exist for human, beast, or god. Accordingly, the Athenian Stranger re-directs the conversation towards an ontological order embedded in reality, a hierarchy of divine and human goods, so that political legislation can be planted on a firm foundation.
Thus, the Athenian Stranger suggests to start over the discussion on political regimens and laws (632e1-3). This time the Athenian Stranger engages Megillus in their endeavor of finding the best laws by insinuating that the Spartan practice of common meals corrupts the youth into habits of sodomy (636b1-636c). Standing his ground, Megillus returns the insult by retorting that the Athenian practice of drinking banquets leads them to the greatest sort of insolence and mindlessness possible to humans (637a-637b). This barb provides a pretext for the Athenian Stranger to rise to the defense of his polis in explaining the purpose of drinking banquets and thereby talk about the importance of education (638c2-638e9). What will determine the truth or falsehood of this practice is not appeals to particular claims of each polis; rather, an appeal to all things, a knowledge of the whole of reality, will decide the validity of drinking banquets (638e4-638e9). Megillus consents to the Athenian’s criteria of rationality (638e10-11) and is eventually shown, along with Kleinias, that drinking banquets contribute to the education of the citizen in the cultivation of proper pleasure (641b4-641d2; 646e10-650b10).[7]
For the Athenian Stranger, then, the regime exists for the sake of education, a priority that runs counter to liberalism’s and to Kleinias’ and Megillus’ views on the polis.[8] Education does not exist to prop up the regime; rather, the regime exists for the education of the citizen. Of course, the polis’ education lends legitimacy to the political regime, but this legitimacy is secondary in its function to cultivate virtue in its citizens.
This regime, therefore, is more procedural than the liberalism because the state is merely an instrument of the citizens’ education towards virtue. The dichotomy between liberalism and communitarianism is transcended in the Laws since neither the liberal nor the communitarian accepts the priority of education over politics in their defense or criticism of democracy. Both the liberal and the communitarian accepts the premise that education, whether is a commitment to human rights or its devotion to civic culture, is for the sake of the regime. By contrast, the Athenian Stranger privileges education over politics and thereby avoids the debate between acquisitive individualism and communal totalitarianism. But what is the precise nature of this education? And how does it lead to a full human flourishing?
For the Athenian Stranger, education is the correct nurture of a child both in serious and light-hearted play so that he or she becomes the perfect citizen, the one who knows how to rule and be ruled with justice (643e4-644a1). When the child’s desire (eros) corresponds with what is virtuous, the cultivated youth will unusually turn out to be good (643d1-5; 644a3-644b5). Education is the polis guiding the souls towards the virtue of citizenship. Within this pedagogical framework moderation of one’s pleasures and one’s pains is essential since these two principles will attach themselves to the two opinions about the future: one which is apprehensive (phobos); the other confident (tharros) (644c9-644d4). Superimposed upon these expectations is reason (logismos) which is concern with our movement towards what is to be feared and what is to be blessed. When this superimposed reason becomes the common opinion of the polis, then it is accepted as law: insight and judgement about one’s future therefore precedes the act of law-giving itself.
This relationship between legislation and reason can be clarified in an analysis of Athenian Stranger’s “Puppet Myth” (644d8-645b16).[9] In the myth each living thing is like a puppet of the gods contrived either for their play or for some serious purpose. Although we do not know to what end the gods have set out for us, we do know that the passions work within us “like tendons or cords” that pull us in different directions towards opposite directions between the regions of virtue and vice. The cord that the individual should follow is the golden and scared pull of logos, which is called the common law of the polis, because this cord requires helpers of the race of gold within us may conquer the other races. In this way, the myth of virtue would be saved. However, once the individual acquires a true logos of these cords and lives according to it, it is necessary for the polis to take over this reasoning from either the gods or from one who knows these things and set this reasoning into law for itself and in its relation to other cities.
It is unclear whether the Athenian Stranger’s “Puppet Myth” is a noble lie, as Strauss and Pangle have argued, a facile resolution of the tension between the good of the polis and the good of the philosopher.[10] Although the Athenian Stranger does restrict knowledge about the cords to what “we know,” the ellipses, pregnant pauses and other rhetorical devises Plato’s protagonist uses in the Laws does not necessarily equate into an esoteric teaching either for the reader of the dialogue or for the Dorian interlocutors. Alternatively, the Athenian Stranger could be employing various rhetorical tricks to foster Kleinias’ and Megillus’ synoptic capacity for the practice of dialectic. Superior logos cannot benefit individuals who remain in a condition of synoptic incapacity: logical air-tight argumentation is not enough to lead the prison out of the cave; rather non-dialectical exercises such as poetic myths and preludes may be required to re-orientate individuals towards the possibility of philosophy. In fact, the Athenian Stranger only engages in a poetic exercise when Kleinias and Megillus have difficulty in following his logos (641e1-642a1). The use of myths and the emphasis on play throughout the Laws, then, is not just a vulgar mode of education for the many to understand the nature of the laws but serves to foster Kleinias’ and Megillus’ synoptic capacity in preparation for philosophical thinking (e.g., 803c1-803d1).
We must consider also the possibility that myths may be able to communicate a type of knowledge to the philosopher that is inaccessible to reason: the experience of the divine may be best convey in symbolic form such as a god who pulls the strings of human marionettes or tug a prisoner out of his cave.[11] The works of Voegelin are particularly useful in understanding the experiential dimensions of knowledge.[12] The philosopher must be open to the prospect that myth can provide knowledge that is different in kind than reason. By being open to the prospect that myth provides knowledge which is inaccessible to reason, the philosopher can check his or her reason from turning into rationalism. Yet if this is correct, then what does this say about Athenian Stranger’s conception of human nature? And how is myth related to philosophy and politics?
Notes
[1] MacIntyre, Alasdair. After Virtue. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1981); Sandel, Michael. Liberalism and the Limits of Justice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982) and Liberalism and its critics (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1984); Walzer, Michael. Radical Principles (New York: Basic Books, 1980) and Spheres of Justice: A Defense of Pluralism and Equality (New York: Basic Books, 1983).
[2] Downing, Lyle and Robert B. Thigpen. “Virtue and the Common Good in Liberal Theory,” Journal of Politics. 55/4 (1993): 1046-1059; Grant, Ruth W. “Locke’s Political Anthropology and Lockean Individualism,” Journal of Politics 50/1 (1988): 42-63; Kautz, Steven. Liberalism and Community (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1995); Moore, Margaret. “Liberalism and the Ideal of the Good Life,” Review of Politics 53/4 (1991): 674-690; Sinopoli, Richard. “Liberalism and Contested Conceptions of the Good: The Limits of Neutrality,” Journal of Politics. 55/3 (1991): 644-663.
[3] Kautz, Liberalism and Community, 5.
[4] Strauss, Leo. “The Mutual Influence of Theology and Philosophy” in The Independent Journal of Philosophy. 3 (1979): 111-118; and Studies in Platonic Political Philosophy (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983).
[5] Plato. Laws (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, Loeb Classical Library, 1926). All translations are my own and citations are in-text.
[6] Nietzche’s insights about the agon as the basis of tragedy can also be applied to the sophists’ conception of education. Though the students of the sophists learn the skills of rhetoric, these facilities were employed not towards philosophy but towards self-interested end. Consequently, the pupils of the sophist engaged in eristics, a type of agon which rejects the possibility that objective truth exists and can be recognized. Nietzsche, Friederich. The Complete Words. Oscar Levy, editor (New York: Gordon Press, 1974); also refer to chapter one of The Birth of Tragedy and chapter three of On the Future of Our Educational Institutions; for more about the agon in Hellenic society, refer to Homer and Classical Philology; to know more about the sophists’ influence on Athenian and Spartan education, refer to Werner, Jaeger. Paideia: The Ideals of Greek Culture. Translated by Gilbert Highet (Oxford: University of Oxford Press, 1939). Vol. I. as well as Plato’s Cratylus (385e-386a), Gorgias (481a-508c, 511b-526c), Protagoras (318d, 319a, 324a-b), Republic (336a-354c), Theaeteus (152a).
[7] Strauss’ remarks on the role of wine in the Book One of the Laws is especially helpful in showing that conversion about wine not only has a rejuvenating effect upon the interlocutors in their task to discover the best laws for Kleinias’ regime but also makes them more susceptible to notions that run counter to their Dorian prejudices. Strauss, Leo. The Argument and Action of Plato’s Laws (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1975), 19-21.
[8] The classic example of education as subordinate to the political aims of the regime can be found in Thomas Jefferson’s writing on the University of Virginia where “among the benefits of education, the incalculable advantage of training up able counsellors to administer the affairs of our country in all its departments, legislative, executive and judiciary, and to bear their proper share in the councils of our national government; nothing more than education advancing the prosperity, the power, and the happiness of the nation.” Jefferson, Thomas. “Report of the Commissioners for the University of Virginia” in The Portable Jefferson. Editor, Merrill D. Peterson (New York: Penguin Books, 1975), 337. Also refer to Jefferson, Thomas. “Letter to John Brazier” in Thomas Jefferson: Writings (New York: Library of America: 1984), 1425.
[9] Strauss, Leo. The Argument and Action of Plato’s Laws (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1975), 18.
[10] Ibid.; Pangle, Thomas. “Interpretive Essay” in Laws (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980), 400-1. Also refer to Strauss, Leo. The City and the Man (Chicago University of Chicago Press, 1964); Studies in Platonic Political Philosophy (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983); and Persecution and the Art of Writing (Glencoe, IL: Free Press, 1952).
[11] The arguments about the political limitations of speech can be found in Strauss, The Argument and Action of Plato’s Laws and Persecution and the Art of Writing; Pangle, Thomas. “Interpretive Essay” in Laws and “The Political Psychology of Religion in Plato’s Laws” in American Political Science Review. 70/4 (1976): 1059-1077.
[12] Refer to Voegelin, Eric. Anamnesis. Gerhart Niemeyer, trans. (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1978) and New Science of Politics (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1952); also, refer to Plato’s Seventh Letter (341c-d).
This was originally published in VoegelinView on February 2, 2018.