Aristotle/Alexander: Philosophy and the Fragility of Democracy

Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen

Publication (Outlet/Website): The Good Men Project

Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2025/06/16

 Award-winning playwright and performer Alex Lyras brings ancient philosophy to the modern stage in Aristotle/Alexander, a compelling production presented by the Center for Inquiry in Los Angeles. The play dramatizes the formative relationship between Aristotle and a young Alexander the Great, exploring mentorship, ethics, and political ambition themes. Through deep philosophical lineage—from Socrates to Plato to Aristotle—Lyras contrasts ideals with pragmatism and reason with conquest. Rooted in historical depth yet charged with modern relevance, Aristotle/Alexander invites audiences to reflect on the fragility of democracy, the pursuit of legacy, and the moral challenges of leadership, both then and now.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: Today, we are discussing the work of Alex Lyras—an award-winning playwright, director, and performer known for creating intellectually rich, emotionally resonant solo performances that explore themes of identity, philosophy, and sociopolitical complexity.

His most recent production, Aristotle/Alexander, presented in collaboration with the Center for Inquiry in Los Angeles, dramatizes a speculative and historically inspired encounter between the philosopher Aristotle and his young pupil, Alexander the Great. The play examines enduring political and ethical dilemmas framed through the lens of mentorship and the shaping of a future world conqueror.

Lyras’s work is acclaimed for its combination of depth, humour, and sharp commentary on the fragility of democracy and the abuse of power. A longtime presence in the Los Angeles and New York theatre scenes, Lyras brings a unique voice to contemporary playwriting, skillfully blending classical ideas with urgent modern questions.

There are many stories about Aristotle, Plato, Socrates, and the lineage of philosophical teaching that come down to us from antiquity. What inspired you to dramatize the relationship between Aristotle and Alexander the Great?

Alex Lyras: I was surprised this story hadn’t been dramatized in greater depth. We’ve all heard about how Aristotle tutored Alexander, but it’s rarely explored dramatically or philosophically sustainably. Historical fiction often mentions it in passing, but writers may avoid digging into the philosophy because it’s dense and complex.

I studied philosophy at Bucknell University and read it throughout my life. I found myself returning to this unique setup again and again: the world’s most brilliant philosopher paired with the world’s most ambitious military mind. It’s a remarkable relationship—one rooted in education and power—and yet no one seemed to be exploring it deeply on stage.

I’ve always been interested in developmental narratives, especially early formation stories. When I started researching, I didn’t find much dramatizing their relationship with nuance or complexity. I realized this was not only philosophically fertile ground but also a compelling theatrical concept. I imagined Aristotle/Alexander as a playbill title, something you might see at Lincoln Center or a major repertory theatre. It felt like the kind of title that would grab people: two names, one relationship, and centuries of tension.

So, it was a quick sell. What happens when the greatest mind in philosophy is charged with educating the most significant figure in military history? That tension—between intellect and ambition, reason and conquest—was irresistible.

Jacobsen: What stood out to you in the narratives about Aristotle? What about Alexander the Great? Did you compare their ideas or trajectories with those of Plato or Socrates to understand how those philosophical lineages evolved into the narrative you’ve created?

Lyras: The play tackles these questions gradually. How Plato created the character of Socrates in his dialogues. How Aristotle broke from Platonic Idealism and leaned more into empirical science, and how it all culminated, for better or worse, in Alexander’s development during his all too brief reign. The philosophical throughline contrasts ideals and pragmatism, ethics and empire, reason and domination. All of that informs the dramatic tension in the play.

Jacobsen: What stood out to you about Aristotle?

Lyras: Aristotle was originally from the north of Greece. Ancient Stagiera is not far from ancient Macedonia, which is basically where Thessaloniki is today. So, he was a northerner who moved to Athens, and was a bit of an outsider. But he was formidable. They called him “the brain” when he was studying at Plato’s Academy— everyone recognized his brilliance. He quickly rose to prominence and became Plato’s star student.

But after Plato died, politics took over, and Aristotle was passed over to lead the Academy. Instead, the Academy was handed to Plato’s nephew, Speusippus. Nepotism is also an ancient tradition. After Aristotle was snubbed, he left Athens and began doing independent research on the island of Lesbos, which he likely wanted to do anyway. What struck me is that someone so universally recognized as a genius did not receive what many would consider his just reward. That moment in itself is so dramatically compelling. You’re not meeting him at his height—you’re meeting him in a moment of rejection and transition.

He returns to Macedonia, which is… nothing like Athens—let’s just put it that way. While Athens was in decline politically, it remained Greece’s cultural and intellectual heart. “The school of Greece.” Even during the Roman period, people still went to Athens to study philosophy, sculpture, and architecture.But Aristotle chose to leave. 

And then there’s Alexander—just 13 years old when they crossed paths. Their mentorship lasted until Alexander was about 16. You’re not going to get a juicier moment for a character study: a teenager who is, in some ways, significantly entitled but also intelligent and cultured, growing up as a prince in a court that received scholars, emissaries, and artists. That dynamic—the philosopher in exile and the royal prodigy—creates a powerful dramatic conflict.

Jacobsen: How did you think about Socrates and Plato in the context of this? Did you find meaningful philosophical contrasts?

Lyras: Definitely. You have to contextualize it and recognize that Aristotle is a very different kind of thinker. Plato is theoretical—he’s concerned with ideal forms and metaphysical structures. He’s talking about “the Good,” the cave metaphor, and “Divided Line” and other abstract ideals. These concepts are foundational for ethics.

But when you get to Aristotle, suddenly, we’re in the realm of practical ethics. He’s empirical as opposed to conceptual. He collects fifty constitutions from various city-states and begins comparing them to understand how laws are written and how societies function. He starts categorizing, organizing, and trying to make sense of the world through observation. He invents taxonomy to keep his extensive biological research organized. Then, he develops logic—the foundations of reasoning, in order to explain it all rationally to others. He didn’t want to speculate about ideas in general; he aspired to analyze them systematically. Analysis means “unravelling” in ancient greek. I love that…. 

Jacobsen: Was that the origin of science as we think of it today?

Lyras: In many ways, yes. Aristotle laid the groundwork for empirical reasoning. People were still steeped in mythology at that time—offering sacrifices and libations to the gods. Plato was engaged in esoteric theory. Aristotle, by contrast, grounded philosophy in causality. He introduced a method of questioning a vast number of subjects which becomes the foundation for scientific enquiry for the next thousand years.

Jacobsen: Aristotle wanted evidence and proof for what constitutes good ethical behaviour, correct?

Lyras: In a way, yes. You’re dealing with someone who’s no longer just standing on the Pnyx—the hill in Athens where citizens gave public speeches—and trying to persuade people rhetorically. That wasn’t his game. He wasn’t interested in persuasion for its own sake. He aimed to gather evidence, establish causal relationships, and leave behind a systematic body of work for others to study—especially those who hadn’t studied directly at his school.

He was also a prolific writer. Most of what we have today from Aristotle are compiled lecture notes or student transcriptions, but they’ve endured because he took the time to be methodical in his thinking. That’s a legacy of structure.

Jacobsen: Teacher-student dynamics can vary widely. How do you think Aristotle saw Alexander? How did Alexander see Aristotle? And what does that tell us about their leadership styles and eventual legacies?

Lyras: That’s a loaded question because we don’t know for sure. But there’s plenty of material out there to speculate with some confidence.

Right before Aristotle received the invitation from King Philip II to tutor his son, Alexander, he was living on the island of Lesbos, doing detailed marine biological research. Athens had become so factionalized and critical of competing schools of philosophy that he essentially retreated from it. On Lesbos, he created a kind of proto-laboratory where he could work in peace. He was in a stage of inductive reasoning—collecting data and making observations to draw hypotheses.

That contrast is essential. In logic, we often talk about deductive reasoning, where we move from a general premise to a conclusion. But Aristotle, particularly in his biological work, practiced inductive reasoning, moving from observation to hypothesis. In the play, I describe this period as one of youthful optimism. He was probably about 40—middle-aged by ancient standards—but he was entering a fertile phase of intellectual maturity.

He was also left alone long enough to do the work without constant criticism, which must have been life-affirming. Then he goes to Macedonia, which, intellectually, was years behind Athens in terms of intellectual sophistication.

Jacobsen: So, how does this relate to leadership?

Lyras: It’s central. Aristotle was stepping into a new phase of leadership himself—becoming not just a transmitter of inherited philosophy but an originator of his own system. What he was doing was totally foreign to most people. They didn’t understand it. Many thought his thinking was scattered—jumping from astronomy to marine biology to ethics and politics. They wrongly believed that you had to be an expert in one thing. But one of my favorite quotes from Aristotle, to paraphrase, is “Do we call the bee scattered, for landing on all flowers and sipping the best from each?”

Aristotle’s polymathic nature was a strength, not a weakness. His leadership, pedagogically speaking, was about breadth and synthesis. On the other hand, Alexander was raised in a world of hierarchy, military discipline, and rather brutal conquest. So what happens when a synthetic, reflective thinker teaches a brilliant, ambitious prince? That tension is core to the drama.

Jacobsen: So this is the beginning of Aristotle’s creation of what could be considered the first university—an institution where one could study a wide range of subjects.

Lyras: Yes, exactly. It’s the early model for comprehensive education—what we’d now call a university. Aristotle began building this foundation of interdisciplinary study. The Greek word for university is “πανεπιστήμιο” or pan-episteme, which literally translates to “across knowledge.”

As for Alexander, I push the envelope a bit in the play, portraying him as highly entitled and wildly arrogant. But in all likelihood, he was more sophisticated than that. Clearly he was exposed to far more than the average adolescent up north. His father, King Philip II, had already begun consolidating and expanding Macedon into an empire, and he was deeply invested in endowing Alexander with the intellectual patina he never had.

Philip invited leading thinkers and artists to the Macedonian court. Euripides had been brought north to write for the court under earlier kings. Herodotus had also travelled there. Other prominent Athenians were welcomed and treated like royalty. So Alexander grew up surrounded by culture and intellectual energy from Athens and beyond.

Militarily, he also witnessed Philip’s flexible strategies—sometimes diplomatic, sometimes forceful. So, Alexander came of age with various influences that shaped him as a thinker and a leader. He had a vision, as we say. 

Jacobsen: That reminds me of exercises we did in drama class—like taking a traditional Shakespearean play and setting it in the 1950s or another specific decade. The context would change, but the core dynamics remained powerful. You’re doing something similar: starting with an ancient historical premise and bringing out its modern relevance. How do you ensure—although it almost seems guaranteed—that narratives like this remain relevant today, especially the lesser-known ones?

Lyras: That’s a great question. All I can say is that the more I study the Classics—especially this period around the rise of Hellenism—the more I see how timeless it is. Even earlier, we find incredibly resonant ideas during the Golden Age of Greece.

I think about the Mark Twain quote: “History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes.” And that’s how this feels. What are the political questions we’re grappling with today? They were wrestling with those same ones 2,500 years ago.

How do you govern a polis—a city-state? Or today, a nation? Are there different rules for people in power? Do those working for the powerful receive special advantages? Is it better for the “average” citizen to be disengaged from democracy simply because they’re overworked or underinformed? Someone juggling two or three jobs doesn’t have the time or energy to dive into a candidate’s platform or philosophy. They are too easily manipulated. This is why Socrates hated democracy. He did not have much faith in the average person to be discerning enough to make long term decisions. 

These questions haven’t gone away. They’re cyclical. Plato talks about this in The Republic— around Book VIII. He outlines how democracies begin: pure, idealistic, and focused on the collective good. But over generations, the people who inherit power do not earn it through struggle or civic commitment. They begin to see the personal benefits of leadership, and bureaucracy grows.

Then, the next generation, in turn, becomes even more disconnected from civic responsibility—and power becomes the end goal. That pattern is not limited to ancient Greece. It’s everywhere, and it keeps repeating in new forms.

We want power. We want favours. And eventually, that devolves into tyranny—one person saying, “I’m getting rid of everyone else, and I’ll do it myself.” This pattern repeats. It’s not unique to Greece.

You can trace it through various ancient tyrannies—some benevolent, some brutal—from Egyptian and Mesopotamian rulers onward. The cycle is always the same: it hinges on the political philosophy of the person in power. We’ve seen it recur in modern history as well—in our own country, during the French Revolution and the Russian Revolution. These are cycles of rise, decay, collapse, and reinvention.

The more committed I was to being historically accurate—doing justice to the specifics of antiquity—the more the work began to resonate with today’s political climate. The more precise I was about the issues back then, the more people responded, “You must be talking about today.”

You can read letters from individuals who lived then and be shocked at how contemporary they sound. That’s the power of historical drama—it rhymes with the present.

Jacobsen: Let’s add one or two more questions here. Why do you personally think democracies are fragile? And what did some of the ancients, like Aristotle, say about this? Is their view different from modern thinkers?

Lyras: Sure—great question. Democracies are fragile because they are, at heart, social contracts. Thinkers like Hobbes, Hume, and John Stuart Mill wrote about this centuries later, but they were building on foundations laid by Plato and Aristotle.

A democracy only works when there is a mutual agreement to act in good faith. It requires cooperation and shared values. If someone enters a democracy to gain power for personal benefit, they can start to erode the system from within. That self-serving motive becomes contagious. Soon, everyone in power is focused on personal gain, which becomes the new social value.

That is when democracy starts to break down. Post–World War II, and even through the 1950s and 60s in the U.S., there was a greater collective awareness—a sense that we were trying to do what was best for the nation as a whole, whatever that meant in practice. But greed has always been with us. It seems to be a persistent element of human nature that resists elimination.

When enough people in power begin taking advantage of the system, others follow suit. The public begins to lose faith. That’s terrifying because democracy is not a given—it’s an idea, and we have to believe in that idea for it to function. Without that shared belief and a willingness to cooperate, the whole thing becomes shaky.

Jacobsen: What are some of your favourite quotes from Aristotle or Alexander the Great?

Lyras: Aristotle collected many insights, but one that resonates is: “At his best, man is the noblest of all animals; separated from law and justice, he is the worst.” That encapsulates Aristotle’s view of honour and nobility and the dangers of unrestrained power. His point was that we must live in a polis, a civic community governed by laws and justice. And those laws apply to everyone.

He also famously said, “Man is a political animal.” Of course, today, we would say humankind—people are political beings. We are meant to live together in communities. Human beings are not meant to be isolated in the mountains. We thrive in collectives because rationality and logic allow us to do far more together than we could alone.

Here’s another: “Educating the mind without educating the heart is no education at all.” This is particularly important in the political context. Aristotle believed that it’s not enough to know how to win wars or manipulate your enemies—you need to know how to govern and how to build a city after the conflict ends.

This was a central message he tried to impart to Alexander. War is not the end goal; ruling justly and building a functioning society are. That quote is essential to the themes of the play. Another one I love is, “Excellence is never an accident.” He emphasized that virtue must be trained—just like the sword. In the play, I draw this parallel directly: You train with your sword, but you must also train ethically. Making the right choices and acting with the right intentions is a habit, not a given. That’s profound.

And then there’s one more that feels incredibly relevant today: “It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.” We’ve lost that ability in modern discourse. If someone disagrees with you today, they’re immediately your enemy. However, Aristotle encouraged people to think critically and openly—without fear of ideas.

Jacobsen: Any favourite Alexander the Great quotes?

Lyras: Absolutely. One of my favourite quotes from Alexander the Great comes from his sense of legacy. He spent a long time in the shadow of his father, King Philip, who had already conquered much of the region surrounding Macedonia. Alexander was deeply self-conscious about what he would leave behind.

He once said: “In the end, when it’s all over, all that matters is what you’ve done. All that matters is what you leave behind.” That was a driving force for him. He wanted a legacy, and he certainly achieved one—but it came from a deep-rooted need to surpass his father.

Jacobsen: Alex, thank you so much for your time today. I appreciate it. 

Lyras: It was great to get into it with you. Looking forward to the next one.  

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The show played March 22nd to May 18, 2025 @ Company of Angels in Los Angeles. It is preparing for an Off Broadway run in the near future. More information and a mailing list sign up are available at http://www.aristotlealexander.com/

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