Aristotle/Alexander: Philosophy and the Fragility of Democracy

How does Aristotle/Alexander, by Alex Lyras, explore ancient mentorship and modern political ethics?

June 16, 2025 by Scott Douglas Jacobsen

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 themes of mentorship, ethics, and political ambition. Through a 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, humor, 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 in a sustainable way. 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 have read it throughout my life. I kept returning to this unique setup: the world’s most brilliant philosopher paired with the world’s most ambitious military mind. It’s a remarkable relationship—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 that dramatized 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 Stagira is not far from ancient Macedonia—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, it was handed to Plato’s nephew, Speusippus. Nepotism is also an ancient tradition. After being snubbed, Aristotle 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 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 political decline, 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 was 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, the “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 became the foundation for scientific inquiry for the next thousand years.

Jacobsen: Aristotle wanted evidence and proof for what constitutes good ethical behavior, 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—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 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.

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 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 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 what we now call a university—comprehensive, interdisciplinary education. Aristotle began laying the foundation for this kind of broad intellectual inquiry. The Greek word for university is πανεπιστήμιο (pan-episteme), which literally means “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 complex than that—certainly more sophisticated than the average adolescent. His father, King Philip II, had already begun expanding Macedon into an empire and was deeply invested in giving Alexander the intellectual polish he himself never had.

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

Militarily, he witnessed Philip’s adaptive strategies—sometimes diplomatic, sometimes forceful. So Alexander came of age shaped by a variety of influences, which helped form both his vision and his leadership style.

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

Lyras: That’s a great question. Honestly, the more I study the Classics—especially around the rise of Hellenism—the more I see how timeless they are. Even earlier, during Greece’s Golden Age, you find ideas that still resonate today.

I think of that Mark Twain quote: “History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes.” That’s exactly what this feels like. The political questions we’re wrestling with now? They were asking them 2,500 years ago.

How do you govern a polis—a city-state? Or today, a nation? Are there different rules for those in power? Do people working for the powerful get special advantages? Is it better for the average citizen to stay disengaged from democracy because they’re overworked or underinformed? Someone juggling three jobs doesn’t have time to study a candidate’s platform. They’re easily manipulated.

This is why Socrates hated democracy. He didn’t trust the average person to make discerning, 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: idealistic and committed to the common good. But over generations, those who inherit power haven’t earned it through struggle or civic effort. They begin to enjoy the perks of leadership, bureaucracy expands, and power becomes the goal.

Eventually, the next generation becomes even more detached from civic responsibility. The system breaks down, and someone steps in and says, “I’ll take it from here.” That’s when democracy turns into tyranny. It’s a pattern—not limited to ancient Greece, and not exclusive to brutal tyrannies. It’s everywhere. You see it throughout history: in Egypt, Mesopotamia, the French and Russian Revolutions.

What matters is the political philosophy of the person in power. That’s the fulcrum.

And the more accurate I tried to be with the ancient details, the more modern the story felt. The more I focused on what was happening then, the more people said, “You’re talking about today.”

You can read letters from that time and be shocked by how modern 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’re essentially social contracts. Hobbes, Hume, and John Stuart Mill wrote about this much later, but they were building on ideas already explored by Plato and Aristotle.

A democracy only works when there’s a shared agreement to act in good faith. It depends on cooperation and shared values. When someone enters the system just to gain power, they can begin to hollow it out from the inside. That motive spreads. Soon, everyone in power is focused on personal gain, and that becomes the new social value.

That’s when democracy starts to unravel.

After World War II, and even into the 1950s and ’60s in the U.S., there was a greater sense of collective responsibility—an idea that we were all trying to serve the nation in some way. But greed has always been with us. It’s a persistent part of human nature.

When enough people in power exploit the system, others follow. The public loses faith. And that’s terrifying because democracy is not a guarantee—it’s an idea. It only works if people believe in it. Without that shared belief and commitment to cooperation, it starts to collapse.

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

Lyras: Aristotle collected a lot of wisdom, but one that stands out is: “At his best, man is the noblest of all animals; separated from law and justice, he is the worst.” That captures Aristotle’s belief in civic life. Without law, we descend into chaos. With law and justice, we can rise to something noble.

He also said, “Man is a political animal.” Today we’d say humankind. But the meaning holds—humans are meant to live in community. We’re built for collective life. Our rationality allows us to achieve far more together than alone.

Another one I love: “Educating the mind without educating the heart is no education at all.” That’s especially relevant in politics. It’s not enough to learn how to win wars or defeat enemies—you have to learn how to govern, how to rebuild, how to unify. That’s a major theme in the play. War is not the end goal. Ruling justly and building a civil society—that’s the legacy.

And of course: “Excellence is never an accident.” Virtue must be trained—just like the sword. In the play, I draw that parallel: You train with a sword, but you must also train your ethics. Acting with integrity is a habit, not an instinct.

One more that feels timely: “It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.” That’s missing from today’s discourse. If someone disagrees with you, they’re instantly the enemy. But Aristotle encouraged open, critical thinking—without fear.

Jacobsen: Any favorite Alexander quotes?

Lyras: Definitely. One of my favorites comes from his obsession with legacy. He lived in the shadow of his father, who had already conquered much of the region. Alexander was driven to outdo him.

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 captures the core of his ambition. He wanted to be remembered—and he certainly succeeded.

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 www.aristotlealexander.com/