How to Think Like a Roman Emperor: The Stoic Philosophy of Marcus Aurelius

by Donald J. Robertson

Hadrian nicknamed the boy Verissimus, meaning “truest” or “most truthful,” a play on his family name of Verus, which means “true.” It’s as if he found Marcus, a mere child, to be the most plainspoken individual at court. Indeed, Marcus’s family, though wealthy and influential, was notable for cherishing honesty and simplicity. Marcus’s tendency toward plain speaking gave him a natural affinity for Stoic philosophy, which he would discover later. However, it set him at odds with the intellectual culture prevailing at Hadrian’s court during the height of the Second Sophistic, a cultural movement celebrating formal rhetoric and oratory. By Hadrian’s time, Greek art and literature had become highly fashionable. Greek intellectuals, particularly orators, were highly esteemed and became tutors to the Roman elite, allowing Greek culture to flourish in the heart of the Roman Empire. Teachers of rhetoric, the formal study of the language used in giving speeches and part of any young aristocrat’s curriculum in those days, were known as Sophists, reviving a Greek tradition that went back to the time of Socrates. They often included moral lessons, bits of philosophy, and other aspects of intellectual culture in their lessons. Hence our word “sophistication,” which is loosely what they sought to impart.

As Socrates had long ago observed, although Sophists often sounded like they were doing philosophy, their underlying goal was to win praise by displaying verbal eloquence rather than attaining virtue for its own sake. Put simply, while they spoke a lot about wisdom and virtue, they didn’t necessarily live in accord with those values. They were usually more concerned with competing against one another to win public applause for their knowledge and eloquence. The appearance of wisdom therefore became more important to many Romans than wisdom itself.

As the years passed, Marcus would grow increasingly aware of his disillusionment with the values of the Sophists and his natural affinity with those of the Stoics. We can probably thank his mother for this to some extent. Domitia Lucilla was a remarkable woman who, like Marcus’s father, came from a distinguished Roman patrician family. She was also immensely wealthy, having inherited a vast fortune, including an important brick-and-tile factory situated near Rome. However, Marcus would later say that he was particularly influenced by the simplicity and unpretentiousness of her way of life, “far removed from that of the rich.”4 This love of simple living and distaste for the ostentatious impressed her son. Several decades later, Marcus revealed his distaste for the pretense and corruption of court life in The Meditations. He promised himself, though, that he would never again waste his time dwelling negatively on it. He added that it was only through recourse to philosophy that life at court even seemed bearable to him, and he bearable to those at court. He reminded himself that wherever it is possible to live, it is possible to live well, to live wisely, even at Rome, where he clearly felt it was a struggle to stay in tune with Stoic virtue. He found the insincerity of life at court a constant frustration, and he came to rely on Stoicism as a way of coping.5 Marcus also learned generosity from his mother. When his only sister married, Marcus gave her the inheritance his fa...

Marcus began to build on these values by training in philosophy from an exceptionally young age. The Historia Augusta says that he was already wholly dedicated to Stoic philosophy while Hadrian was alive. However, he seems to have learned about philosophy first as a practical way of life when he was still a young boy living in his mother’s house, long before he began studying philosophical theory under several eminent tutors.

He first taught himself to endure physical discomfort and overcome unhealthy habits. He learned to tolerate other people’s criticisms and to avoid being easily swayed by fine words or flattery.

Marcus seems to recall this saying in The Meditations when he tells himself that he must aim to bear with other people’s flaws and forbear from any wrongdoing against them, while calmly accepting things outside of his direct control.7

In book 1 of The Meditations, Marcus, after contemplating the good qualities and lessons learned from his own family, next goes on to praise a mysterious unnamed tutor, probably a slave or freedman in his mother’s household.8 It’s truly remarkable that Marcus seems to credit a humble slave with more influence upon his moral development than either the Emperor Hadrian or any of his rhetoric tutors, who included some of the most highly esteemed intellectuals in the empire.

This unnamed man showed young Marcus how to endure hardship and discomfort with patience. He taught Marcus to be self-reliant and to have few needs in life. Marcus also learned from him how to turn a deaf ear toward slander and...

Cynics were renowned for training themselves to endure voluntary hardship (ponos) through their somewhat austere lifestyle and use of various exercises.

They were also famous for cultivating indifference toward external things and disregarding both praise and condemnation from others. Doing so allowed them to speak the truth very plainly and simply.

Cynic philosophers often ate a very simple diet of cheap black bread and lentils, or lupin seeds, and drank mainly water. According to Musonius Rufus, the teacher of Epictetus, Stoics should likewise eat simple, healthy food that is easy to prepare, and they should do so with mindfulness and in moderation, not greedily. Like the Cynics, the Stoics would sometimes also train themselves to endure heat and cold. According to legend, Diogenes the Cynic did this by stripping naked and embracing frozen statues in winter or rolling in hot sand under the summer sun. Seneca described taking cold baths and swimming in the River Tiber at the beginning of the year—and cold showers are popular with those influenced by Stoicism today.

Hadrian reputedly wanted Marcus, now sixteen, to become his successor, but he felt the boy was still too young. Instead, he chose an older man called Titus Aurelius Antoninus, who was already in his early fifties and had two daughters but no surviving sons. He was married to Marcus’s aunt, Faustina. So, as part of a long-term succession arrangement, Hadrian adopted Antoninus on condition that he would in turn adopt Marcus, placing him in direct line to the throne. Hadrian thereby adopted Marcus as his grandson. In early 138 AD, on the day of his adoption, young Marcus Annius Verus assumed Antoninus’s family name, becoming forever known as Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. However, complicating matters, Lucius Aelius, the man Hadrian originally appointed as his successor and Caesar, had left behind a young son of his own, also called Lucius. Antoninus therefore adopted the child Lucius, who thereby became Marcus Aurelius’s new brother. Later, immediately following his own acclamation, Marcus would appoint his adopted brother co-emperor, at which point he became known as the Emperor Lucius Verus. It was the first time two emperors had ruled jointly in this way. Marcus presumably made the decision to share power with his brother at least in part to avoid the risk of unrest caused by having a rival dynasty with a claim on the throne. (We’ll come back to the relationship between Marcus and his brother Lucius later.) At first, Marcus was deeply dismayed that Hadrian had adopted him int...

Marcus was now second in line to the throne and destined to succeed Antoninus. He was introduced to the circle of intellectuals at court, some of the finest rhetoricians and philosophers in the empire. He must also have observed the way the emperor bullied them. This was completely at odds with Marcus’s values, as were Hadrian’s growing suspicion, intolerance, and persecution of his supposed enemies. Later, during his own reign as emperor, Marcus made a point of allowing his political opponents to go unpunished when they publicly ridiculed or criticized him. The most he ever did in response to outspoken critics was to address their remarks politely in speeches or pamphlets, whereas Hadrian would have had them banished or beheaded. Marcus famously pledged that not a single senator would be executed during his reign, and, as we will see, he maintained this promise even when several of them betrayed him during a civil war in the east. He believed that true strength consisted of one’s ability to show kindness, not violence or aggression.

Roman historians portray Antoninus, in many ways, as the opposite of his predecessor. Indeed, some of the traits Marcus praises in his adoptive father can be read as implicit criticisms of Hadrian. Antoninus was completely unpretentious. We’re told that upon being acclaimed emperor, despite some resistance from the palace staff, he earned great respect from the people by minimizing the pomp of the imperial court. He often dressed as an ordinary citizen, without wearing the robes of state, to receive visitors, and he tried to continue living as he had previously done. Whereas his subjects came to humor Hadrian, wary of his changeable moods and quick temper, Antoninus was famous for his calm demeanor and for welcoming plain speaking at court and elsewhere. Unlike Hadrian, Antoninus would simply ignore any barbed remarks made at his expense.

The Stoics were happy to admit that some individuals naturally embodied virtues they sought to acquire through years of effort, by means of study and training in philosophy.

Antoninus was such a man, according to Marcus. The traits he’s described as possessing paint a vivid picture of the sort of character that Marcus wanted to develop through his training in Stoic philosophy. Once Antoninus had considered something and arrived at a decision, for example, he implemented it with unwavering determination.11 In The Meditations Marcus contemplates how his predecessor never sought out empty praise or approval from others; instead, he was always willing to listen to other people’s views and consider them carefully. He was meticulous in examining matters that required careful deliberation. He never rushed making a decision and was always willing to question his first impressions. He would patiently think over the issue until he was completely satisfied with his reasoning. He honored genuine philosophers, though he didn’t necessarily agree with all of their doctrines. He didn’t attack charlatans, but he wa...

Despite the importance of their relationship, therefore, Fronto didn’t much inspire Marcus as a role model. He also tried to actively discourage his young student from becoming a Stoic. We know Fronto worried that philosophers sometimes lacked the eloquence required by statesmen and emperors and risked making bad decisions under the influence of their peculiar doctrines. He wrote to Marcus saying that even if he achieved the wisdom of Zeno and Cleanthes, the founders of Stoicism, he would still be obliged, whether he liked it or not, to wear the purple imperial cloak “and not that of the philosophers, made of coarse wool.”13 Fronto meant that Marcus was required not only to dress like an emperor but also to speak like one, draping himself in purple and winning praise for his formal eloquence. In reality, though, Marcus preferred to dress down and talk plainly like a philosopher or, failing that, an ordinary citizen. Fronto’s job was to imbue the boy with the cultural sophistication befitting his station in life and train him to become an effective political speechwriter and orator. This was a very difficult time for the young Caesar, as he felt torn between rhetoric and philosophy. Yet Fronto’s influence gradually waned. Eloquence is one thing, wisdom another.

We’re told that Plato’s saying was always on Marcus’s lips: those states prospered where the philosophers were kings or the kings philosophers.

Epictetus reputedly told his students that the founders of Stoicism distinguished between two stages of our response to any event, including threatening situations. First come the initial impressions (phantasiai) that are imposed involuntarily on our minds from outside, when we’re initially exposed to an event such as the storm at sea. These impressions can be triggered, says Epictetus, by a terrifying sound such as a peal of thunder, a building collapsing, or a sudden cry of danger. Even the mind of a perfect Stoic Sage will initially be shaken by abrupt shocks of this kind, and he will shrink back from them instinctively in alarm. This reaction doesn’t come from faulty value judgments about the dangers faced but from an emotional reflex arising in his body, which temporarily bypasses reason. Epictetus might have added that these emotional reactions are comparable to those experienced by non-human animals. Seneca, for instance, notes that when animals are alarmed by the appearance of danger, they take flight, but after they have escaped, their anxiety soon abates and they return to grazing in peace once again.16 By contrast, the human capacity for thought allows us to perpetuate our worries beyond these natural bounds. Reason, our greatest blessing, is also our greatest curse. In the second stage of our response, the Stoics say, we typically add voluntary judgments of “assent” (sunkatatheseis) to these automatic impressions. Here the Stoic wise man’s response differs from...

Seneca gives a more detailed account of the Stoic model of emotion in On Anger,17 which divides the process of experiencing a passion into three “movements,” or stages: FIRST STAGE: Initial impressions automatically impose themselves on your mind, including thoughts and emerging feelings called propatheiai, or “proto-passions,” by the Stoics. For example, the impression “The boat is sinking” would quite naturally evoke some initial anxiety. SECOND STAGE: The majority of people, like those on the boat, would agree with the original impression, go along with it, and add more value judgments, indulging in catastrophic thinking: “I might die a terrible death!” They would worry about it and continue to dwell on it long afterward. By contrast, Stoics, like the unnamed philosopher in the story, have learned to take a step back from their initial thoughts and feelings and withhold their assent from them.

They might do this by saying to themselves, “You are just an impression and not at all the things you claim to represent,” or “It is not things tha...

The boat is sinking, but you might make it ashore; even if you don’t, panicking won’t help. Responding calmly and with courage is more important. That’s what you’d praise other p...

THIRD STAGE: On the other hand, if you have assented to the impression that something is intrinsically bad or catastrophic, then a full-blown “passion” develops, which can quickly spiral out of control. This actually happened to Seneca during a storm when he grew seasick and panicked so much that he foolishly clambered overboard and tried to wade as...

In other words, a certain amount of anxiety is natural. Indeed, the hearts of even the most experienced sailors might leap into their mouths when their ship looks like it’s about to be overturned. Bravery would consist in carr...

The Stoic likewise tells himself that although the situation may appear frightening, the truly important thing in life is how he chooses to respond. So he reminds himself to view the storm with Stoic indifference and to respond with wisdom and courage while accepting his initial nervous reaction as harmless and inevitable. What he does not do, though, is make things worse for himself by continuing to worry. For this reason, once the pallor and anxious ex...

He reevaluates his initial anxious impressions, confidently asserting that they are ...

So how did the Stoics recommend we use language? Zeno, who wrote a Handbook of Rhetoric, didn’t consider verbal eloquence an end in itself but rather a means for sharing wisdom by articulating the truth clearly and concisely in a manner adapted to the needs of the hearer. According to Diogenes Laertius, Stoic rhetoric identified five “virtues” of speech: 1. Correct grammar and good vocabulary 2. Clarity of expression, making the ideas easily understood 3. Conciseness, employing no more words than necessary 4. Appropriateness of style, suited to the subject matter and apparently also to the audience 5. Distinction, or artistic excellence, and the avoidance of vulgarity

The Sophists, as we’ve seen, sought to persuade others by appealing to their emotions, typically in order to win praise. The Stoics, by contrast, placed supreme value on grasping and communicating the truth by appealing to reason.

This meant avoiding the use of emotive rhetoric or strong value judgments. We usually think of rhetoric as something used to manipulate other people. We tend to forget we’re doing it to ourselves as well, not only when we speak but also when we use language to think.

The Stoics were certainly interested in how our words affect others. However, their priority was to change the way we affect ourselves, our own thoughts and feelings, through our choice of language. We exaggerate, overgeneralize, omi...

“She’s always being a bitch!” “That bastard shot me down in flames!” “This job is complete bullshit!” People tend to think that exclamations like these are a natural consequence of strong emotions like anger. But ...

If you think about it, rhetoric like this is designed to evoke strong feelings. By contrast, undoing the effects of emotional rhetoric by describing the same events more objectively forms the basis of the ancient Stoic therapy of the passions. Indeed, one way of understanding the contrast between Stoic philosophy and Sophistic rhe...

Whereas orators traditionally sought to exploit the emotions of their audience, the Stoics made a point of consciously describi...

Marcus likewise told himself to speak plainly rather than dressing up his thoughts in fancy language. Indeed, nothing is so conducive to greatness of mind, he said, as the ability to examine events rationally and view them realistically by stripping them down to their essential characteristics in this way.24

In the Discourses we’re told that a philosopher, presumably not a Stoic, once grew so frustrated with his friends questioning his character that he screamed, “I can’t bear it, you’re killing me—you’ll turn me into him!,”25 pointing at Epictetus. That was a sudden display of histrionics: a blast of emotional rhetoric. Ironically, though, if he’d been more like Epictetus, he would have just stuck to the facts without getting worked up and said something like, “You criticized me; so be it.” In truth, nobody was killing this man and he could bear it.

The way we talk and think about events involves making value judgments, which shape our feelings. Shakespeare’s Hamlet exclaims, “There is nothing eit...

Wisdom therefore consists in grasping external things objectively, as indifferent in this regard. Sometimes the Stoics describe this as staying with our initial impression of things before we impose value judgments. Epictetus gives many examples, such as when someone’s ship is lost at sea, we should say only “the ship is lost” and not add value judgments or complaints like “Why me? This is awful!”26 When someone bathes rather hastily, we should not react with disgust or even imply that he washed himself badly, but say only that he bathed quickly. When someone drinks a lot of wine, we should not say that he has done something terrible, only that he drank a lot of wine.27

Epictetus explained that a Stoic might say someone “has been sent to prison,” but they should not allow themselves to go on about how awful it is and complain that Zeus has punished that person unjustly.30 As an aspiring Stoic, you should begin by practicing deliberately describing events more objectively and in less emotional terms. Epictetus tells his students that if they can avoid being swept along with false and upsetting impressions, they will remain grounded in the objective representations they initially perceived.31

Sticking to the facts can, by itself, often reduce your anxiety.

An event like losing your job is not inherently catastrophic; we don’t just passively perceive how bad it is. Rather, we actively catastrophize it, turning it into a catastrophe by imposing a value judgment upon it that blows things out of proportion.

Modern cognitive therapists advise their clients to describe events in more down-to-earth language, like the Stoics before them. They call it “decatastrophizing” when they help clients downgrade their perception of a situation from provoking anxiety to something more mundane and less frightening.

For instance, Aaron T. Beck, the founder of cognitive therapy, advised that clients suffering from anxiety should write “decatastrophizing scripts” in which they describe distressing events factually, without strong value judgments or emotive language:

“I lost my job and now I’m looking for a new one” rather than “I lost my job and there’s nothing I can do about...

Think about it: when you’re distressed, don’t you tend to exaggerate and use vivid, emotional language to describe things,...

Catastrophizing often seems to involve thinking, “What if?” What if the worst-case scenario happens? That would be unbearable. Decatastrophizing, on the other hand, has been described as going from “What if?” to “So what?”: So what if such-and-such happens? It’s not the end of the world; I can deal with it. Another common method of decatastrophizing is for cognitive therapists to ask clients repeatedly, “What next?”

Reminding himself of the transience of events is one of Marcus’s favorite strategies, as we’ll see in later chapters. One way of doing that is to ask yourself, “What, realistically, will most likely happen next? And then what? And then what?” And so on.

Normally, therefore, once you’ve arrived at a more realistic description of a feared situation, you will consider ways that you could potentially cope and get through it. Sometimes this involves creative problem-solving—brainstorming alternative solutions and weighing the consequences. The Stoics liked to ask themselves, “What virtues has Nature given me that might help me deal with the situation better?”

You might also consider how other people cope so that you can try to model their attitudes and behavior. What would a role model like Socrates, Diogenes, or Zeno do? We can also ask “What would Marcus do?” if faced with the same situation.

The more clearly formulated your coping plan is and the more confident you are about putting it into practice, the less anxious you will tend to feel.

When their friends were struggling emotionally, Stoics sometimes wrote them letters of consolation, helping them to view events in a less catastrophic, more constructive way.