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Elevating yourself for 25 years, Antoninus fought his way to the top of Roman politics. And now, finally, the Emperor Hadrian, in the throes of a protracted mortal illness, was ready to give him what he had earned the crown. I have found you an emperor noble, mild, obedient, sensible, neither headstrong and nurse through youth nor careless through old age, Antoninus Aurelius, Hadrian had said of this universally beloved leader. Except it was a cruel trick, though. Antoninus. Faultless service, his flawless character and impeccable record had prepared him for power in a way that few have ever been. Hadrian and fate had other plans. Despite his kind words about Antoninus, Hadrian believed that the true future of Rome lay in someone else. Specifically, a boy named Marcus. Antoninus would be his placeholder, a preposterously overqualified throne warmer. The true history of sovereigns is nothing like the symbolic and grandmotherly reign of the modern Queen Elizabeth. The ancient world was a brutal, violent place. Surely, once at the top, Antoninus would consolidate power, protect himself, ensure a legacy that would stand for all time. He would prove that he had been underestimated. He would take what his ambition craved. Except, again, no. Despite it all, over a reign of some 23 years and the impossible unenviable job of preparing a boy to replace him. Antoninus managed a masterclass in temperance. He was not just a balanced and decent human being, but was balanced and decent as the head of an enormous empire whose millions of subjects literally worshiped him as an all powerful God king. Never once did he put himself first. Never once did he prefer his own family's interests. Instead of complaining or scheming, he got quietly to work on what must have seemed, at least at first, to be a completely unfair and thankless job. Not once in his reign, the ancient historians would remark, was Antoninus responsible for the shedding of a single drop of blood, foreign or domestic. This gentleness and devotion to his country, to their cause, to those he loved, would earn him the name that, while not as glorious as Alexander the Great or as awesome as William the Conqueror, it is all the more significant. Antoninus Pius. Temperance, when pursued at this level of dedication, done amid the kind of temptation and stress that Antoninus Pius faced as the head of an empire comprised of some 70 or 80 million people and some 3.5 million square miles, was a holy thing. Everything that Queen Elizabeth is in ceremony. The Roman Emperor was in fact the Emperor had the power to pass laws and enforce them, sitting in review of legal cases. He had the power to wage war and sat at the head of the world's most ruthless war machine. He had the power to add or remove days from the week. Having complete control of the Roman calendar, he had the power to write and, being the chief of the country's religious affairs, rewrite the dogma of Roman religion. We know what most emperors did with this power. Pages, volumes, libraries have been filled with their misdeeds and excesses. So why then, as the exception to the Roman rule, is Antoninus not so well known? Such is the irony of temperance. It makes us greater and much less likely to crave recognition for that greatness. Not only was Antoninus notoriously indifferent to superficial honors, he actively avoided them in a gesture of love. Towards the end of his life, the Senate offered to rename the months of September and October after Antoninus and his wife, which he promptly declined. July and August remain named after Julius Caesar and Augustus Caesar. Some 2,000 years later, Antoninus, for his humility, received no such eternal fame. If anything, Antoninus became a victim of his success. According to the 19th century historian Ernest Renan, Antoninus would have had the reputation of being the best of sovereigns if he had not designated for his successor a man equal to him in goodness and in modesty. One who joined to these Shining qualities, talent and a charm which make an image to live in the recollection of mankind by not assassinating his rival, by instead fully committing to shaping his replacement, Marcus Aurelius, into a great man, a man whose fame eventually outshone the adopted father who had cultivated it. Antoninus condemned himself to the footnotes of history. At the root of the word discipline is the Latin disupulus, or pupil. It implies the existence of a student, but also a teacher. And this is the beauty of the relationship between Antoninus and Marcus Aurelius. One man who, despite his self interest, had the self control and the kindness to be a tutor and a mentor. The other who was willing to learn, humble enough to be the disciple of a teacher of such self discipline and goodness that after his death he would have him deified. Each of them responded to the unusual circumstances that brought them together, which neither of them chose and nearly all of history would have predicted would end in disaster. And together they reached a kind of greatness that stretches beyond the imagination. The kind that belongs in the storybooks and parables, not that decorates the cruel halls of power. What exactly did Antoninus teach Marcus? Well, let's start with the body. There was a real toughness to Antoninus. He would impress the young man in the way that he could have one of his migraines and then go right back to what he was doing, fresh and at the top of his game. Antoninus took good care of himself, not just because health is important, but because in health he could better conduct the business of empire, not a hypochondriac or obsessed with his appearance. Marcus wrote of his father's health consciousness, but not ignoring these things either, with the result that he hardly ever needed medical attention or drugs or any kind of salve or ointment. Antoninus showed Marcus that it was perfectly possible for a man of great power and wealth to live without a troop of bodyguards or the charades and pretensions of his position. Marcus observed his adopted father as he behaved in almost every way as an ordinary person, yet never appearing slovenly or careless as a ruler or when carrying out official obligations. If the task needed to be done, Antoninus did it with energy straight through from dawn to dusk most days. It was a minor thing, but Marcus even noted the way that Antoninus kept a simple diet, kept hydrated, but still scheduled his bathroom breaks so that he might not be called away from state business at inopportune moments. To Antoninus, these were not minor things, but symbolic, important things. We're told that as he got older and his back began to stoop, he took to putting thin pieces of linden wood in his clothes to keep his posture straight. He was already ramrod straight. Figuratively. He made sure this stayed literally true as well. But we should not mistake this strictness for an unpleasant life. On the contrary, he had the ability to both refrain from and enjoy the things that most people are too weak to refrain from and too inclined to enjoy. Marcus said of Antoninus, likening his capacity for maintaining this difficult balance to Socrates, who was notably frugal but notoriously fun. He had the strength of will, Marcus wrote in Meditations, the ability to persevere in one situation and remain sober in the other. Life handed Antoninus material comforts in abundance, which he accepted and utilized without arrogance or dependence. If they were there, Marcus noted, he took advantage of them. If they were not, he didn't miss them. As for temperament, once again Antoninus was the model. He would teach Marcus unwavering adherence to decisions once he'd reached them, which meant never letting go of things before he was sure he had examined them thoroughly and understood them perfectly. What was most striking about Antoninus was his searching questions at meetings, a kind of single mindedness, Marcus wrote, almost never content with first impressions or breaking off the discussion prematurely. He knew when to push and when to back off, how to walk that most precarious, delicate line. No matter what he was dealing with, an issue was to be approached logically and with due consideration, in a calm and orderly fashion, but decisively, with no loose ends. He stayed on topic and was not easily distracted, though he would have been indulged in them. He didn't go on tangents or bore people with long stories. And when he messed up, Antoninus owned his mistakes, fearing neither responsibility nor blame. No leader, no matter how good they are, can hope to avoid criticism. Antoninus received plenty of it, much of it unfair and unwarranted. But he declined to return pettiness with pettiness. He ignored informers and gossips. He tolerated being questioned because it made him better, even if it meant admitting error. Unlike Nero, who once exiled a poet for being talented, he took delight at seeing his ideas improved upon. Despite his brilliance and authority, Antoninus had no problem yielding the floor to experts and deferring to their advice, a skill few with unlimited power happen to have. Fewer managed to keep and fewer still bothered to grow. To see Antoninus get upset at work was a rare thing. It was rarer with friends, and nobody, according to Marcus, saw him sweat despite the stresses of the job. He never exhibited rudeness, never lost control of himself or turned violent. If this seems like faint praise, it's worth noting that Hadrian once stabbed a secretary in the eye with a pen for making a mistake. Flattery had no effect on Antoninus, yet he went out of his way to put others at ease. When he visited friends, he was able to put the pretensions of the office aside and be with them as an ordinary person, taking care not to be treated any differently than anyone else. One friend, ribbing Antoninus after the Emperor, made some observations about the decor, felt perfectly comfortable, telling the man who had power of life and death over all the Emperor's subjects that when you enter another man's home, you should be deaf and dumb. He could laugh and be laughed at. He took the job seriously, but never himself. He was, to borrow Marcus phrase, the perfect combination of a person who had gravity without heirs. Although Hadrian had taken long state tours through the provinces of the Empire, Antoninus declined, having served as proconsul to Italy and then Asia during his ascension. And he understood what an immense burden these trips were on the people who had to host the imperial processions. No matter how humbling or unassuming he tried to be, the baggage train of the sovereign was an imposition, and he tried not to impose it on anyone if it could be avoided. It was this physical and mental discipline that converged in Antoninus to make him a compassionate, measured and unwavering man who ruled himself first. Fate hadn't shaken out exactly as Antoninus may have hoped, but he managed to turn it into something that, in retrospect, he would not have traded for anything. For those 23 stable years he ruled Rome, he bonded deeply with Marcus. He watched Rome not only flourish, but then pass into equally able and measured hands. If fame was not to be his reward, he still earned the ultimate triumph for anyone in politics, ending his career with clean hands and as Marcus Aurelius most admired, a clear conscience. In AD 161, the end of Antoninus, time was upon him. Mustering the calmness of an accomplished sage, it was said he prepared to face death. Putting his final affairs in order, he transferred command to his adopted son, but not before uttering his final word. A piece of advice, an encapsulation of his existence, a goal for each of Equanimitas, or equanimity. Now it was Marcus turn. To live up to the example Antoninus had set for him, equanimity would be the perfect watchword. You look at the before and after pictures of American presidents. And it's clear being head of state weighs on a person. Heavy is the head that wears the crown and gray goes the hair underneath it. The enormous responsibility grinds a leader down steadily, except in the moments when it completely overwhelms them. It would be easy to say the weak not apply, but they often do, harming themselves and the people they're supposed to serve in the process. Fate gifted Antoninus many years of peace and stability. Marcus Aurelius would not be so lucky. He would face historic flooding, a barbarian invasion and a devastating plague that killed millions of. A close friend would betray him and try to kill him. The decline and fall of Rome was upon him. It wasn't his fault, but it was his responsibility. It was his daily nightmare. Imagine the terror and frustration and the sheer stress. Lives were on the line. His own family was in danger. Nothing could possibly prepare a person for this much adversity. Every day another crisis, another problem, stretching his already thin resources thinner. When fear and anger collided within previous emperors, Rome's streets ran red with blood. Not with Marcus. He steadfastly dispatched dire situation after dire situation, not just refusing to compromise his principles, but insisting on displaying them for all to see. He let the Roman people know through dictum and deed that his was not fair weather temperance, but marrow deep self control. A normal person, a lesser or sad to say, more typical leader, might lament this parade of tragedies. Not Marcus. It wasn't bad that this stuff happened to him. It was an opportunity. The impediment to action advances action. He wrote to himself. What stands in the way becomes the way. All the adversity, all the difficulty, as well as the awful power and luxury was an opportunity for him to prove himself, to show that he had really learned from Antoninus, that he didn't just believe in temperance, but he lived it. When Tiberius became emperor in the year AD 14, he installed himself in an island pleasure palace on Capri. Nero, free of his mother's influence, called for his flute and styled himself Rome's most talented artist, ignoring state business to indulge his ego. Speaking of Tiberius and these cautionary tales, Marcus Aurelius would observe how trivial the things we want so passionately are and how much more philosophical it is to take what we're given and show uprightness, self control, obedience to God without making a production of it. Which is precisely what he did, though not without some self doubt. First, Marcus Aurelius reportedly wept when he was told he would become a king. He knew his history. It was not a blessing that many emerged from better off. It would be a hard job, not just to be emperor, but to be a good one, to not be corrupted or destroyed by it. There must have been moments when he wanted to do just about anything else, when he would have preferred his books and his philosophy to the burdens of what destiny had chosen for him. Even if you attain the wisdom of Cleanthes or Zeno, one of his tutors wrote to him, yet against your will, you must put on the purple cloak, not the philosopher's woolen cape. Could he do it? Could he wear it with honor and dignity, not be stained by it? Facing the possibility of breaking bad, like Caligula, like Vespasian, like Claudius, he was sick to his stomach. He would dream one night that his shoulders were made of ivory. Yes, he was strong enough. It was possible not to be destroyed by the job. He could do it, he would do it. He would not be like them. He would use the job as a canvas to paint a masterpiece. It is said that no man is a hero to his valet. But Marcus, who was even closer to Antoninus than a valet, who had seen the man at his best and his worst for more than two decades, still worshiped him. His other tutors, his study of Stoicism, his advisors, would all play a part in Marcus's ultimate success. But as Renan wrote, superior to all these masters who had been selected from every corner of the globe, Marcus had a single master whom he revered above all. That was Antoninus. It was because Marcus Aurelius had by his side the most beautiful model of a perfect life, the one whom he understood and loved, that he became who he was. And Antoninus was a hero. He earned that worship not in one brave moment on the battlefield, but through the extraordinary, ordinary discipline he demanded of himself. Day to day, Marcus, observing, witnessed it and was inspired by it and committed his life to it. That's the thing about discipline. Like courage, it is contagious. Marcus caught it from Antoninus and became who he was, what he was, which is to say, incredible. When Marcus was crowned, when the singular power that had belonged to Antoninus was given to him, he faced a test not unlike the one his beloved model had faced, because through Hadrian's strange succession plan, Marcus had inherited a stepbrother whose role was uncertain. What should an emperor do with this potential rival? An ancient Stoic master had warned a previous emperor to dispatch any other male heirs, saying one cannot have too many Caesars. Marcus thought and thought and came up with a solution unmatched in all of history. For its generosity and selflessness. Literally a walking contradiction of the dictum that absolute power corrupts absolutely. He named his stepbrother co Emperor Given Absolute Power. The first thing he did was give half of it away. Marcus Aurelius and his stepbrother could not have been more different either. Lucius Verus was not nearly so strict with himself. He was not known to have ever picked up a philosophy book. Did Marcus believe himself to be superior? From his Meditations, all we hear him express is gratitude that I had the kind of brother I did, whose character challenged me to improve my own, whose love and affection enriched my life. It was said that the true majesty of Marcus Aurelius was his exactingness was directed only at himself. He did not go around expecting Plato's Republic. People were people, and he understood they were not perfect. He found a way to work with flawed people, putting them to service for the good of the empire, searching them for virtues that he celebrated and accepted their vices which he knew were not in his control. We are so far from possessing anything of our own, Marcus said to the Senate of his family's so called wealth, that even the house we live in is yours. One of the only direct commands we hear of him giving the Senate was that they be merciful to some of his political enemies who had attempted a couple. The majority of Marcus Aurelius commands were instead to himself. Robin Waterfield, his translator, observes that 300 of the 488 entries in Meditations are rules that Marcus gave to himself. He got up early, he journaled, he kept himself active. He was not blessed with good health, but he never complained, never used it as an excuse, never let it slow him down more than absolutely necessary. Despite his wealth and power, he lived humbly, maintaining that difficult balance of restraint within abundance, spending most of his reign not in glamorous palaces of marble, but in the simple tent of a soldier at the front. And when he fell short and screwed up, he tried to pick himself up and get back to it, to do his best, always, even when it was very hard. In the depths of the Antonine plague, as Rome's treasury was depleted, Marcus held a two month sale on the lawn of the Imperial palace, selling off his jewels and art collection, his wife's silks and everything else they could live without. Were there other ways he could have solved the Empire's financial problems? Of course. He could have raised taxes, he could have looted the provinces, he could have relied on prescription to seize the estates and property of Rome's oligarchs. He could have Kicked the can down the road, leaving the issue to his successors. Nearly every emperor before and after him would take these easy ways out, never thinking twice about it. Marcus took the hit instead. Because that's what great leaders do. They do the right thing, even when. Especially when it costs them. When he was criticized, he shrugged it off. He had no time for sycophants or slanderers like Antoninus. When he was shown to be incorrect, he admitted error and changed his mind. It was a busy, ceaseless life, but he found stillness inside it, managing even to study philosophy from the cot in his tent, far from his library. He worked hard to be present, to concentrate every minute like a Roman, winnowing his thoughts and tuning out distraction, doing what was in front of him with both the tenderness and the tenacity he had learned from his hero. Whatever it was, he did his best, whether he was celebrated or despised for it. You don't have to turn this into something, he reminded himself, when someone did something wrong or said something untrue. When he lusted after something, he stopped himself, turning those desires to stone before they burned through him and he did something he'd regret. He tried to make beautiful choices, tried to look for the best in people, tried to put himself in their shoes, tried to lead by serving. It was the pride of Marcus's life that he not only didn't need to ask anyone for favors, but that anytime anyone asked him for something, money, advice, a hand, he could be generous amid plenty, amid intrigue, Marcus kept, and was kept by this beautiful, unrestrained moderation. It is one thing to be a king. It is another to be a philosopher king, and another thing entirely to be a good philosopher king. To be a kingly person independent of your title, enfranchised, indifferent to what makes no difference, self contained, self motivated, devoted, hitting every right note at the right time in the right way. The kind of character that Marcus cultivated was such that it brought distinction to his position, rather than the position bringing honor to his person. To remain oneself in a world that pushes for conformity takes courage. It takes courage as well as temperance to be restrained in a world of excess, where we attack and mock those who don't, indulge in the pleasures we have rationalized and the passions we have excused in ourselves. Did he lose his temper from time to time? Of course, few leaders can claim otherwise, but the ancient historians provide us no evidence that Marcus was ever vindictive, petty, cruel or out of control. His reign was free of scandals, of shameful acts, of corruption. Isn't that a Pretty low bar now when you compare it to the sickening and brutal list of crimes and disasters put together by his predecessors and successors right on down to today, where it seems that the hardest thing to find in the world is an honest and decent person in a position of significant leadership. Although Marcus was of good character, he knew that character was something that needs to be constantly worked on, constantly improved. He understood that the second we stop trying to get better is the moment we start getting gradually worse. After the passing of Antoninus, he maintained his lifelong study of philosophy, humbly gathering up his tablets and going to school. Even as an old man, he never wanted to stop learning, never wanted to stop getting better. What was he after? What was the destiny he sought? It was of course, an impossible ideal, but the work of his life was movement towards the place where he would never be swayed by pleasure or pain, purposeful when in action, free from dishonesty or dissimulation, and never dependent on action or inaction from anyone else. He said, or as he described it elsewhere, self reliance and indisputable immunity to the dice rolls of fortune. That would be nice, wouldn't it? In a sense, that's what temperance is. Self sufficiency, purpose, clarity, power. There's only one way to get there, and it's not through epiphany. Speaking of her late husband, Mr. Rogers, Joanne Rogers remarked that if you make him out to be a saint, people might not know how hard he worked. Antoninus and Marcus Aurelius are not dusty old parables from the past. They are not two dimensional figures printed on the pages of history books. They were human beings and they were not perfect. But if they were perfect, they would not give us hope. We love them because they tried, because they course corrected in failure, because they were humble in victory, because they did the work and caught results. This is what produces the path for us. Just as the living example and the loving instruction of Antoninus helped mold Marcus Aurelius, so too can the lives and lessons of Antoninus and Marcus Aurelius mold us. We do not have to add our names to the list of sad stories and cautionary tales that success so often writes. Through our self discipline we can find our destiny, access to a higher plane of consciousness and being in excellence. Antoninus found it and the path he carved showed the way for Marcus. Will we follow in their footsteps? Will we admire these heroes or will we go the way of the Neros? That is the question we must ask ourselves now. Thanks so much for listening. If you could rate this podcast and leave a review on itunes. Thank you. That would mean so much to us and would really help the show. We appreciate it. And I'll see you next episode.
