Latest / Marcus Aurelius: Rome's Philosopher King — Fexingo History / Marcus Aurelius and the Senate: A Delicate Dance
Transcript
- Lucas: So last time we talked about the Antonine Plague and how it ravaged the empire. But today I want to step back and look at something that doesn't get as much attention — Marcus Aurelius's relationship with the Roman Senate. Luna: Oh, that's interesting. Wasn't he supposed to be this ideal philosopher-king who worked well with them? Lucas: That's the popular image, and in many ways it's true. Marcus was respectful, consulted them often, and didn't engage in the kind of overt tyranny that later emperors did. But the reality was more complicated. By his reign, the Senate had already lost most of its real power — it was more of a ceremonial body, though still influential. Marcus had to walk a fine line between respecting their dignity and actually running the empire. Luna: So what were the main points of friction? Lucas: The biggest one was undoubtedly the succession. Marcus decided to make his son Commodus his co-emperor and successor, even though Commodus was only 15 or 16 at the time and, frankly, not very capable. The Senate was unhappy — they preferred the adoption system that had brought Marcus himself to power. But Marcus had lost several children to the plague, and Commodus was the only surviving son. He felt he had no choice. Lucas: There were also tensions over military command. During the Marcomannic Wars, Marcus spent years on the Danube frontier, away from Rome. The Senate felt sidelined. He appointed equestrians, not senators, to key military posts, which was a break with tradition. And he raised taxes to fund the wars, which hit senatorial estates hard. Luna: So the Senate wasn't just a bunch of yes-men. Lucas: Far from it. We have records of opposition. The historian Cassius Dio, who was a senator himself, gives us a sense of the resentment. He writes about how Marcus, despite his philosophy, was forced to execute a senator named Avidius Cassius — his own governor in Syria who rebelled — and then had to deal with the fallout. Cassius's rebellion was partly fueled by senatorial discontent. Luna: Wait, Avidius Cassius — he's the one who tried to seize power during Marcus's illness, right? Lucas: Exactly. In 175 AD, when Marcus was supposedly dying from the plague, Cassius declared himself emperor. He had support from some senators who were tired of Marcus's long absences and the strain of the wars. But Marcus recovered, and Cassius was assassinated by his own troops. This must have been a harsh lesson for Marcus — he realized that even his philosophy couldn't shield him from political reality. Lucas: There's also the matter of the Praetorian Guard. The Guard was the emperor's bodyguard, but it had a history of political interference. Marcus clipped their wings — he reduced their pay and prevented them from getting too powerful. That pleased the Senate, but it also meant he relied more on provincial legions, which made the Senate nervous about his military base. Luna: So it was a balancing act. Lucas: Absolutely. Marcus tried to maintain the fiction that the Senate was a partner. He addressed them respectfully, consulted them on legislation, and even allowed them to try some cases. But in practice, he made all the big decisions. The Senate's real power was limited to running the city of Rome and some provincial administration. Still, they could make life difficult for an emperor through passive resistance or by spreading rumors. Luna: Did Marcus ever use violence against them? Lucas: Not like some later emperors. He was known for his clemency. After the Cassius rebellion, he burned the letters from senators who had conspired with Cassius, to avoid further conflict. He said he wanted to forget the whole affair. That's a famous story — Marcus as the forgiving philosopher. But some senators saw it as weakness. They thought he should have purged the conspirators. Luna: Interesting. So his Stoicism was both a strength and a political liability. Lucas: Exactly. His Meditations show him constantly reminding himself to be just, to avoid anger, to treat others fairly. But as emperor, he also had to make decisions that would keep the empire stable. And one of those decisions — elevating Commodus — turned out to be a disaster. The Senate's worst fears came true: Commodus was a terrible emperor who indulged in cruelty and extravagance, and he was eventually assassinated. Lucas: So when we think of Marcus Aurelius as the last of the 'Five Good Emperors', we have to remember that his reign planted the seeds for the crisis that followed. The Senate never regained its influence under Commodus, and later emperors like Septimius Severus were openly hostile to them. Luna: So the philosopher-king wasn't always popular. Lucas: No, he wasn't. And that's the fascinating part. His legacy is complicated. We have these beautiful, introspective writings from Meditations, but we also have the reality of an empire under immense strain — plague, war, succession crises. Marcus did his best, but he wasn't perfect. He was a product of his time, and his decisions, like all political decisions, had trade-offs. Luna: It makes you wonder what would have happened if he had adopted a successor instead. Lucas: That's one of history's great what-ifs. The adoption system had given Rome Trajan, Hadrian, Antoninus Pius, and Marcus himself. If he had continued it, maybe the chaos of the later second century could have been avoided. But family ties won out, as they often do. And the Senate, for all its grumbling, didn't stop him. Lucas: So next time you think of Marcus as the serene philosopher, remember that he was also a politician fighting a war, managing a plague, and trying to keep a restive Senate on his side. It wasn't easy being a philosopher-king. Luna: It certainly wasn't. Thanks, Lucas — that gave me a lot to think about.