Latest / Marcus Aurelius: Rome's Philosopher King — Fexingo History / The Roman Emperor Who Lived Like a Beggar
Transcript
- Lucas: When you think of a Roman emperor, what comes to mind? Probably gold, purple togas, and maybe a bit of madness. But if you look closely at Marcus Aurelius, you’ll find a man who actively resisted that image, choosing instead a life of deliberate, almost ascetic, simplicity. Luna: That sounds incredibly hard when you’re ruling half the known world. Lucas: It was, which is why it matters so much. For anyone listening who has been stepping into these conversations about the Mediterranean with us, you know we’ve covered his wars and his grief. Today, I want to talk about his dinner table. Specifically, the fact that the most powerful man in Rome often ate like a poor student. Lucas: If today was actually useful to you, the way these stay ad-free is listener support — buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. Luna: I appreciate that, especially when the topics get this heavy. Lucas: Thank you. Let’s get back to the food. Marcus didn’t just eat sparingly; he viewed luxury as a moral failing. He wrote in his private journal, now known as the Meditations, that he had eaten only simple bread and cheese, or perhaps some dried figs, while stationed at Carnuntum on the Danube frontier. Luna: Did he ever give in to the temptation of a fancy meal? Lucas: Rarely, and when he did, he felt guilty about it. The historian Cassius Dio tells us that even during banquets, Marcus would eat very little, leaving the rest for his guests or discarding it. He believed that satisfying excessive appetites made you weak, both physically and morally. This wasn't just dieting; it was a philosophical stance rooted in Stoicism. Lucas: His teacher, Quintus Junius Rusticus, had drilled into him that true freedom comes from needing nothing. So, Marcus woke up before dawn, often lit a single lamp, and worked through state papers or wrote passages of his journal by hand. He slept on a hard military cot, even when he could have had silk sheets. Luna: It feels like he was trying to prove he wasn't really an emperor. Lucas: Exactly. He saw himself as a soldier first, a philosopher second, and an emperor third. When the Antonine Plague swept through the empire, killing millions, Marcus didn’t retreat to a palace in Campania. He stayed in the muddy camps of Pannonia, sharing the discomfort of his troops. He administered grain relief personally, checking the weights and measures himself to prevent corruption. Lucas: There’s a famous story about how he handled gifts. When foreign dignitaries brought him exotic animals or precious stones as tribute, he often sent them straight to the treasury or distributed them to the city of Rome, never keeping anything for his private collection. He wanted no trace of personal wealth. Luna: So he essentially refused to be rich? Lucas: He refused to be attached to wealth. His correspondence with the rhetorician Fronto shows a man constantly battling the expectations of his court. His friends urged him to accept more honors, more titles, more opulence. He pushed back every time, insisting that his job was to serve the Logos, the divine reason governing the universe, not to display power. Lucas: This commitment to simplicity extended to his family life too. He raised his children, including Commodus, in a relatively austere environment. He forbade them from wearing jewelry or eating delicacies until they were older. It was a strange thing for an emperor to do, trying to raise princes who didn't feel entitled to luxury. Luna: Did that work for Commodus? Lucas: Unfortunately, not really. Commodus rejected the discipline later in life, but that’s a tragic arc for another day. For now, look at Marcus’s days. He would walk the streets of Rome incognito, visiting the poor and the sick without guards. He listened to philosophers debate in the Agora and argued with them on equal footing. Lucas: Even in war, against the Quadi and the Marcomanni, he kept his quarters bare. No tapestries, no golden cups. Just a map, a sword, and his notes. He believed that if he indulged his senses, he would lose his judgment. And in a time of plague and invasion, judgment was all he had left. Luna: It makes the statue of him sitting on horseback look almost ironic. Lucas: It does. That equestrian statue is bronze, gilded once, standing tall and majestic. But the man inside the armor was eating cold beans in a tent. He famously said that life is like a play, and your job is just to act the part well, whether you’re playing a king or a beggar. Lucas: He also hated flattery. When senators tried to praise him with overly flowery language, he’d cut them off, asking them to speak plainly. He wanted truth, not performance. This honesty made him unpopular with some elites, but it earned him the genuine respect of the common people, who called him Pater Patriae, Father of the Country. Luna: Father of the Country feels like a title that stuck. Lucas: It did, largely because he never used it to inflate his ego. He accepted the title reluctantly, seeing it as a burden of responsibility rather than a prize. Even as his health failed during the final years of the Marcomannic Wars, he continued to write, to lead, and to refuse the comforts that might have eased his pain. Lucas: In one passage, he reflects on how quickly fame fades, and how much more important it is to be good. He writes that he should do what is right, like a man, and not care if everyone praises him or curses him. That detachment is the core of his character. Luna: It’s a very modern kind of humility for someone in 2nd century AD. Lucas: It is. And it’s why his writings survived. If he had written a propaganda piece praising his own grandeur, we wouldn’t read it today. Because he wrote about his struggles with anger, with fear, and with the temptation of ease, those words still resonate. They remind us that power doesn't have to mean excess. Lucas: Think about the Hexadecads, the notebooks he kept while campaigning. They weren’t meant for publication. They were raw, unpolished thoughts about getting out of bed when you’re tired, or staying calm when you’re angry. They are the diary of a man trying to be human in an inhuman position. Luna: Do you think he succeeded in keeping that balance? Lucas: Most historians say yes, despite the chaos around him. He died in 180 AD, still at his post, still eating simply, still writing. He passed the throne to Commodus, knowing full well that the empire might suffer under his son. But Marcus had done his part. He had held the line, both militarily and morally. Lucas: His legacy isn’t just the peace treaties he signed or the reforms he enacted. It’s the example of a leader who chose duty over desire. In a world obsessed with status, he chose substance. And that’s a lesson that doesn’t age. Luna: It’s a pretty powerful way to end a reign. Lucas: It is. One last question to leave with you: if you had the power to change one thing about how leaders behave today, would you start with their spending habits, or their willingness to listen?