Latest / Marcus Aurelius: Rome's Philosopher King — Fexingo History / Marcus Aurelius and the Sacred Games of the Circus
Transcript
- Lucas: So, we've talked a lot about Marcus Aurelius as the philosopher on the throne, the stoic general on the Danube, but there's another side of him that doesn't get nearly as much attention. I'm talking about the emperor as a spectator — the man who had to sit in the imperial box at the Circus Maximus and watch chariots crash into each other, surrounded by a crowd that was screaming for blood. Luna: The chariot races? I thought Marcus would have found that beneath him, something a Stoic would despise. Lucas: That's exactly the tension. On one hand, his own Meditations are full of dismissals of the games — he calls them 'silly' and 'wasteful', things that distract the mind from virtue. But on the other hand, he was the emperor. He couldn't just skip the races. The ludi circenses were a massive part of Roman public life, and the emperor's presence was expected, even required. Lucas: The Circus Maximus was enormous — it could hold over a hundred and fifty thousand people, maybe two hundred thousand with the standing room. That's more than any modern stadium. And the races were not just entertainment, they were a political necessity. The crowd's enthusiasm, their loyalty, the factions — it all had to be managed. Luna: And if today was worth a coffee to you, that's the link — buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. It keeps us going. Lucas: Yeah, honestly, if you've been enjoying these conversations and want to help us keep them ad-free, that's the way. No pressure, but it does make a difference. Anyway, back to the Circus — the factions were the heart of it. Lucas: The four factions — the Blues, the Greens, the Reds, and the Whites — were like ancient sports teams, but they were also political and social networks. They had their own clubhouses, their own patrons, their own supporters who could get violently partisan. The Blues and Greens were the big two, and their rivalry could spill into riots. Luna: Wait, so the emperor had to deal with football hooligans of the ancient world? Lucas: Exactly. And Marcus had a particularly delicate relationship with them. During his reign, there were moments when the factions got out of hand. One incident, recorded in the Historia Augusta, mentions that the Greens and Blues clashed so badly that Marcus had to issue edicts to curb their violence. He tried to impose order, but he also knew that suppressing them entirely could provoke even more unrest. Lucas: There's a story that when he was in the Circus, he would actually try to read or write during the races. He'd have his attendants bring him documents. He was known to be more interested in his books than in the spectacle. But the crowd noticed, and they didn't always like it. They wanted their emperor to be engaged, to share their passion. Luna: So he was basically trying to do paperwork at a Super Bowl. That must have gone over well. Lucas: Not really. But there's another layer — the games were also a venue for imperial propaganda. Marcus used the ludi to celebrate military victories, to distribute largesse, to project an image of generosity. When he returned to Rome after campaigns, he would put on spectacular games to thank the people for their patience and to show that the empire was still strong. Lucas: But there was a darker side, too. During the Antonine Plague, which we've talked about before, the crowds at the games became a vector for disease. People were packed in, sweating, shouting — perfect conditions for spreading infection. Marcus had to balance the need to maintain public morale with the very real danger of mass gatherings. Luna: Did he ever cancel the games because of the plague? Lucas: He actually did reduce the number of days of games, and there are records of him cutting back on the scale of some spectacles. But he couldn't cancel them entirely. The people expected their games. It was one of the few things that could distract them from the suffering around them. Lucas: And then there's the ludi saeculares, the Secular Games. These were held only every hundred years or so, to mark the start of a new saeculum, a new age. Marcus held them in 147, alongside his co-emperor Lucius Verus, as a way to reaffirm Rome's eternal destiny. It was a massive religious festival, with sacrifices, theatrical performances, and, of course, chariot races. Luna: So it's like a century-marking celebration, but with chariots. Lucas: Exactly. And Marcus, despite his philosophical reservations, participated fully. He was the pontifex maximus, after all — the chief priest of Rome. He had to perform the rituals, lead the prayers, and endure the crowds. There's a sense in which he saw it as his duty, a civic obligation rather than a personal pleasure. Lucas: In his Meditations, he writes about how the 'purple robe' of the emperor is just that — a sheep's wool dyed with shellfish blood. He tries to strip away the glamour and see things for what they are. So when he looks at a chariot race, he sees not glory but 'dust, noise, and sweat.' That's the Stoic perspective — to see through the spectacle to its underlying vanity. Luna: But he still had to sit there and pretend to enjoy it. Lucas: Right. And that's the tragicomic picture of the philosopher king. He's trapped in a role he didn't want, forced to engage with a world he found hollow. But he did it because he believed in duty, in doing what was required of him. That's what makes him fascinating — the constant struggle between his ideals and his reality. Lucas: There's also an interesting note about the charioteers themselves. They were often slaves or freedmen, but they could become stars. The most famous, like Gaius Appuleius Diocles, earned fortunes that rivaled senators. The crowd loved them, and the emperors had to be careful not to appear too close to any one faction or driver, or they'd be accused of partiality. Luna: So it was like ancient celebrity culture, with all the political pitfalls. Lucas: Exactly. And Marcus, being the philosopher, would have been acutely aware of the absurdity of it all. He writes about fame and how fleeting it is, how the applause of the crowd is just 'hands clapping.' He knew that in a hundred years, no one would remember the charioteer's name. And yet, he still had to smile and wave. Lucas: But here's the thing — the games were also a way for the emperor to connect with the people, to show that he was one of them in spirit. The crowd would chant his name, and he would acknowledge them. It was a ritual of mutual recognition, a moment where the emperor and the plebs felt a shared identity. For all his philosophical detachment, Marcus understood that this was part of ruling. Luna: So he used the games as a political tool, even if he didn't enjoy them. Lucas: Yes. In fact, there's a story that during one race, when the Greens were about to win, the crowd turned to Marcus and shouted that the Greens were his favorite. He just smiled and said, 'My favorite is the driver of the chariot of life.' That's a stoic response if ever there was one. Lucas: So when we think about Marcus Aurelius, we tend to focus on the wars, the plagues, the philosophy. But the Circus Maximus was where he had to perform his role as emperor in front of the largest audience in the world. It's a reminder that even a philosopher king couldn't escape the demands of the crowd. Luna: And he did it for twenty years, without losing his mind. Lucas: Well, there's a reason he wrote in his Meditations: 'You have the power to strip away many superfluous troubles located wholly in your judgment, and to possess a large room for yourself embracing the whole world by your reasoning.' He had to create that inner room to survive the outer noise. Lucas: So next time you think of Marcus Aurelius, picture him not just on the battlefield, but in the imperial box, watching the chariots thunder by, the crowd roaring, the dust in the air — and maybe, just maybe, a small smile on his face as he thinks about the absurdity of it all.