Latest / Marcus Aurelius: Rome's Philosopher King — Fexingo History / Marcus Aurelius and the Trial of Herodes Atticus
Transcript
- Lucas: If you've been stepping into history with us episode by episode, you know we've spent a lot of time with Marcus Aurelius on the frontier — at Carnuntum, on the Danube, dealing with the Marcomannic Wars and the plague. But today, let's bring it back to the heart of the Greek East, to Athens, where Marcus faced one of the most awkward personal and legal dramas of his reign. Luna: An awkward drama involving a philosopher emperor — I'm already curious. Lucas: It involves his old tutor, the fabulously wealthy sophist Herodes Atticus. Herodes was one of the most famous intellectuals of the second century — a Greek aristocrat, a master rhetorician, and a huge benefactor to Athens. He built the Odeon of Herodes Atticus at the foot of the Acropolis, the stadium at Athens, and funded all sorts of public works. But in the 170s, he was accused of a terrible crime: murdering his pregnant wife, Regilla. Luna: Wait — his wife? And she was pregnant? Lucas: Yes. Regilla was a Roman aristocrat from a consular family — she was much younger than Herodes, and they had a tumultuous marriage. According to the account we have from Philostratus in his Lives of the Sophists, Herodes — in a fit of rage — allegedly struck Regilla in the abdomen, causing her to miscarry and die. Now, Philostratus is writing a century later, and he's generally sympathetic to Herodes — he describes him as 'the most learned of men' — so the accusation is presented as a tragedy rather than a straightforward murder. But the scandal was enormous. Luna: So a sitting emperor has to judge his old teacher for killing his own wife. How does that even work? Lucas: It was a capital case, and it came before the Roman proconsul of Achaia — the province that covered Greece. But because Herodes was so powerful and connected — and because the accuser was Regilla's brother, Appius Annius Atilius Bradua, a Roman senator — the case was eventually referred to the emperor himself. Marcus Aurelius was the ultimate court of appeal. And he was in a bind. Herodes had been his teacher in Greek rhetoric and philosophy — they had a warm correspondence, some of which survives in the letters of Fronto. But Marcus also had to uphold Roman law and protect the dignity of Regilla's family. Luna: What did he decide? Lucas: We don't have the full trial transcript, but Philostratus tells us that Marcus — in a demonstration of clementia, the Stoic virtue of merciful judgment — did not convict Herodes of murder. Instead, he let the case be resolved through a private arbitration. Herodes was effectively compelled to make amends financially — he had to pay a large sum to Regilla's family, and he dedicated a monument to her, the so-called 'Regilla monument' at the site of her death in Marathon. The inscription on that monument survives: it calls Regilla 'the most beloved of wives' — which is deeply ironic, given the circumstances. Luna: So he got off with a fine and a monument? That seems lenient. Lucas: It does. And it's a good example of how Roman justice worked when the accused was an extremely wealthy and well-connected elite. But it's also consistent with Marcus's own philosophical principles. In his Meditations, he writes repeatedly about not letting anger govern action, and about treating even wrongdoers with compassion. He may have genuinely believed that Herodes — a man of immense culture and past service — was not a deliberate murderer, but a man overcome by passion in a moment. And public opinion in Athens seems to have been divided. Some admired Herodes for his generosity, others despised him for his arrogance and temper. Luna: He sounds like a complicated figure — brilliant but dangerous. Lucas: Absolutely. Herodes Atticus was a man of extremes. He had a famous rivalry with another sophist, Polemon, and he was known for his harsh treatment of his students — he once allegedly beat a student with his own hands. But he also funded aqueducts, theaters, and temples. He saw himself as a second Pericles, and he lived in a world of intense personal competition for status and reputation. The trial forced Marcus to confront the limits of friendship and the demands of justice. And his decision — equivocal as it seems — was probably the best he could do to hold the Empire together without tearing apart the Greek elite. Luna: It reminds me of that line from Meditations where he says, 'The best revenge is not to be like your enemy.' He's not taking revenge on Herodes, he's rising above it. Lucas: Exactly. And that's the Stoic ideal — not to let the wrongs of others dictate your own actions. Marcus could have made an example of Herodes, but he chose a path that preserved social harmony. It's not perfect justice by modern standards, but it was a pragmatic and, in its own way, philosophical response. Now, Philostratus also notes that after the trial, Herodes continued to be influential — he even dedicated a statue to Marcus in Athens. The emperor and the sophist remained publicly cordial. But one wonders what they said to each other in private. Luna: If today gave you a new angle on Marcus Aurelius — not just the general on the Danube but the judge in a scandal — that's the kind of story we try to dig into here. And if that's useful to you, the way these conversations stay ad-free is through listener support: buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. It helps us keep going. Lucas: Yeah, it really does make a difference. And back to the story — there's one more layer. After the trial, Regilla's family dedicated a monument in Rome as well, a statue base with an inscription that calls her 'murdered' — not just 'died'. That suggests the family never accepted the verdict as just. So the case lingered in the public memory. And for Marcus, it must have been a reminder that even the wisest judgment can't please everyone. For a philosopher-emperor, that's a hard lesson. Luna: It's almost like a real-life case study from the Meditations — how to act when there's no perfect answer. Lucas: Exactly. And that's what makes this story so rich. It's not a battle or a policy — it's a human moment where Stoic ideals met messy reality. And we still feel the echoes of it today, whenever we wonder how a leader balances personal loyalty with public duty. Marcus chose clemency, but he also made sure the victim was not forgotten. That's the mark of a thoughtful ruler.