Lives of the Stoics: The Art of Living From Zeno to Marcus Aurelius

The rule is that sensitive, thoughtful men like Marcus Aurelius turn out to be poor leaders. To be a sovereign or an executive is to come face-to-face with the messiness of the world, the flaws and foibles of humanity. The reason there have been so few philosopher kings is not just a lack of opportunity—it’s that philosophers often fall short of what the job requires. Marcus turned out to have the ivory shoulders, as well as the sharp mind, required for the job. “Don’t go expecting Plato’s Republic,” he reminded himself. He had to take reality on reality’s terms. He had to make do with what was there. For an idealist and a lover of ideas, Marcus was also, like Abraham Lincoln, impressively pragmatic. “The cucumber is bitter?” he said rhetorically. “Then throw it out. There are brambles in the path? Then go around. That’s all you need to know.” Nothing better expressed his leadership style and his view of progress than this quote:

You must build up your life action by action, and be content if each one achieves its goal as far as possible—and no one can keep you from this. But there will be some external obstacle! Perhaps, but no obstacle to acting with justice, self-control, and wisdom.

But what if some other area of my action is thwarted?

Well, gladly accept the obstacle for what it is and shift your attention to what is given, and another action will immediately take its place, one that better fits the life you are building.

This seems to be how he thought about the politicians he worked with as well. Instead of holding them to his standards or expecting the impossible—as many talented, brilliant leaders naturally do—he focused on their strengths and was tolerant of their weaknesses. Like Lincoln again, Marcus was not afraid of being disagreed with, and made use of common ground and common cause as best he could. “So long as a person did anything good,” Dio Cassius writes, Marcus “would praise him and use him for the service in which he excelled, but to his other conduct he paid no attention; for he declared that it is impossible for one to create such men as one desires to have, and so it is fitting to employ those who are already in existence for whatever service each of them may be able to render to the State.”

Ernest Renan, a nineteenth-century biographer of Marcus, puts it perfectly: “The consequence of austere philosophy might have produced stiffness and severity. But here it was that the rare goodness of the nature of Marcus Aurelius shone out in all its brilliancy. His severity was confined only to himself.”

Musonius Rufus, some forty-odd years before Marcus was born, had been approached by a Syrian king. “Do not imagine,” he had told the man,

that it is more appropriate for anyone to study philosophy than for you, nor for any other reason than because you are a king. For the first duty of a king is to be able to protect and benefit his people, and a protector and benefactor must know what is good for a man and what is bad, what is helpful and what harmful, what advantageous and what disadvantageous, inasmuch as it is plain that those who ally themselves with evil come to harm, while those who cleave to good enjoy protection, and those who are deemed worthy of help and advantage enjoy benefits, while those who involve themselves in things disadvantageous and harmful suffer punishment.

Could Musonius have imagined—persecuted and abused by five consecutive Roman emperors—that his vision would one day take hold in such a man? That everything the Stoics had spoken of and dreamt about would come true so beautifully and yet so fleetingly? He had said it was impossible for anyone but a good man to be a good king, and Marcus, who had read Musonius, did his best to live up to this command.

Could Epictetus have imagined that his teachings would make their way to the first emperor who would, as Marcus did, make real steps toward improving the plight of Rome’s slaves? Along with his stepfather, Antoninus, he protected the rights of freed slaves and even made it possible for slaves to inherit property from their masters. We’re told that Marcus forbade the capital punishment of slaves and made excessively cruel treatment of them a crime as well. Was it the story of Epictetus’s broken leg that inspired him? Was it the Stoic virtue of justice that compelled him to care about the less fortunate? While it’s disappointing that Marcus lacked the vision to do away with the institution entirely, it remains impressive anytime someone is able to see beyond or through the flawed thinking of their time and make, if only incrementally, the world better for their fellow human beings.

These would not have been easy decisions, nor uncontroversial ones, but he made them, as a Stoic must. Forget protests. Forget criticism and the agendas of the critics. Forget the hard work it takes to enact something new or pioneering. Do what is right.

Come what may.