In recent weeks, two Hollywood films that share certain ideas and interests have been shown in theaters around the world. They are the feature films Megalopolis and Gladiator II, directed by Francis Ford Coppola and Ridley Scott, respectively, in which the Roman circus becomes a mechanism for exploring the relationship between violence and spectacle. They also suggest the figure of the emperor and philosopher Marcus Aurelius as an enlightening beacon, located in the distance, in days of confusion and great stridency.
The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius have crossed the centuries and have come down to us thanks to the clear thoughts and concise writing of the philosopher, who deals with topics such as the human condition, the creation of the universe, government, citizenship, morality and the permanence of our actions over time. Some moviegoers will probably recognize in the work of Marcus Aurelius the phrase uttered by the protagonist of the movie Gladiator (2000), while advancing among the soldiers of his army: “What we do in life, echoes in eternity”
Is it possible to govern wisely in the midst of a landscape desolated by crises and wars? Can a government favor its citizens and at the same time be guided by the paths of mercy and justice? How to think of the future when the present is falling apart? What to do in the face of the challenges posed by climate change? Is not the violence exhibited by many of our rulers a grotesque way of manifesting power? Why are we attracted to violent rulers?
Exhibit, hide and forget
In an essay entitled Topology of Violence (2016), philosopher Byung-Chul Han notes that gladiatorial fighting became mass spectacle in ancient Rome as an emphatic manifestation of the emperor’s power. “In this case violence is not hidden. It becomes visible and manifests itself. It has no modesty. It is not mute, nor does it show itself half naked, but eloquent and substantial. In archaic cultures as well as among the ancients, the staging of violence is a central and constitutive element of social communication,” the South Korean philosopher notes in his essay.
The shameless display of violence is a characteristic feature of many of our rulers. It is even, in the eyes of a good part of the citizenry, a virtue. This exhibition admired by so many is also a reflection of our everyday violence: that which occurs in waiting rooms and offices, in the corridors of our schools, in the middle of heavy traffic and in the daily life of our families. Violence that becomes invisible and is inherited from parents to children and from grandparents to grandchildren. It is perpetuated and strengthened from generation to generation.
Too often we think or want to think that the violent ones are the others. The migrants and the dispossessed. The deformed and the short of understanding. That they are those who were not sufficiently educated or who did not manage to leave behind their childish tantrums. Very seldom do we jump from these supposed others to ourselves.
In the Divine Comedy, the poem written by Dante Alighieri in the 14th century, the seventh circle of hell is reserved for the souls of those who indulged in malice and cruelty in life. That is, the violent. That circle is divided into three rings that are dedicated to violence against one’s neighbor, against oneself, and against God, art and nature. There is violence against art, in those who engage in censorship and book burning, for example, and violence against nature. Marcus Aurelius and Dante Alighieri knew this. We have forgotten it.
The long breath of short sentences
In 1989 filmmaker Spike Lee directed a fresh and brutal feature film about everyday life in one of Brooklyn’s most disadvantaged neighborhoods. The film’s title and the fuel that drives its exploration of the consequences of racism is a quote from Marcus Aurelius. A phrase as laconic as it is potent: “Do the right thing”.
In his essay La orilla celeste del agua (2021), Mexican writer Jordi Soler uses another short phrase written by the philosopher emperor, “Carve your mask” as an invitation to build the person we want to be. “Marcus Aurelius, besides being the emperor of Rome, had the project of becoming a stoic and carved his mask following the rigorous precepts of that philosophical tribe. The mask is carved according to the project of each person. No one knows better than you the mask you should carve”, concludes Soler.
Another phrase of Marcus Aurelius, “Conceive the world as a single living being,” anticipates the environmental movement by eighteen centuries and alerts us to the violence we exercise daily against our ecosystems. As a Stoic philosopher, Marcus Aurelius proposed the contemplation of nature as the path to self-knowledge. “There is no way to know the human except through its relationship with the natural,” he noted in his annotations. It is difficult to find a thought more in line with the challenges posed by climate change.
The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius represent the detailed notes of one who, in the midst of immense political pressure, patiently carved his mask and became a better version of himself. The best possible. They are the notes of the attentive apprentice and not those of the teacher who dictates lectures. This explains his permanent curiosity and is noticeable in phrases of great validity that, without intending to, take the form of a guide for our contemporary rulers. “Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth,” he wrote in his notes.
Marcus Aurelius developed a discipline that allowed him to govern through introspection. It was about making philosophy a tool to think better and live life better. To spin intimate notes that would generate, in turn, other meditations. In the film The Holdovers (2023), the professor of a prestigious school gives copies of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations as Christmas gifts every Christmas. If you still don’t know what to give as a Christmas gift, imitate this character and run to the nearest bookstore. If you already know what to give your loved ones, the advice is the same.