The old man slowly walks out to speak for the first time to a crowd of battle-weary and disillusioned soldiers. There is little adornment on his ill-fitting uniform, and he clearly does not have the upright walk of a younger man. None the less, there is something about his bearing that catches the crowd’s eye. He appears confident and sure of himself, even if he clearly fails to meet the physical standards expected of a man leading warriors.
Prior to seeing him, the soldiers have heard rumors circulating regarding Emperor Marcus Aurelius’ arrival. He has no previous military experience, so they wonder how he will command an enormous army currently engaged in fighting an existential crisis against barbarians bent on destroying the Roman Empire. As such, the soldiers do not have high expectations of what they will hear. Indeed, they have heard it all before. They have listened to those urging them on to victory in battle, and they have listened to those seeking to motivate them in the face of the seemingly thankless years spent away from home on the edge of a battered empire.
Thus they are caught off guard as Aurelius begins speaking to them. As they lean forward straining to hear the elderly man, they think they hear him say that no person “does wrong knowingly.” They look at each other, some shrugging, some with raised eyebrows. Surely he has misspoken, or they must have misunderstood, as his idea seems like an odd choice to begin a speech. After all, it is strikingly discordant in light of the rigors of military discipline. They do not know how his lifelong study of Stoicism and his determination to apply this philosophy to his own life lead him to select this statement and simultaneously reject the empty trappings of power.
Continuing to speculate on exactly what he means by saying no person “does wrong knowingly,” they miss the rest of his speech. But they notice a change in atmosphere permeating the camp in the coming weeks. Marcus Aurelius has been inviting small groups of officers into his tent each night, sharing a simple supper with them along with decades of life experience. He does it so tactfully that they barely discern how he is teaching them profoundly simple insights on leadership. They begin to follow his example in seeking virtue as “fighter[s] in the noblest of fights, dyed deep with justice.” They increasingly emulate the goal of living virtuously, accepting that the only thing that one can control in this world is one’s own actions.
Those missing their families particularly find themselves drawn to Aurelius, who openly shares his parenting mistakes rather than seeking to convince them that he has it all figured out. Far from being a leader who suppresses his emotions, he is extremely forthright and open. Similarly, he explains to them how transformative it is to view others’ actions as being “mistaken” rather than “simply malicious.” He patiently details how taking this counter-intuitive approach to dealing with subordinates has transformed his life by enabling him to “deal more gently” with his loved ones. For Aurelius, “true strength consist[s] of one’s ability to show kindness, not violence or aggression, which epitomize[s] the ultimate form of manliness.”
Aurelius, nicknamed the most “truthful” child in his youth, tells them how he found himself ill-prepared to deal with one of his children who seemed to be lying deliberately. With further reflection, however, he suddenly comprehended that his child did not deliberately choose to lie. Rather, the child simply lacked the maturity to pause between a visceral reaction to his questioning and a deeper and more rational determination to lie. Indeed, Aurelius’ interactions with his children have improved immeasurably from this small but simple change in understanding.
He explains to his audience that, unfortunately, even adults do not easily acquire the ability to differentiate between the initial brief psychological response to a situation and a subsequent period of rational reflection. He thus describes anger as a state of “temporary madness” because the individual has not moved beyond the initial reaction to thinking more rationally about why he or she is reacting so strongly. Such insights catch their attention, and they want to accept them even as they struggle to apply them to the world of war, where violations of good military discipline test their patience daily. Yet they notice not only how increasingly devoted their soldiers are to Aurelius but also how they are winning in battle.
Then they hear how Aurelius’ subordinate plans to march on Rome with a competing army that might ignite a civil war. They wonder how Aurelius manages to remain calm, determined to respond. After all, to be a Stoic is not to be a doormat, which is why Aurelius remains equally resolved to deal with the threat while not letting it affect his equanimity. They begin to query him on how he remains so calm and seemingly at peace. It isn’t that he is stifling his emotions. They have seen him openly speak of the loss of those dearest to him, including his children.
He reminds them that small actions can have enormous consequences, and increasingly they believe it. Aurelius’ seemingly odd approach in light of the Roman Army’s warrior culture continues to manifest itself in unexpected places around the camp as well as in battle. The commander who once caught the Army off guard has won its devotion and loyalty. His sudden death is not entirely unexpected due to his advanced age. But, all the same, his soldiers weep. Then, for those absent at his first speech, they tell of the transformation that slowly occurred in the wake of his taking command. It is the ultimate lesson in leadership.
Heather Venable is an assistant professor of military and security studies at the U.S. Air Command and Staff College and teaches in the Department of Airpower. She has written a forthcoming book entitled How the Few Became the Proud: Crafting the Marine Corps Mystique, 1874-1918. The views expressed are the author’s alone and do not represent the official position of the U.S. Air Force, the Department of Defense, or the U.S. Government.