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

Good advice for the ordinary. Essential for an emperor. And sadly ignored by leaders of all types—to the detriment of those who depend on and work with them.

Augustus knew this was true, which is why, upon hearing the advice, he begged his teacher to stay on for one more year. “I still need your presence here,” he said. And Athenodorus, duty-bound by his philosophy to guide the state and work for his fellow citizens, gladly assented.

After giving Augustus one last year in Rome, Athenodorus returned to Tarsus around 15 BC, where he spent his final years cleaning up the political messes left by less enlightened rulers. Now, no longer the man behind the man, but leading himself, he applied the principles he had spent so long teaching and speaking about.

A lifetime of training prepares us for the moment of our final act. In Athenodorus’s case, he was ready and he served his country well. Enough that the people of Tarsus loved him deeply, and, following his death at age eighty-two, honored him in a public festival every year after.

ARIUS DIDYMUSTHE KINGMAKER II (AIR-ee-us DID-im-us)

Origin: Alexandria

B. 70 BC

D. 10 AD

There was more than one great Stoic in Octavian’s life. The other’s name was Arius Didymus, and though we know a bit less about him, we know much more about what he believed and, through his writings, the central teachings of the Stoics.

We know that Arius had come into Octavian’s life sometime around the year 44 BC and that he brought his young sons with him. His sons quickly became Octavian’s “tent-companions,” according to Suetonius, keeping the boy “well-versed in various forms of learning.” Indeed, it was through this close relationship that Octavian would learn to read and appreciate the Greek language.

However Arius came into Octavian’s circle, once in it, he was firmly lodged. He became, in his words, the emperor’s “constant companion, and knew not only what all men were allowed to know, but all the most secret thoughts” of his heart.

When the thirty-three-year-old Octavian triumphantly entered Alexandria in 30 BC, he and Arius were walking literally hand in hand. The long civil war between Octavian and Antony had been violent and bloody, and the people of Alexandria—having been brought into the middle of it through Antony’s obsessive affair with Cleopatra—feared for the worst. Octavian chose to publicly display his affection for Arius not only because it was sincere, but also because by aligning himself with this native Alexandrian, he could reassure the population that he meant no harm. We are told that Octavian delivered a speech in Greek, almost certainly written with Arius’s help, announcing that he would spare the city, for a few reasons. The first, he said, was because Alexandria was great and beautiful. The second, because it had been founded and named after such a great man. “And thirdly,” Octavian said with a smile, and motioning to Arius, “as a favor to my friend here.”

Alexandrians saw immediately how much sway Arius had with their new conqueror. A philosopher named Philostratus who believed himself to be on Octavian’s enemies list took to following Arius around the city, begging to be spared. “A wise man will save a wise man,” he pleaded, “if wise he be.” From Plutarch we hear that Octavian pardoned the man—mostly to save his teacher from the annoyance.

To be used as a symbol of peace is somewhat ironic given Arius’s name (Arius Didymus translates literally as “Warlike Twin”) and darker still given the Machiavellian—though pragmatic—advice that Arius would give his young charge. Whereas Athenodorus seemed to have mainly concerned himself with Octavian’s education and his moral character, Arius instructed him directly on political matters too. The most urgent matter in Alexandria, in Arius’s view, was mopping up the potential threats to the throne. Plutarch says Arius advised Octavian to kill Caesar’s son with Cleopatra, the young Caesarion, telling him that “it’s not good to have too many Caesars.” Octavian would wait until Cleopatra had buried his former ally-cum-rival Antony and until she had poisoned herself to act on Arius’s advice. Then he made the lethal move to eliminate Caesarion, not willing to risk the existence of any rival heirs, even if it meant killing the son of Caesar, whom he had claimed to love. Soon after, the Caesarium temple Cleopatra had built in Alexandria for Julius Caesar would be finished—except it would be dedicated to Augustus instead, his son’s murderer and soon to be the first emperor of Rome.

It was dirty business, but Arius the Stoic advisor believed it needed to be done. With Cato and Cicero and Porcia in mind, he could not countenance another bloody civil war. Nor could Rome.