William O. Stephens, Marcus Aurelius: Philosopher-King (Reaktion Books, London, 2025)

Review by Judith Stove

The ever-growing global public of readers interested in the Stoic emperor, Marcus Aurelius, has been generously served of late. Hot on the heels of the definitive scholarly survey, The Cambridge Companion to Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations, comes this readable biography by Professor William O. Stephens, professor emeritus of philosophy at Creighton University. It is no disparagement of the work under review to say that it does not entirely supersede the magisterial account of Marcus Aurelius by the late Anthony Birley, first issued in the 1960s and in many subsequent editions. But it does update Birley, and therefore Professor Stephens’ book will be the go-to biography going forward.

No writer could be better placed than Professor Stephens to negotiate the challenge of presenting ancient material usefully for both academic and general readers: he has been active in this space for a quarter-century. His Marcus Aurelius: A Guide for the Perplexed appeared back in 2011, preceding even the earliest meetings (in 2012) of what would evolve into the Modern Stoicism organization. Most recently, Stephens’ collaboration with Scott Aikin on a new edition of Epictetus’ Encheiridion (2023), has represented a landmark in uniting the scholarly, the accessible, and the truly useful.

The work under review appears in a Reaktion series designed for the general reader, Great Lives of the Ancient World, alongside treatments of Alexander the Great, Archimedes, and Plato. Chapters 1, ‘Truest,’ and 2, ‘The Brothers Imperator,’ cover the biography of Marcus from childhood to his early reign. Chapter 3, ‘The Toll of the Pandemic,’ addresses in detail the Antonine Plague, often described as the first known pandemic. Chapter 4, ‘Pagans and Christians,’ scrutinizes the growing religious tensions in Marcus’ time. Chapter 5, ‘War in the Cosmopolis,’ completes the treatment of Marcus’ northern wars, and the revolt of Avidius Cassius. Chapter 6, ‘The Apple Falls Far from the Tree,’ covers the later years of Marcus and succession of Commodus, considering how Marcus’ leadership during protracted wars fit with his Stoic principles. Chapter 7, ‘Nature, Beauty and Art’ surveys Marcus’ keen appreciation of nature, along with artistic changes during his time. Finally, Chapter 8, ‘Legacy,’ provides a brief overview of the reception of Marcus.

It will be as well to deal straight away with a matter which may cause disquiet, although flagged well over a decade ago in the 2011 book (in this review, references to this earlier work will be to the 2012 Kindle edition). Stephens has opted to refer to Marcus’s work by the name of Memoranda rather than the more familiar Meditations. He explains:

There are five reasons it is better to call Marcus’ notes Memoranda. First, this more accurately describes their content. Many entries contain exhortations to ‘remember’, ‘remind yourself’, ‘bear in mind’, ‘don’t forget’ or ‘forget everything else’. Memory and being remembered or forgotten are themes often emphasized. Marcus himself mentions his own hypomnêmata (iii.14), that is, memoranda. Thus, remembering and forgetting are motifs fundamental to these writings. Second, Book One is entirely devoted to memorializing the virtues modelled to Marcus by his loved ones, mentors, teachers, tutors and role models. Third, Marcus’ notes do not rehearse an ancient practice thought to have originated in India around 1500 BCE. This practice is not what Marcus is up to in these writings. Fourth, calling them ‘meditations’ in the context of the history of Western philosophy falsely implies a close kinship with later works of the same title, including various medieval Meditationes and the famous treatise of René Descartes. Fifth, though written in Greek, the Latin title Memoranda (Mem.) befits its Roman author (p. 9; similar observations at 2012, pp.17-8).

If the title Meditations was good enough for great interpreters such as Francis Hutcheson in the 1740s, A.S.L. Farquharson in the 1940s, Pierre Hadot and Michael Chase in the late twentieth century, and John Sellars today, it is good enough for this reviewer; but readers will make their own decision. It would be unfortunate if authorial choice about a relatively minor matter were to deter some readers from pursuing the rest of this very valuable work.

More significantly, focusing on memoranda as the guiding principle of Marcus’ book risks overlooking equally important aspects: in particular, the emperor’s artistry. We recall that Hadot advanced the thesis of the work as conforming to the tradition of hypomnēmata by way of explaining what had been considered its apparent disorder (Hadot 1998, pp. 27, 47), so alien to modern expectations of a philosophical text. If, however, we find little or no disorder, but a great deal of design (Hadot acknowledged its ‘extraordinary literary quality,’ 1995, p. 200), involving the interweaving of motifs from earlier philosophers—notably Heraclitus, Plato, and Epictetus—into a kaleidoscopic tapestry, we are freed from relying so exclusively upon the hypomnēmata/memoranda account. It is rare (at least in this reviewer’s experience) for a writer as painstaking and brilliant as Marcus, to have no hope or intention that others will read his work. In this connection, Francesca Alesse, in the new Cambridge Companion, has cautiously questioned the near-unanimous consensus that Marcus wrote only for himself; surely a fruitful suggestion for further research (Alesse pp. 45-6).

The focus of Stephens’ 2012 volume was as much on Marcus’ philosophy, explicitly treated in several chapters, as on the facts of his life. The emphasis of the new work is more on the biography, with briefer accounts of philosophical matters. Notwithstanding this shift of direction, readers of the 2012 volume will find much that seems familiar in the work under review. Sections of biographical text reappear verbatim (at times in different locations[1] (#_edn1)). Elsewhere, there have been judicious revisions and inclusions. Appropriately, translations from the Greek text of the Memoranda have been fully refreshed.

A welcome revision is that Stephens has expanded the section covering the correspondence between the young Marcus and his Latin teacher Fronto. To underscore the significance of this corpus, for no other ancient writer do we have a comparable collection of juvenilia. Stephens sensitively observes:

Marcus expresses fondness for his master in various ways, but especially with affectionate superlatives at the end of letters. The frequency of such terms seems to result from the epistolary form: superlatives and diminutives are generally one of the tools of epistolary vocabulary used to foster intimacy between correspondents. Affectionate superlatives and discourses on the intimate bonds that link the two correspondents are part of the epistolary rhetoric, already present in Cicero’s letters. Besides superlatives, Marcus’ letters express affection for Fronto through imagery and a vocabulary sometimes drawn from an elegiac background (p. 44).

As well as the epistolary setting, the use of diminutives had a philosophical dimension: Epictetus had downplayed human self-importance by using the term somation, ‘little body’ (Discourses 1.1.10), a literary form which Marcus too would continue to deploy.

In Chapter 3, Stephens devotes considerably greater space in the new work than in the 2012 precursor to the Antonine Plague. This may be because the Covid-19 pandemic of our time has brought relevant considerations to the fore.

Rapid urban growth resulted in overcrowded tenements, where families often lived in cramped, unsanitary conditions. These living environments were breeding grounds for diseases such as cholera, typhoid fever, and tuberculosis. Inadequate sewage systems and a lack of clean drinking water exacerbated the public health crisis, leading to high mortality rates, particularly among children and the poor.

Actually, that quote has nothing to do with imperial Rome: it describes the insanitary conditions prevalent in New York during the so-called Gilded Age (https://www.usahistorytimeline.com/pages/public-health-and-sanitation-reforms-in-the-gilded-age-02d19c5e.php) in the later nineteenth century. The point is that passages such as this could apply equally to Elizabethan London, or Industrial-Revolution Manchester, as to Marcus Aurelius’s reign; or to just about any time and place before the Western hemisphere in the later twentieth century. The challenge for the historian must be to identify what was specifically relevant to the period and location under review. Stephens’ introduction of the chapter tends to the colourful and generic:

The poor crowded together in slums in the low-lying areas, which were once swamps. In between stood rickety apartment buildings stuffed with transient workers, seasonal labourers and immigrants (p. 76).

As Stephens himself recognizes, ‘Ancient reports of epidemics are often highly rhetorical’ (p. 84), and evidently the temptation remains. In the end, the chapter introduces the latest evidence from climate, topography, and food security, as well as the literary sources, in depth, without sacrificing readability.

Concluding an overview of medical practice of the time, Stephens states, strangely without offering a reference in support: ‘Whereas Galen ranked medicine as the highest of the liberal arts, mostly by emphasizing its positive moral role, Marcus regarded medicine as a merely banausic craft’ (p. 91). Leaving aside that readers might be unsure of the meaning of ‘banausic’ (‘merely mechanical, proper to a mechanic’), this seems a surprising claim. Marcus makes several references to doctors in the Memoranda, none expressing disdain and all thoughtful and considered. He refers to Asclepius, the god of healing, as co-extensive with the medical art and its practitioners, thus understood to be divine:

So we should accept our experiences just as we accept what Asclepius prescribes. After all, not a few of his prescriptions too are harsh, but we welcome them in the hope that they’ll improve our health (Memoranda 5.8, Waterfield translation).

This is an expression of the classical Stoic idea that philosophy is therapeutic for the soul as medicine is for the body. As Dirk Baltzly has shown, Stoicism, from its very inception, had been not only consistent with, but likely based upon, the best medical science available (Baltzly pp. 24-6).

As in the earlier volume, Stephens deals in a thorough and informative way with the career, military and diplomatic engagements which occupied so much of Marcus Aurelius’s life, from young Caesar assisting Antoninus Pius, to sole commander (after the death of his co-emperor Lucius Verus in 169 CE) on the northern frontier. Marcus’ administrative and legal decisions are also covered, revealing his commitment to justice and humane (if limited by modern standards) reform.

A theme treated in greater detail than in the 2012 work, is the issue of Christians during Marcus’s reign, thoroughly explored in Chapter 4. Engagingly, Stephens sets the scene of Roman polytheism with the example of different kinds of dogs:

To understand the religious context of Marcus’ time, the concepts god and dog can be compared. Everyone knew what a dog (canis in Latin, pl. canēs; kuōn in Greek) was. Furry quadrupeds of assorted sizes, shapes and colours were instances of this animal. Dogs played many important roles in Roman society. Canēs pastorales lived in the countryside and herded flocks. Canēs venatici were used in hunting. The Vertragus was a greyhound imported from Gaul used mostly for racing, while little dogs, called catuli and catellae, were pampered domestic companions. The Roman military used the Molossus and the Cane Corso as attack dogs in battle, put them on sentry duty in camps and had them relay messages inserted in their collars. Thus Romans differentiated canines of diverse kinds (p. 102).

Similarly, the Romans accepted and observed a wide range of deities from across the hugely diverse empire. Stephens explains that correct and punctilious observance was key to the stability of the community: the basic stance was transactional, the ‘peace of the gods’ (pax deorum) sought through sacrifice and cult (p. 106). Marcus’s own coinage (https://en.numista.com/263382) shows his family, including his wife Faustina, depicted with the Magna Mater, ‘great mother,’ the Anatolian goddess Cybele, introduced to Rome during the Republic, but still considered exotic in the imperial period. Stoicism, too, as it regarded all the world as a cosmopolis, embraced a diverse approach to piety. In times of war and plague, placating as many gods as possible made sense.

Against this background, evidently from Justin the Martyr’s Apology I and 2, as well as Dialogue with Tryphon (early in Marcus’ rule), Christians with intellectual pretensions were keen to be seen as members of another philosophical school—just as the only correct one (Hadot 1995, p. 269). For Justin, matters came to a head when he was accused, we are told, by a Cynic philosopher (recalling the Cynic and Stoic accusers during Nero’s reign) of being a Christian. Justin and his friends were interrogated by none other than Marcus’s beloved Stoic teacher Rusticus. On refusing to sacrifice, they were put to death in about 165.

As Stephens explains, martyrdom remained a vital element of Christian identity. A mass martyrdom of Christians at Lugdunum (Lyon), now in France, was said to have occurred in 177, although evidence for dating is insecure (the earliest record is in the work of Eusebius, 150 years after the purported date). Stephens plausibly suggests that the deteriorating security climate in the later 170s might have prompted local outbreaks of scapegoating Christians (pp. 127-8). There is no evidence of Marcus himself having ordered or encouraged persecution.

Yet the prominence of Justin’s and the Lyon martyrdoms in Christian accounts doubtless led Augustine, during the recriminations which followed the sack of Rome in 410, to name ‘Antoninus’ (in all probability, Marcus rather than his predecessor) as the fourth persecuting emperor, after Nero, Domitian, and Trajan (City of God 18.52). This was despite Trajan, famously, having endeavoured to discourage zealous local persecutors; Augustine’s account of Marcus is likely to be similarly suspect. Contra Stephens (p. 192), then, Augustine—after St Paul, the single most influential writer in Christian history—was no admirer of Marcus. It is likely to have been this City of God slur, along with the championing of Marcus by the reviled emperor Julian (‘the Apostate’), which contributed to the comparative obscurity of Marcus’s reputation.

In tension against early and explicit Christian antipathy, the pagan biographical tradition told a positive story. The Historia Augusta (however mysterious its author/s and origin) was extant at an early date, offering an admiring account of Marcus’s character and rule. Historian Cassius Dio, a younger contemporary of Marcus, was also unequivocally a supporter. The Historia would be used as a source for chronicles now lost, and by the mid-ninth century, the Irish monk Sudelius Scottus, in his ‘mirror of princes’ guide, could name-check Marcus and Antoninus Pius as role models, alongside the Old Testament heroes, Constantine, and Theodosius I and II (Doyle p. 67).

It was Marcus’s life, then, rather than the Memoranda, which principally informed his reception. There may, however, be evidence, surprisingly in a language context other than Greek or Latin (the Talmudic corpus), of widespread readership of Marcus’ book, within one or two generations of his death (Wallach). Stephens mentions Themistius (mid-fourth century, a friend and correspondent of Julian), who calls Marcus’s work ‘exhortations’ (parangelmata, p. 9; Sellars p. 197). The next secure mention of the Memoranda is by Arethas, Bishop of Caesarea in the early tenth century. It is not entirely the case, as Stephens states in Chapter 8, ‘Legacy,’ that Marcus’ Memoranda ‘was unknown before 1559’ (p. 195); there is evidence that the work was in circulation, at least in the Byzantine world. Joseph Bryennius (1350-c.1431), a monk and diplomat of Crete and Constantinople, wrote theological works which, without attribution, include extensive quotes from the Memoranda. This was not the last time Marcus’ work would be plagiarised: as this reviewer in 2022 revealed, the most eminent plunderer would be the father of the English novel, Daniel Defoe.

Nor is it true, as Stephens claims in his Introduction, that ‘Of all Roman emperors, [Marcus] probably gets the best press’ (p. 21)— Trajan’s memory was far better served—or ‘From the mid-sixteenth century to the eighteenth century, Christian historians sanctified Marcus and regarded him as a saint’ (p. 22). Marcus’s reception in Christian and Enlightenment Europe was far more complex, ambiguous, and—to this reviewer, at least—interesting than this.

If Marcus had truly been ‘safe,’ let alone sacrosanct, there would have been no reason for Defoe to plagiarise him, anonymously, in 1719. There would have been no basis, in Calvinist Glasgow in the 1730s, for the philosopher Francis Hutcheson to be accused of heresy—as he was—for teaching clearly influenced by Stoicism; and no need, a few years later, for him to conceal, except from trusted friends, his authorship of a translation of the Memoranda (Hutcheson and Moor p. 5).

Although Christians would at times, for tactical reasons during the Enlightenment ‘culture wars,’ co-opt Epictetus or Marcus Aurelius, this was never without misgiving (Elizabeth Carter, for one, was seriously concerned lest her translation of Epictetus might authorise, if not encourage, suicides). Furthermore, in the context of European, American, and Irish revolutions, Stoic notions of the equality of persons, and of their radical autonomy, seemed as politically inspiring—or dangerous, depending where one stood—as they had under Nero or Domitian.

Chapter 7 of Stephens’ work deals with Marcus’s relationship with nature, beauty and art. This is a welcome inclusion, and the quotes from Marcus which show his sensitive appreciation of natural phenomena are well chosen. Stephens is surely correct to write: ‘Roman art is of course indispensable for visualizing, and thus better understanding, the life and times of the Stoic emperor’ (p. 179). There follows a satisfying survey of the surviving portrait busts of Marcus, as well as the superb reliefs removed from Marcus’s triumphal arch, destroyed as late as 1665, and fortunately preserved in the Capitoline Museums. Stephens contrasts the reliefs on the pedestal of the column of Antoninus Pius. He finds them, by comparison with the Capitoline works, to be relatively ‘eclectic’ and deficient in perspective (pp. 184-5).

Yet this pedestal (the column proper, of red granite, survives only in fragments, inserted within Augustus’ horologium obelisk in the Piazza di Montecitorio, owing to a failed eighteenth-century attempt at restoration) must be of particular interest to students of Marcus. In the words of historian of imperial funerary architecture Penelope Davies, ‘this [pedestal and column] was [Marcus’ and Verus’] first recorded artistic venture’ (Davies p. 40). On the death of Antoninus in 161, Marcus and Verus commissioned the piece, and may well have worked upon its design. If we set aside the one or two speeches attributed to Marcus by biographers (unlikely to be a reliable record), the pedestal thus remains Marcus’ only creative work surviving from the decades between the Fronto correspondence, and the Memoranda of his maturity.

Of particular interest to students of Stoicism is the winged male figure, supporting the ascent of the now divine Antoninus and Faustina I. This figure has been plausibly identified as Aeon, representing time and eternity—themes we know from several passages in the Memoranda. As a whole, the apotheosis panel unites themes of Roman national identity, the imperial family, time, and the ‘view from above,’ all enduring concerns of Marcus (as Stephens addressed in detail at Chapter 4 of his 2012 book).

Engagement with this rich and various book could continue, but space demands an approach to conclusion. One or two final matters occur. This reviewer was startled to read an apparently serious consideration: ‘But what if Faustina [II, Marcus’ wife] was, in fact, promiscuous?’ (p. 145). Surely the question of paternity may be informed by Commodus’ striking visual resemblance to Marcus, only lending poignancy to subsequent events.

The Chronology given at the start of the book (pp. 15-20) has inconsistencies with the book text proper, and with the Genealogy (family tree, p. 28).[2] (#_edn2) There is a philosophical and human dimension here. We know that Marcus had to work upon himself, including through the spiritual exercise of reflecting on Epictetus’ counsel, as well as the example of his admired Apollonius, to cope, repeatedly, with ‘the loss of a child’ (Mem.1. 8). Part of our project of understanding Marcus’ life and philosophy must be to have the best possible information about his beloved children.

The final entry in the Chronology gives Marcus’ death in March 180, naming the location as Sirmium (pp. 20; 173). It remains far from clear that this was the place where Marcus died; the two competing options have traditionally been Vindobona (Vienna, Austria) and Sirmium (Sremska Mitrovica, Serbia). More research into archaeological evidence—fresh Roman sites (https://archaeologymag.com/2025/04/first-roman-bridgehead-fort-discovered-in-austria/) continue to emerge along the Danube frontier—will assist, but at this stage cannot resolve the long-standing question.

Notwithstanding these relatively minor concerns, overall, Professor Stephens’ achievement is outstanding. All students of Stoicism, or of Roman imperial history, and the readers, by now in their hundreds of thousands, who find the life and work of Marcus Aurelius to be an inspiration, are very much in his debt.

Works Cited Alesse, Francesca. ‘The Form and Function of the Meditations as Ethical Self-Cultivation.’ In Sellars (ed.), 2025, 26-46

Baltzly, Dirk. ‘Stoic Pantheism.’ Sophia, vol. 42, no. 2, October 2003, 3-33

Birley, Anthony. Marcus Aurelius: A Biography (revised edition). Yale University Press, 1987

Davies, Penelope. Death and The Emperor: Roman Imperial Funerary Monuments from Augustus to Marcus Aurelius. Cambridge University Press, 2000

Dimitrijevic, Milijan and Mihajlo Prica. ‘Where Did Marcus Aurelius Die?” Historia 72, 2023/2, 214-241

Doyle, Edward Gerard. Sedulius Scottus, On Christian Rulers and the Poems. State University of New York at Bingham, 1983

Elliott, Colin. Pox Romana: The Plague that Shook the Roman World. Princeton University Press, 2025

Hadot, Pierre (transl. Michael Chase). Philosophy As a Way of Life. Edited and with an Introduction by Arnold I. Davidson. Wiley Blackwell, 1995

Hadot, Pierre (transl. Michael Chase). The Inner Citadel: The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. Harvard University Press, 1998

Hutcheson, Francis and James Moor. The Meditations of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, ed. and with an Introduction by James Moore and Michael Silverthorne. Indianapolis, Liberty Fund, 2008

‘Justin Martyr, St. (c.100-c.165),’ in F. Cross (ed.), The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church. Oxford University Press, 1961, 756-7

Sellars, John. ‘The Early Modern Reception of the Meditations.’ In Sellars (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. Cambridge University Press, 2025

Stephens, William O. Marcus Aurelius: A Guide for the Perplexed. Bloomsbury, 2012

Stove, Judith. ‘Marcus Incognito: The Strange Case of Defoe’s Dumb Philosopher.’ Stoicism Today, December 10 2022 Marcus Incognito: The Strange Case of Defoe’s Dumb Philosopher – by Judith Stove | Modern Stoicism (https://modernstoicism.com/marcus-incognito-the-strange-case-of-defoes-dumb-philosopher-by-judith-stove/)

Wallach, Luitpold. ‘The Colloquy of Marcus Aurelius with the Patriarch Judah I.’ The Jewish Quarterly Review, New Series, vol. 31, no. 3 (January 1941), 259-286

Notes [1] (#_ednref1) E.g. for Marcus’ early life: 2025 pp. 27, 29 = 2012 pp.18-19 (Annii family); 2025 p. 30 = 2012 pp.19-20 (Caelian Hill); 2025 p. 32 = 2012 p. 21 (early roles and education); 2025 p. 35 = 2012 pp. 23-4 (nickname Verissimus); 2025 p. 37 = 2012 p. 25 (Apollonius); etc.

[2] (#_ednref2) E.g. Twelve of Marcus and Faustina’s children’s births are listed in the Chronology. Both the Genealogy (p. 28) – seemingly based upon Birley – and the book text (pp. 92-3), arrive at fourteen, which is the consensus. The Chronology omits (correctly shown in the Genealogy): T. Aelius Aurelius (b. and d. before 149); and the thirteenth child, Hadrianus, named in the book text (p. 92). The Chronology has incorrect birth years (c. 150 and c. 159) for daughters Fadilla and Cornificia, shown correctly in the Genealogy (159 and 160 respectively). The birth year of Marcus’ youngest child, Vibia Sabina, is given incorrectly in the Chronology as 166 (p. 18), correctly in the book text as 170 (p. 93).

About the Author Judith Stove is a writer in Sydney, Australia. If readers are curious about Roman child mortality, the Antonine Pedestal, or sites – such as the Villa Adriana, the Via Appia, or Carnuntum – important to the life of Marcus Aurelius, they may be interested in her book, Marcus Aurelius And His Legacy: Seeking Rome’s Kingdom of Gold (https://www.pen-and-sword.co.uk/Marcus-Aurelius-and-his-Legacy-Hardback/p/52508) (Pen & Sword, 2025).