The Emperor's Mirror: What Commodus Teaches Us About Power and Ego
I've been diving into "Roman Empire" on Netflix lately. It's this dramatized docuseries that starts with Emperor Marcus Aurelius (one of my favorite thinkers) and traces the empire's gradual unraveling from there. I'm at the part where Marcus' son, Commodus, has taken the throne.
Commodus is unique—the first emperor in 80 years to inherit the throne through birthright rather than merit. As you might expect, he grew up surrounded by privilege, excess, and little accountability. He was essentially a party boy before and even during his reign.
What struck me most was a scene highlighting his massive ego. Commodus decides to fight as a gladiator in the Coliseum games he's hosting. For context, gladiators were slaves who fought to the death for entertainment. This violent spectacle was deeply embedded in Roman culture. Against the odds, Commodus somehow wins his first battle.
The crowd erupts, chanting his name, and we witness the beginning of his downfall in real-time. Rather than stopping while ahead, Commodus continues fighting—but secretly fixes each match by giving his opponents dull swords. Predictably, he "wins" every fight after that.
The scene reaches its emotional peak when Narcissus, a former slave who earned his freedom through fighting and who had been training Commodus, discovers the emperor has been rigging his battles. As Commodus' trainer and his initiator into the gladiator brotherhood, he confronts him, saying that he has no honor, integrity or courage.
Commodus loses it completely. He screams for everyone to leave and dismisses the confrontation as unworthy of his attention.
I resonated with Commodus' reaction more than I'd like to admit. Often, the privilege and lack of genuine challenge I've experienced has conditioned me to build my personal empire—to reject confrontation and to "fix" the battles in my life so I can always win.
It's easy to think, "I would never do that" until you taste even a little power and see what your ego does with it. You may not have 50,000 people chanting your name in the Coliseum, but you do face the same fundamental choice: respond with humility and seek understanding, or rule with an iron fist and demand acclamation and rightness.
We all justify our actions to avoid being wrong. It doesn't feel good to take the low road—to stay quiet, remain open to correction, and trust the process. It's far easier to take the stage, take the sword, and take a bow. But at what cost?
As Commodus' father once wisely said, "if anyone can refute me—show me I'm making a mistake or looking at things from the wrong perspective—I'll gladly change."
In his book, Meditations, Marcus expresses it perfectly: "When you start to lose your temper, remember: there's nothing manly about rage. It's courtesy and kindness that define a human being and a man. That's who possesses strength, nerves and guts, not angry whiners. To react like that brings you closer to impassivity and so to strength. Pain is the opposite of strength and so is anger. Both are things we suffer from and yield to."
Questions
How do you respond to correction?
What battles are you fighting? Are they fixed or for real?
How has your past informed how you respond to life today?
Hey, Wes. Good stuff, as usual.
I've been thinking about my ego a lot lately. I made an attempt to complete the Boston Marathon this year and failed. I had to withdraw at mile 20. In the days following my disappointing experience, I had a lot of well meaning friends ask how I was feeling. I'd tell them the only injury I sustained was a bruise to my ego. It was a deflecting answer, hoping to provide a bit of levity, but it was also honest.
There are a lot of reasons I failed, but the attempt was an ego-boosting attempt from the beginning. I'm not proud of it, and the truths I've found about myself in the failed attempt are embarrassing, but the kind of embarrassment that leads to growth. At least I hope. I've begun to make some changes in outlook and motivations for my goals.
I’ve been wrestling with this idea quite a bit recently.
In my post a couple days ago I wrote that I keep finding myself experiencing this deja vu, a returning from past moments in my life where I was invited into challenge and yet, ultimately chose the easier and safer path … the one where I knew I could win.
Now, once again, I find myself standing there.
Thinking I’ve been like Commodus in the past is terrifying, even as I feel the temptation to walk that path again.