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January 17th A.D. 395: the Emperor Theodosius definitely had a bad day.

However, he was one of the few Roman Emperors to die of natural causes.

Theodosius might be considered the true father of the Byzantine Empire. Until him, the Roman Empire had been considered one realm, even if it often had co-emperors to rule (and plot against each other). Theodosius decided simply to divide the empire in two, and it just so happened that he had a son for each half. His son, Arcadius the affable dolt, received the eastern half. It became the Byzantine Empire. His son, Honorius, the degenerate dolt, received the western half. It became a ruin. (Theodosius did have a reasonably bright child, but the Empire wasn’t ready for an Empress. She had the “consolation” of being the mother of an emperor, Honorius’ successor. Unfortunately, her son Valentinan III was just as degenerate as his uncle.)

Theodosius was also the first emperor to enforce the new religion on the Empire. Banning the Olympics was just one of his ways of suppressing the remaining institutions of paganism. Temples, and any of their assets, were seized. Some were converted into churches; many of the oldest churches today quite literally have pagan foundations. The other pagan buildings were used as quarries for their marble and columns; their material ended up in churches, too.

Theodosius’ polices incited a pagan rebellion in western Europe. The pagans’ choice for an Emperor was a grammarian named Eugenius. Since the annals do not record an Emperor Eugenius, you can guess who won.

January XV, LXIX:  The Glorious Reign of the Emperor Otho

Nero was the last of the Caesars; kicking to death a pregnant wife is not good for a dynasty. His uncle Caligula had merely thought himself a God; Nero was less modest and insisted on a career in show business. The entire Empire was a captive audience to this aspiring Homer. In fact, he did put on a good–and free–show with lavish spectacles that the audience enjoyed. Nero may have terrorized the patrician class and some obscure Jewish sect, but the public generally liked him.

However, the Emperor was not an elective position, and the pudgy, melodramatic Nero did not command the respect or loyalty of the generals, each of whom fancied himself a more suitable emperor. Rebellion was inevitable, and Nero’s response was to kill himself. He was succeeded by Galba, a man everyone respected but no one really liked. The cheap and charmless bureaucrat quickly inspired a wave of nostalgia for Nero. A playboy patrician named Otho exploited this popularity as well as the Praetorian guards’ susceptibility to bribes. In less than a year, Galba was dead and Otho was emperor, a reign beginning on this day in A.D. 69.

Unfortunately, Otho was less impressive than Nero. People tended to remember Otho for his wig, so he was not likely to have a long reign. Within a few months, he was overthrown by a Roman general named Vitellius. People tended to remember Vitellius for his gluttony; he didn’t last long either. Within a few months, he was overthrown by a Roman named Vespasian. (The year A.D. 69 would have an exhausting time for whomever was supposed to update the emperor’s portrait on the coinage.) People tended to remember Vespasian for his ability; he lasted ten years and had the originality to die of natural causes.

Born of more modest origins than a Caesar and conscious of his blood-stained inauguration, Vespasian sought to ingratiate himself with the Roman populace. His gift to the city is still standing: the Colosseum.

August 31st:  Happy Birthday to Emperor Commodus

Marcus Aurelius was a statesman and philosopher.   But for all of the esteem that history has conferred on the him, he did leave the Roman Empire in the hands of a teenage idiot: his son Commodus.  The  fatuous, petulant princeling, born this day in 161, possessed no distinctions other than his father’s name and a talent for carousing.  Commodus’ reign was only as good as his advisors and his temper, and the former rarely survived the latter. He hated to be distracted from his chief interest: professional sports. The emperor preoccupied himself with managing a gladiator school. His tantrums finally compelled some endangered advisors to organize a fitting plot. The imperial jock got a fatal headlock from a professional wrestler.

How could the great Marcus Aurelius have made such a foolish choice?  Stoics are not supposed to be sentimental. Furthermore, the imperial position was not hereditary. From 96 to 180, five Emperors–Nerva, Trajan, Hadrian, Antoninius Pius and Marcus Aurelius–had been selected on merit.  Heredity had proved a very poor criterion for government.

First, the Roman Patrician turned out to be very unproductive–literally. All that Italian body hair (I am referring to the men) had no correlation with fertility. Augustus had only one child–a daughter. Tiberius had only one child–a son who was murdered by his wife. Nero certainly did not prolong the dynasty by kicking to death his pregnant wife. And with Caligula’s habit of “dating” his sisters, sterility was preferable. So progeny may have been a Latin term but not a Latin habit.

Given the sparsity of heirs, the Romans were almost forced to pick Emperors on merit. Then the Philosopher-Emperor had to ruin it by indulging in nepotism. Commodus proved so abysmal that his reign seemed to Edward Gibbon the appropriate beginning of “The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.” After Commodus, the Emperors again were elevated generally on merit. Unfortunately, the merit now was one’s ability to kill your predecessor. That would explain why there were some 80 emperors in five centuries.

p.s. Today is also Caligula’s birthday, but he doesn’t need me as a publicist.

There were some advantages to being a Roman emperor. For instance, until the fifth century, the pay was excellent. You would rarely be turned down at an orgy. Furthermore, the job would never be outsourced to India, if only because the Romans had but a vague notion about India’s location.

Longevity, however, was another matter. From an actuarial perspective, an emperor would have regarded murder as a natural cause of death. In a period of five centuries, Rome had more than 80 emperors. The total is imprecise because the imperial reigns often were.

The Emperor Pertinax might have expected a longer reign. He certainly was an improvement over his predecessor, the debauched and incompetent Commodus. (You remember him from “Gladiator.”) Indeed, on his own merits, Pertinax had the makings of an excellent ruler. He was conscientious, honest and capable. You could add frugality to his virtues, but that actually was a flaw in Rome. The people wanted their bread and circuses, and the Praetorian Guard expected “donations”.

The Praetorians could overlook any vice in an emperor but stinginess. Pertinax had every virtue but generosity, so he did not survive his bodyguards. Today is that dubious anniversary.

The impulsive Praetorians seized the throne but had no one to occupy it. Then the extravagantly rich Didius Julianus,  the Donald Trump of his day, simply decided to buy the position of emperor. He showed up at the Praetorians’ camp and proceeded to bid for their loyalty. Another patrician competed in the auction for the Empire, but Julianus outbid him. His purchased Praetorians then cowed the Senate into acclaiming him the emperor.

The Praetorians’ loyalty lasted two months. When an ambitious general marched on Rome, the imperial guard switched sides again. Julianus did not live to regret it. He now is remembered as a joke. (The same might be said of Donald Trump.)

Pat Buchanan has inspired me before. This satire on the 2000 election was published in Salon. Let’s see how it has aged.

Pox Populi

According to Pat Buchanan, “George W. Bush is no Marcus Aurelius.” Then, which Roman emperor is the Republican heir? Five centuries of Caesars and their perpetual assassinations offer us some 80 emperors to use as presidential similes. Let’s see who fits whom?

All of the candidates want to be Constantine, the first Christian emperor. The 4th century tyrant actually would be an appropriate choice. Constantine (c. 312-337) embraced Christianity and tried to impose it on everyone, but he never personally practiced it. Morality and mercy would have constrained his hold on power. Yes, most of his slaughtered rivals were pagans; they also were members of his family. He was ecumenical in killing Christian relatives as well. Proclaimed in his lifetime as “the 13th apostle” and “Christ’s regent on earth,” the ruthless hypocrite did not bother to be baptized until he was on his death bed. Constantine is not merely a role model for modern politicians; he is their patron saint.

George W. Bush is no Constantine; otherwise, Jeb would already be dead. Nor is Bush the new Marcus Aurelius, but he could be that emperor’s son: the fatuous, petulant Commodus. The princeling (c. 180-192) was more of a contrast than a successor. Marcus Aurelius was a statesman, philosopher and soldier; Commodus was a jock. The young patrician possessed no distinctions other than his father’s name and a talent for carousing. Commodus’ reign was only as good as his advisors and his temper, and the former rarely survived the latter. He hated to be distracted from his chief interest: professional sports. The emperor preoccupied himself with managing a gladiator school. His tantrums finally compelled some endangered advisors to organize a fitting plot. The imperial jock got a fatal headlock from a professional wrestler. If George W. Bush does not have an unnatural fear of Jesse Ventura, perhaps he should.

Al Gore might aspire to be Marcus Aurelius, but he lives the plight of Claudius. Stolid, lumbering Claudius (c. 41-54) was the stooge and the successor of Caligula. Although kinsmen, the two were incongruous. Caligula was a charming sociopath; even most of his victims liked him. Claudius was an awkward introvert; people could not decide whether he was a buffoon or a bore. Among his less prurient caprices, Caligula made his horse a senator and Claudius a consul. The horse commanded more respect. When Caligula was assassinated, the Republicans in the Roman Senate overlooked the ludicrous possibility that Claudius would succeed to the throne. The Imperial party and the Praetorian Guard really did not want him either, but there were no other male adults in the dynasty. Claudius was unavoidable and inevitable. He also was underestimated. Dull, plodding Claudius turned out to be a good emperor. Perhaps Al Gore shouldn’t mind the comparison.

Steve Forbes has proved his abilities by being born rich. That achievement apparently qualifies him to be president. Forbes has the presumption and precedence of Didius Julianus, the man who bought the Roman Empire. The Praetorian Guard could overlook any vice in an emperor but stinginess. Emperor Pertinax had every virtue but generosity, so he did not survive his bodyguards. The impulsive Praetorians seized the throne but had no one to occupy it. Then the extravagantly rich Julianus (c. 193) showed up at the Praetorians’ camp and proceeded to bid for their loyalty. Another patrician competed in the auction for the Empire, but Julianus outbid him. His purchased Praetorians then cowed the Senate into acclaiming him the emperor. The Praetorians’ loyalty lasted two months. When an ambitious general marched on Rome, the imperial guard switched sides again. Julianus did not live to regret it. He now is remembered as a joke, which may yet be Steve Forbes’ real achievement.

Bill Bradley may hope to be Marcus Aurelius, but he threatens to be Julian the Apostate. Both emperors were brilliant, profound and virtuous; however, Marcus Aurelius was also competent. Julian (c. 361-363) tried managing the Empire like a graduate course in philosophy. By the 4th century, Rome verged on collapse. Corruption and strife had completely demoralized the Empire. Constantine imagined that Christianity would be a cohesive and subservient force for the government. Instead, the Christian sects were fighting each other when they weren’t persecuting everyone else. Julian intended to revive the Empire by offering a new faith. As the alternative to libertine paganism and dogmatic Christianity, Julian endorsed Neoplatonism. His approach certainly had intellectual appeal. Pagans had fun, Christians had solace but Neoplatonists had metaphysics. There weren’t many converts. The Christians resented Julian, while the pagans were just bewildered. Julian still has a loyal following among history professors, and Bill Bradley can count on that constituency, too.

Jesse Ventura might seem original, but he is the reincarnation of Maximinus Thrax. The peasant who became an emperor, Maximinus (c. 235-238) possessed theatrical strength and size. He could haul a loaded wagon or fell an ox with a single blow of his fist. That remarkable power also was useful for slaughtering barbarians, and Maximinus rose through the ranks of the Roman army. The general still retained his peasant manners and, seeing no reason why an ineffectual patrician should be emperor, Maximinus usurped the throne. The new Roman Emperor did not like Rome and, during his reign, never bothered to visit his capital. He preferred fighting the Germans to contending with patrician society. For their part, the patricians loathed the vulgar usurper and constantly conspired against him. Maximinus was not shy about executions, and he attempted to purge aristocrats from the officer corps; but he was one man against the Roman establishment. A plot finally succeeded, ending the reign of a brutal tyrant and the best emperor in a 50-year period. Jesse Ventura could do worse.

Pat Buchanan, unlike the other candidates, would hate to be Marcus Aurelius. The pugnacious pundit is no stoic. Furthermore, Buchanan would rather fight for the German barbarians than against them. We must find another emperor who matches Buchanan’s physique, manner and philosophy. Think of a porcine sadist, a flamboyant bigot and a preposterous megalomaniac. Of course! If only Pat Buchanan were 30 years younger, he would be a perfect Nero.

salon.com | Sept. 25, 1999

There were some advantages to being a Roman emperor. For instance, until the fifth century, the pay was excellent. You would rarely be turned down at an orgy. Furthermore, the job would never be outsourced to India, if only because the Romans had but a vague notion about India’s location.

Longevity, however, was another matter. From an actuarial perspective, an emperor would have regarded murder as a natural cause of death. In a period of five centuries, Rome had more than 80 emperors. The total is imprecise because the imperial reigns often were.

The Emperor Pertinax might have expected a longer reign. He certainly was an improvement over his predecessor, the depauched and incompetent Commodus. (You remember him from “Gladiator.”) Indeed, on his own merits, Pertinax had the makings of an excellent ruler. He was conscientious, honest and capable. You could add frugality to his virtues, but that actually was a flaw in Rome. The people wanted their bread and circuses, and the Praetorian Guard expected “donations”.

The Praetorians could overlook any vice in an emperor but stinginess. Pertinax had every virtue but generosity, so he did not survive his bodyguards. Today is that dubious anniversary.

The impulsive Praetorians seized the throne but had no one to occupy it. Then the extravagantly rich Didius Julianus,  the Steve Forbes of his day, simply decided to buy the position of emperor. He showed up at the Praetorians’ camp and proceeded to bid for their loyalty. Another patrician competed in the auction for the Empire, but Julianus outbid him. His purchased Praetorians then cowed the Senate into acclaiming him the emperor.

The Praetorians’ loyalty lasted two months. When an ambitious general marched on Rome, the imperial guard switched sides again. Julianus did not live to regret it. He now is remembered as a joke. (The same might be said of Steve Forbes.)