How to Think Like a Roman Emperor

How can you live wisely amid uncertainty and emotional storms? In How to Think Like a Roman Emperor, Donald Robertson argues that the ancient philosophy of Stoicism is not abstract speculation but a practical psychological system—a therapy for the mind. He traces how Stoic techniques mirror modern cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT), revealing a timeless toolkit for managing emotions, cultivating virtue, and building inner resilience.

The book presents Marcus Aurelius, Roman Emperor and Stoic sage, not as an idol to admire but as a living case study in applied philosophy under pressure. Through Marcus’s experience—his writings, his mentors, his struggles with anger, pain, and mortality—you see how Stoicism can train thought and character. Robertson blends biography, philosophy, and psychology into a cohesive path for personal development.

Philosophy as psychological training

Stoicism begins with a radical insight: our distress comes from judgments, not events. It asserts that human beings are disturbed not by what happens, but by how they interpret what happens. This idea, echoed centuries later by CBT founders Albert Ellis and Aaron Beck, forms the core of Stoic therapy. By changing your internal narrative, you change your emotional reality.

Robertson shows that Stoic exercises—cognitive distancing, reframing, decatastrophizing—parallel modern therapeutic techniques. When Marcus practices the “view from above” or describes pains and pleasures in factual terms, he’s performing a psychological intervention to alter automatic thoughts and emotional intensity. Stoic practice becomes a systematic retraining of perception.

Marcus Aurelius as a model of lived philosophy

Through vivid scenes—Marcus’s death at Vindobona, his reflections during the Antonine Plague, his calm response to rebellion—Robertson portrays Stoicism as something embodied. Marcus had power and loss, war and illness. He faced life’s extremes while maintaining inner freedom. His Meditations are self-therapy notes, written not for publication but for self-correction.

Like a modern therapy journal, Marcus’s writings let you observe how philosophical reflection transforms emotion. He rehearses adversity, practices perspective, and writes aphorisms that prepare his mind for chaos. In this, Robertson invites you to adopt journaling not just as introspection but as a Stoic tool: daily review, corrective maxim writing, and moral rehearsal.

Virtue and the goal of rational life

At the heart of Stoic ethics lies a clear hierarchy: virtue is the only real good. Everything else—wealth, health, reputation—is “indifferent.” That hierarchy liberates you from anxiety over what cannot be controlled. The Stoics call this alignment “living according to Nature,” meaning acting in harmony with reason and moral order.

Robertson clarifies that virtue consists of four cardinal qualities: wisdom, courage, justice, and temperance. These are not ideals to occasionally recall—they are the skills you practice through daily Stoic exercises. When you face temptation, frustration, or fear, each virtue gives you a behavioral template. Stoic philosophy becomes ethical strength training.

Therapy through disciplined routine

Throughout, the book emphasizes practice as the mechanism of transformation. The Stoic day follows a rhythm—morning preparation, daytime mindfulness (prosoche), evening review. In the morning you anticipate challenges and mentally rehearse how a wise person would act. During the day you monitor impressions, refuse impulsive assent, and respond rationally. In the evening you audit yourself mercifully yet honestly.

This daily cycle converts philosophical theory into durable habit. Marcus Aurelius learned it from his mentors like Rusticus and transformed it into inner discipline. You can adapt the same psychology: reflection as exposure, objective description as cognitive restructuring, and journaling as continuous moral feedback. Over time, the ruling faculty—your reasoned self—becomes an inner citadel unaffected by external turmoil.

A therapeutic philosophy for modern life

Robertson’s Stoicism is not ascetic detachment but rational maturity. He invites you to face desire with cognitive distancing, anger with clemency, pain with reframing, and death with perspective. Each exercise reconnects ancient wisdom to modern psychology—turning Marcus’s imperial trials into universal lessons.

(Note: Where modern therapy treats symptoms of anxiety or depression, Stoicism addresses the meaning structure beneath them. The result is not just relief but moral growth—a change in the way you think and live.)

By the end, you realize Stoicism’s enduring power: it teaches you how to build freedom inside your own mind. You learn to act wisely amid uncertainty, to welcome adversity as training, and to live as Marcus did—with perspective, humility, and courage. Philosophy and psychology converge into a single craft: the art of thinking like a Roman emperor.

Robertson uses Marcus Aurelius’s life as a vivid example of Stoicism in action. You watch him confront plague, warfare, and betrayal while applying philosophical resilience. Each episode shows Stoic thought embodied in decisions, not merely repeated in words.

Stoicism under imperial strain

Marcus’s reign began amid illness and invasion. At Vindobona, dying of plague, he practiced cognitive distancing—asking where past emperors now were—to dissolve fear. This was not cold stoicism but emotional clarity. He viewed death as a natural transition, rehearsed repeatedly in his meditations.

Mentorship and self-correction

His mentor Junius Rusticus influenced him deeply—criticizing vanity, modeling humility, and giving him Epictetus’s notes. When Rusticus died, Marcus continued the dialogue through writing. Journaling became self-mentoring: reviewing his actions, imagining wise counsel, and revising judgments. Robertson highlights how this creates psychological autonomy—you become your own therapist and philosopher through daily written reflection.

Acceptance and moral humility

Marcus’s painful decision to appoint his son Commodus illustrates Stoic realism about control. He could educate and model virtue but not determine his son’s character. His approach embodies the reserve clause—act as best you can, fate permitting. His calm acknowledgment that outcomes belong to nature, not to personal desire, becomes the emotional fuel of equanimity.

Through these episodes, Marcus’s biography becomes a manual for inner governance. You learn that stability comes from continual philosophical rehearsal: observing thoughts, reframing impressions, and living out virtue under stress.

Emotion, in Stoic theory, arises from judgment. You are not hostage to feelings; you can retrain how you interpret experiences. Robertson connects this with CBT’s core model of cognition, showing Stoicism as an early science of emotional regulation.

Cognitive distancing

When you label an urge or worry as a thought, not a fact, you create space between impulse and action. Marcus practiced this with desires—reducing allure through plain description (“fermented grape juice” instead of “fine wine”)—and with pain, describing sensations neutrally. This verbal distancing psychologically disarms emotional charge.

Reframing and decatastrophizing

Like modern cognitive therapy, Stoics recommend testing worst-case assumptions. When you imagine a setback, you downgrade it through reason: most horrors are survivable, temporary, and partly controllable. Marcus turns plague and war into opportunities for courage and service. You can apply this by repeatedly rewriting dramatic thought into factual language.

Substitution and behavioral rehearsal

Robertson’s Stoicism integrates action. After detaching from an unhelpful impulse, you substitute a virtuous behavior and rehearse it. Example: instead of drinking when anxious, take a walk or study. This active re-channeling mirrors behavioral therapy and preserves autonomy. Marcus viewed voluntary restraint as a moral victory—not repression but reasoned choice.

Through these three pillars—distancing, reframing, substitution—you gain mastery over desire, fear, and anger. The mind becomes a governed city rather than a battlefield of reactions.

Robertson shows Stoicism’s power in confronting pain and hardship. Marcus endures illness and defeat by practicing mental exposure and equanimity. This section connects ancient and modern techniques of stress inoculation.

Premeditation of adversity

Stoics rehearse future difficulties intentionally—imagining rude people, death, or illness—to blunt their shock. This praemeditatio malorum parallels CBT’s imaginal exposure: by visualizing feared scenes repeatedly, anxiety habituates and declines. Practicing adversity in imagination builds tolerance in reality.

Pain and endurance

For physical pain, Marcus applied cognitive separation: sensations belong to the body; the mind can observe without fusion. He broke pain into parts, used neutral descriptions, and applied the Epicurean maxim: “If pain is unbearable, it ends; if it endures, it is tolerable.” Robertson calls this functional analysis—reducing fear’s amplification of pain.

Reserve clause and inner citadel

Marcus’s “inner citadel” is mental refuge: the ruling faculty unaffected by external ruin. The reserve clause—“I will do this, if nothing prevents me”—anchors you in present effort while releasing attachment to outcome. This twin concept gives practical immunity to disappointment. Like the Stoic archer, you focus on the aim, not the arrow’s flight.

Together, exposure, reframing, and acceptance turn adversity into training. You learn not to eliminate suffering but to reduce its moral impact. That shift defines Stoic toughness—grace under pressure rooted in perspective.

Robertson addresses the twin passions that derail reason—desire and anger. Through mythic lessons and imperial episodes, you see how Stoics turn impulses into choices aligned with virtue.

Desire: the Choice of Hercules

The allegory of Hercules choosing between pleasure and virtue symbolizes the Stoic life path. Marcus, like Hercules, chooses work and wisdom amid hardship; his brother Lucius chooses indulgence and decay. Robertson translates this choice into behavioral change: evaluate consequences, spot triggers, distance thoughts, and substitute rational actions.

Anger: ten gifts of Apollo

Anger, Marcus calls “temporary madness.” He defuses it through ten reflections—remembering human fallibility, his own imperfection, and the harm anger does to himself. When dealing with Cassius’s rebellion, Marcus practiced clemency, pardoning conspirators and modeling reasoned justice. This transforms vengeance into virtue.

Practical emotional governance

Both passions require similar therapy—pause, re-describe, rehearse a better act. Desire management trains temperance; anger management trains mercy. Each converts reactive emotion into deliberate morality. In practice, these are exercises in self-command—tiny victories that accumulate into character.

You realize that emotional freedom is not suppression but wisdom in interpretation. By choosing your judgments and responses, you govern your inner empire with justice rather than tyranny.

In his final meditations, Marcus champions perspective—viewing life and death from above to dissolve fear and pettiness. Robertson interprets this as Stoicism’s culminating therapy: the vision that heals existential anxiety.

Memento mori and liberation

Stoics practice contemplating death to remove its tyranny. You remember mortality not to brood but to clarify values: live now, kindly, and with purpose. Marcus repeats that fearing death is wasted energy—it diverts courage from the present act.

The view from above

In this exercise, you imagine looking down upon human life from a cosmic vantage—cities, battles, passions—all reduced in scale. This visualization creates emotional proportion. What seemed overwhelming becomes small within the whole. Robertson connects this practice with modern perspective-based therapy and mindfulness reappraisal.

Choosing higher values

Seeing existence as brief and shared leads to natural compassion. Tiny concerns dissolve; moral purpose expands. Marcus calls this “good cheer before death”—Stoic acceptance that blends tranquillity with gratitude. You learn to replace worry with wonder and to measure success not by duration but by integrity of mind.

By practicing the view from above, you join Marcus in the final Stoic act: living and dying in agreement with Nature, untouched by fear and filled with serenity.