Who Should We Emulate?

“The best revenge is to be unlike him who performed the injury.” This aphorism appears in Meditations, a collection of philosophical musings written by Marcus Aurelius, a 2nd century Roman emperor.

Aurelius is considered one of the less tyrannical, even just rulers of the Roman Empire — and he is portrayed as such by the late-Richard Harris in Gladiator (2000). In the Academy Award-winning movie, directed by Ridley Scott, the Roman emperor envisioned the glorious return of the Roman Republic by dismantling the corruptible Caesarean rule, thereby re-elevating the status and power of the Senate. As he laments to his general and appointed successor, Maximus (Russell Crowe), “There was once a dream that was Rome. You could only whisper it. Anything more than a whisper and it would vanish — it was so fragile.”

That dream being a democratic-like government. In the first film, Aurelius and Maximus die in pursuit of that lofty goal, killed by the megalomaniac Commodus (Joaquin Phoenix). Both are considered heroes, worthy of emulation. However, in Gladiator II, their heroism and maxims are largely forgotten, apart from the few admirers who have survived nearly 20 years since their deaths.

Unlike its predecessor, Gladiator II wears its political commentary on its sleeve — and unlike modern films sympathizing and perpetuating ‘wokeism’ in the aftermath of the 2020 George Floyd protests, Scott’s sword-and-sandals tale is a direct critique of this recent phenomenon.

Most, if not every character is disheartened by the societal and political landscape in Gladiator II’s Rome. The emperors, Geta (Joseph Quinn) and Caracalla (Fred Hechinger), are a pair of sex-crazed, corrupt, vapid brothers, who act with no philosophical basis: their rule is merely bent toward adjudicating power for power’s sake and conquering lands since that has been Rome’s standard operating procedure. There is no ingenuity — and they fail to exhibit any talent. They are the embodiment of failing upwards, governed only by self-serving, immediate interests, like bloodshed in the gladiatorial games. This malaise has infected Rome’s governance and population. As Lucilla (Connie Nielsen), Aurelius’ daughter, states, “The people have not seen hope in a long time.”

Far removed are Geta and Caracalla from the greater (though imperfect) men, Romulus and Remus, brothers who founded Rome. The former are inheritors — and poor ones at that. This is not merely subtext. Scott’s film directly juxtaposes the emperors and Rome’s founders when Lucius gazes at the latter’s statue, nursed by a she-wolf, while being carted into the Eternal City as a prisoner.

Meanwhile, Gladiator II’s main villain is Macrinus (Denzel Washington), a resourceful, cunning businessman, wielding the gladiator battles to obtain political power. Macrinus is also the only character to cite Aurelius’ aforementioned aphorism, but he does not speak those words with admiration or respect. He opposes Rome as an idea — yet he sees it as a mechanism to acquire wealth and enact his revenge. In short, Macrinus has cherry-picked and corrupted the true intent of Aurelius’ words.

It is not without reason. Macrinus loathes Aurelius because he was enslaved by the latter. His philosophy, instead, aims not for peace or even insinuating Christ’s “turn the other cheek,” but exhibiting sheer force and brutality. As he asserts to Lucius (Paul Mescal), the sequel’s new gladiator, “Violence is the universal language.”

Throughout the film, Macrinus overthrows the Roman emperors, assumes power, and even wreaks havoc by inciting riots. Is the villain a stand-in for organizers of the 2020 protests, such as Black Lives Matter (who have been accused of mismanaging tens of millions of dollars), and the woke-activists demonizing America’s founding — like the 1619 Project — and toppling statues honoring heroes of Western Civilization, including George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, Ulysses S. Grant and Winston Churchill? Or how about protestors who burned cities, like Minneapolis, and literally tried to secede from the Union with the Capitol Hill Occupied Protest (CHOP) or Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone (CHAZ) in downtown Seattle?

It is not hard to make a direct one-to-one correlation, at least as far as the film is concerned. Ultimately, Macrinus is not admirable — he only seeks retribution for past sins, not reconciliation or even Rome’s moral elevation. Again, one could argue, wokeists acted similarly toward the Founding Fathers: scrap the American experiment because of slavery’s existence, but not acknowledging the ideals enshrined in the Declaration of Independence, and the good that has wrought on the world stage, as well as the hundreds of thousands who died to purge the evil industry from the continent. In short, wokeism is the equivalent of ‘throwing the baby out with the bathwater.’

Like others in Gladiator II, Lucius begins the film fighting against Rome. A refugee whisked away to an African nation for his safety, the young gladiator is more animalistic than man. He is a soul adrift, seeking survival, who only knows violence, pain and death. To him, Rome exemplifies hypocrisy. He has few male models in his life; and those he does have die in battle. In truth, Lucius is like many modern young men enduring a widely recognized ‘masculinity crisis.’ However, with patience and perseverance, he learns about his grandfather, Marcus Aurelius, and his father, Maximus, and sees Romans — like General Acacius (Pedro Pascal) — risking their status, fortunes and lives for a brighter, more hopeful future. When the general is killed in the arena by the Praetorian Guard, Lucius, who once hated the man, sharply criticizes the crowd, shouting, “Is this how Rome treats its heroes?” (One could almost say likewise to those besmirching our country’s heroes.)

By the film’s climax, when Lucius has discovered a purpose beyond the daily, nihilistic bloodshed, he stands at the feet of a statue of Marcus Aurelius, while donning his father’s armor. Before a crowd of men, armed for battle, he states that “up until now, we have fought for nothing more than another day’s survival,” yet there is a  “fight for a freedom far beyond these walls.” He adds:

“There once was a time when honor meant something in Rome. I no longer believe that exists, we must find it. And know this: where death is, we are not. Where we are, death is not! By my sword, strength and honor.”

Truly, Lucius embodies his grandfather’s aphorism: he rejects Macrinus’ cynicism — who did ‘injure’ him by killing loved ones — and decides to emulate those flawed, but great men that came before, who believed in pursuing freedom, goodness and truth.

Ironically, for a movie seeking to rival its predecessor’s critical and box office success, Gladiator II falls short from a cinematic standpoint. Nevertheless, Scott’s sequel courageously prods at one of wokeism’s central tenets: that the great men of yesteryear deserve condemnation rather than emulation. Granted, humans are fallen beings. No one is — or ever will be — perfect. As Psalm 146 proclaims, “Put no trust in princes, in children of Adam powerless to save.” Yet those like Macrinus would have us believe Western Civilization is unsalvageable; but that is not the truth. Who we imitate matters. Indeed, our hearts are geared toward imitation, as St. Paul writes in First Corinthians. Indeed, we cannot survive in a society devoid of heroes — for we need focal points to aim at. Heroic, virtuous lives reveal the best of the human spirit and even our failings. How can we expect to collectively grow if we do not learn from their example?

As Scott’s film concludes, true heroes — who are heroic by overcoming their shortcomings — inspire hope, which our civilization desperately needs. It yearns for models of courage, strength and honor, not only for this current generation, but also for the future. And one need only look to posterity.