Priscus and Verus: The Gladiators Who Refused the Script

Sunday, May 18, 2025

Rome, 80 CE.

The Colosseum groaned with anticipation. It was the first day of the inaugural games under the new emperor, Titus.

Marble seats baked under a Roman sun. Senators and slaves, patricians and plebs, all leaned forward to witness blood sport—the sacred theater of domination and death.

Two gladiators entered the arena: Priscus and Verus.

Well-matched. Well-trained. Well-aware that in Rome, the only way out of the arena was through the body of your opponent—or in pieces.

But something happened that day that shocked even the Emperor.

The Fight That Wasn't for Show

According to the poet Martial, who recorded the event in De Spectaculis, the fight between Priscus and Verus was not staged. It was not choreographed. It was real. The kind of fight the Roman crowd loved: long, brutal, and unrelenting.

They struck, parried, advanced, retreated. Neither yielded. Each tested the other like a craftsman testing steel. And slowly, what began as a contest became something else. A kind of dialogue.

A choreography of mutual understanding.

The crowd, used to blood, began to feel something else: awe.

They shouted for mercy. Then for death. Then again for mercy. But no fatal blow came.

The two men, exhausted, battered, and proud, laid down their weapons at the same time.

It wasn’t a tie. It was a decision.

The Emperor Breaks the Pattern

This was unprecedented. In Rome, gladiators didn’t get to make decisions. But Titus, who had seen hundreds of matches, understood what had just happened.

He pardoned them both.
He awarded both the palm of victory.
And he granted both their freedom.

The poet Martial wrote that this act elevated them above death and domination. They had fought as equals, yielded as equals, and won as equals. “Quod magis est, pugnavere pares.” More than that, they fought as equals.

It was one of the only recorded instances in Roman history where a match ended not in spectacle, but in mutual recognition.

The Arena Within: A Neuroscientific Allegory

What if Priscus and Verus aren’t just men from the past—but aspects of your own mind?

Every day, inside your skull, there’s an arena.

In it, competing drives, systems, and narratives battle for dominance.

• The desire for discipline clashes with the longing for freedom.

• The need for safety wrestles with the hunger for risk.

• The voice of the past confronts the possibility of change.

And most of the time, like in Rome, these parts are forced into opposition. We think we have to choose. To kill one part off to let another live.

But the story of Priscus and Verus suggests something radical:

You don't have to pick a winner.

Cognitive Gladiators: A Map of the Mind

Priscus might represent your executive function—the logical, disciplined prefrontal cortex. He is trained, consistent, careful.

Verus could be your limbic system—impulsive, emotional, attuned to risk and reward. He is fiery, instinctual, urgent.

In trauma, these two often fight to the death.

The rational mind tries to suppress feeling. The emotional mind erupts unpredictably when ignored.

But what if, instead of suppression, there could be cooperation?

That’s what neuroscientists and therapists mean by integration.

It’s not about the prefrontal cortex winning over the amygdala. It’s about creating conditions where both are seen, heard, and allowed to inform behavior. This is the essence of emotional regulation, resilience, and adaptive functioning.

Dan Siegel calls this "mindsight."
Richard Schwartz calls it "Self-leadership" in Internal Family Systems.
Modern neurobiology simply calls it homeostasis through integration.

When No One Has to Die

The true outcome of the Priscus and Verus match wasn’t just freedom. It was transformation.

They had become something more than gladiators. More than men caught in the machinery of violence. They had authored their own ending—not through defiance, but through recognition.

And isn’t that what we long for, in the most conflicted parts of our own inner lives?

To stop the cycle.
To acknowledge that both parts—the rational and the impulsive, the fearful and the brave—belong to us.
To let them set down their weapons.
And to walk free, together.

Final Reflection: Integration is Liberation

In the therapeutic hour, in moments of quiet reflection, in the struggle between one more drink or one more day sober, between telling the truth or protecting the peace—you are back in that Colosseum.

But freedom doesn't come from victory. It comes from recognition.
And when your inner Priscus and your inner Verus recognize each other not as enemies, but as equals, you become the Emperor.

Not by ruling over them.

But by releasing them both.

Be Well, Stay Kind, and Godspeed.