They hoped he would grow into the job. They hoped that a tutor like Seneca would teach the boy some wisdom and gravitas.

Instead, Nero seemed to get worse as he grew up and gained power. He tried, multiple times, to kill his own mother (eventually succeeding). He banished a poet for being too talented. He forced Roman crowds to listen to him perform. He eliminated potential successors. He exiled philosophers. Even when this all came crashing down, and he was driven to suicide to escape the consequences of his mismanagement and enemies, he had to ask a secretary—Epictetus’ owner, as it happens—to do the deed for him.

Nero was, to paraphrase the song lyrics, the smallest man who ever lived. He might have possessed a great kingdom, but he did not command himself or his urges or his ego. He was vain and cowardly. Petty and vindictive. Murderous and untalented. He was rust on a sparkling empire.​

The question is, as we’ve talked about before, how Seneca got so mixed up in it. What was he doing writing speeches for this guy? Advising him? Supporting him, when he was so obviously unsuited for power in every conceivable way. James Romm’s fascinating biography Dying Every Day, along with Emily Wilson’s The Greatest Empire offer several answers: Seneca was greedy. Seneca was hypocritical. Seneca was a martyr (thought he was the adult in the room, saving Rome from worse). Seneca was weak and then became strong when he finally turned on him.

In truth, Seneca was a lot like us, probably. He knew what he should do, but made excuses. He had trouble seeing what his salary—and status—depended on him not seeing. He hoped he could do things through Nero. He told himself it was not as bad as everyone said it was. He told himself he was waiting for the right moment.​

Well, we’re in an election year here, not just in America but across the world. Let us learn from Seneca. Let us be reminded what happens when you let a man-child run a country, when ego and incompetence run amok.