Seneca thought he knew Nero. He was confident in his ability to teach or contain or even control him. Other Stoics knew better. Thrasea (whose story we tell in Lives of the Stoics) opposed him from the start. Agrippinus (another fascinating Stoic in Lives) wouldn’t even attend Nero’s parties, because it was clear to him that the man was a tyrant.

Surely these men (and women) communicated their concerns to Seneca. Surely people raised questions. But Seneca thought he knew better. He was also paid so handsomely by Nero, was so powerful as a result of his position as Nero’s teacher and advisor, that it became hard for him to see what was there. It was a classic case of that problem outlined by Upton Sinclair many centuries later: It’s very hard to get someone to see something that their salary (or status or identity) depends on them not seeing.

We all have blindspots like this. Some are more forgivable than others (Marcus Aurelius with his stepbrother Lucius Verus…ahem and recent presidents and their children). The reason we have trouble seeing what is so obvious to everyone isn’t just that we’re close to these people, it’s that we don’t want to admit we’re wrong. We don’t want to hear what we’re being told because it would mean changing our minds, having tough conversations, making painful decisions.

Yet even Marcus Aurelius would write in Meditations that false friends should be avoided at all costs. He spoke of needing to understand the true character of those we’re dealing with. This doesn’t mean we have to cut everyone who isn’t perfect out of our lives. It doesn’t mean we have to betray them (although in Seneca’s case, Nero did need to be conspired against and eventually Seneca did). But it does mean we can’t be naive. We can’t deny what is obviously true…or that will cause us and others we love even more trouble. It’s only delaying the inevitable, only deferring the painful choices (or consequences) we’ll inevitably face.