On power that sometimes doesn’t realize it’s already naked
Today marks the anniversary of the day when the Roman Senate formally handed over power to Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus – better known as Caligula, or “little boot.” A symbolic moment, and the perfect occasion to reflect on the nature of power – especially what happens when someone gets just a little too comfortable on the throne.
Caligula’s rule wasn’t about making Rome greater. It was about turning an empire into a one-man theater of whim. According to the stories, he once planned to appoint his horse, Incitatus, as senator. Not because the horse showed remarkable political potential, but to send a message: “I hold the power – I can do whatever I want.”
The chosen ones – by blood then, by ballot now
For most of human history, power came by birthright, and the chosen few were shielded from scrutiny by divine right and old custom. Louis XIV, the Sun King, famously declared: “I am the state.” At least he was honest.
In Russia, Tsar Nicholas II preferred dinner parties and mystics to governance, failing to notice the empire crumbling beneath his velvet slippers. Questioning such rulers wasn’t an option – not because they were infallible, but because they had been taught they were.
And yet, from time to time, people did push back.
When the throne begins to tremble
In 17th-century England, Oliver Cromwell and his parliamentarians decided enough was enough. King Charles I lost his head – literally – in the name of a new political order. A century later, the French did something similar: a guillotine, a revolution, and a bold rejection of the divine right to rule.
These moments remind us that power isn’t sacred – and certainly not eternal. At least, it shouldn’t be.
Modern emperors: from democracy to dynasty
Today we vote for our leaders – at least in theory. But a ballot box doesn’t automatically make a ruler democratic in spirit. Some treat their election as coronation, and their office as a throne.
Take Vladimir Putin. He moves through his terms with the quiet confidence of someone who’s not just leading Russia but embodying it. Elections happen – more as ceremony than choice – and democracy, in his hands, becomes a decorative sash draped across authoritarian armor.
Recep Tayyip Erdoğan rules like a hybrid between a modern statesman and an Ottoman sultan. He reshapes constitutions like they’re personal bylaws, surrounds himself with loyal chroniclers, and tolerates little dissent. Parliament? More of a nodding chorus. The press? Courtiers with pens.
Donald Trump represents a different school entirely. He turned power into entertainment – the presidency as the ultimate reality show prize. The White House became a set, his cabinet a cast, and Twitter his royal decree scroll. Now that he’s returned for a second term, he behaves not as a re-elected president, but a restored monarch. Democracy? No – more like the pilot episode of the Trump Dynasty.
And of course, there’s Viktor Orbán. Never crowned, but certainly ruling like a Central European emperor reborn. He has a court, loyal vassals, a freshly renovated estate in Hatvanpuszta, and chroniclers reminding citizens daily how fortunate they are. Parliament? A polite ritual. The opposition? A necessary dramatic device. Orbán isn’t merely a prime minister – he’s the Emperor. Not quite Roman, but definitely tailored for the modern age – and he alone decides who counts as senator, and who counts as horse.
So what can we do with all these little emperors?
The eternal question: how do we keep power in check? The answer is as old as Caligula: remember, question, resist. Democracy isn’t automatic. It requires vigilance – against apathy, fear, and the personal ambitions of those who’d rather rule than serve.And next time someone wants to appoint a horse to the senate – or behaves like they already have – think of Caligula. This anniversary isn’t just a date on a calendar. It’s a quiet reminder that little boots take big steps when no one’s watching.