Seneca, On the Happy Life 29: Let Virtue Lead the Way

Let virtue lead the way and bear the standard. We shall have pleasure for all that, but we shall be her masters and controllers; she may win some concessions from us, but she will not force us to do anything.

On the contrary, those who have permitted pleasure to take the lead will have neither one nor the other.

For they lose virtue altogether, and yet they do not possess pleasure, but are possessed by it, and are either tortured by its absence or choked by its excess, being wretched if deserted by it, and yet more wretched if overwhelmed by it, like those who are caught in the shoals of the Syrtes and at one time are left on dry ground and at another tossed on the flowing waves.

This arises from an exaggerated want of self-control, and a hidden love of evil. For it is dangerous for one who seeks after evil instead of good to attain his object. . . .

—Seneca the Younger, On the happy life, Chapter 14 (tr Stewart)

I often worry that too much of my life was wasted on wanting things that felt good, instead of being dedicated to doing things that are good. When I was a young fellow, I wanted to be loved. There were no takers. At that time in my life, where the only measure of right and wrong was how accepted I was, I felt horribly alone.

One day, at a party at an old friend’s house, I ended up sitting next to a girl I had met a few times before. I had certainly admired her from afar. She was quite attractive, and also incredibly bright. She suddenly licked my nose, and grinned at me.

Now what’s a fellow to do? I know what most men would say, but I am not an example of most men. I kissed her, I walked her home, and then I asked her out for a date at her door.

She laughed at me, but I told her that I meant what I had said. That was the beginning of my own grief. I was trying to be a gentleman, but my motives were still rooted in desire. The fault was never hers, because she was already who she was. The fault was mine, because I didn’t know who I was.

I allowed my desire to do my thinking for me. The next day, I found out that she had already been seeing a friend of mine. No worries, I thought, I will treat her better, and I will earn her love.

The next week, it was the University Chorale trip, and she came back bragging about the two fellows she’d played around with. I had no clue how to respond to that, but I tried to explain that I thought our relationship was between us, and that there would be no other playing.

A month later, she finally told me about her long-term boyfriend in New Zealand. I said it was either about him or about me, and she apparently chose me. I thought at the time it was about love, but I now know it was about my own selfishness.

Now any decent man, anyone in his right mind, would have immediately seen what was happening, and would have run to the hills. I was not thinking, however, but rather only feeling. I was not choosing, but rather only desiring. My gut had gotten a hold of my head. I did not possess what I desired, but my desires possessed me, and I had thrown out my own character in the bargain.

Over many years, I thought she had become my best friend, and I could not imagine my life without her. Yet I still recall the time I found her at a party, drunkenly wrapped around a fellow on a couch, and I still recall the time I wanted to propose marriage to her, but she didn’t answer the door, because she had another one of my friends in her bed.

Most men would blame her. I finally learned only to blame myself. I allowed my pleasure to rule me, because I never chose to make my virtue rule my pleasure. I longed for something through my passions, but getting what I wanted never satisfied me. There was never any happiness in all of the longing. I was constantly moved between being tortured by absence and choking on excess.

There is no such thing as winning or possessing another person. There is only loving another person. My own lack of self-control was the root of my own misery, and I ended up proving that Seneca was quite right. He who lets his virtue be ruled by his pleasure loses both his virtue and his pleasure. 

Written in 1/2012

Image: Hans Memling, Allegory of Chastity (1475)