socializing with friends—even if we never crave them, and it is simply not true
that we are better off if we crave them because of how this enhances our
appreciation.
This is not to deny that the ability to appreciate things enhances the quality of
our lives. But we can appreciate things without previously craving them. Of
course, we do sometimes experience relief once something we have hoped for
comes to pass, and this experience contributes to the appreciation we feel.
Suppose, for example, that I have some medical tests run. Naturally, I hope for
positive results. If they are, my appreciation would be greatly enhanced by the
relief I would experience—something I would not experience if I were indifferent
to my test results. This suggests that we are better off having certain
desires—specifically, those that enhance our experience of appreciation. We need
not, however, pursue this line of reasoning, because we have already seen where it
leads. Suppose I learn that my test results are positive. Clearly, I would not be
relieved by this news unless I previously worried about the test results. Assuming
that the degree of relief I experience is proportional to the depth of my worry, I am
not, on balance, better off as a result of having hoped for positive results. Indeed,
in all likelihood the momentary relief I experience is nothing by comparison with
the anxiety I endured for hours, days, or weeks. If this is right, then I would have
been much better off if I had been indifferent to my test results.
To pull together the treads of the argument: If you desire something, there are
two possible outcomes. Either the desire will be satisfied or it will not be. In the
second case, you would have been better off (if only because of the frustration you
experience) if you had never had the desire. On the other hand, if the desire is
satisfied, you would be no better off (and quite possibly worse off) than if you
never had the desire. The satisfaction of desire does not in itself enhance the
quality of your life; it merely restores you to the state of being free from desire.
All things considered, then, you are better off if you desire nothing.
As pointed out earlier, this argument presupposes a certain conception of
desire. In the sense in which I have been using the term, we cannot “desire” things
we already have. Desire is a state of dissatisfaction arising from the sense that
there is something missing in our lives. To satisfy a desire is to fill a void and
restore a sense of fullness, if only temporarily. This is the meaning of taṇhā,
which, as pointed out earlier, also translates as “thirst” or “craving.” Yet, in some
sense, we can also desire things we already have. I can want my home, my books,
my career, my marriage, and countess other things. I can want to be doing exactly
what I am doing—sitting down, listening to music, writing. I can want things to be
exactly as they are. In this sense, desire is best understood, not as craving, but as
attachment or clinging (upādāna). We crave the things we don’t have but cling to
the things we do.
Just as it is possible to appreciate something that comes into our lives without
previously craving it, it is also possible to appreciate something that we already
have without clinging to it. And we’re better off if we don’t, because attachment is
inextricably tied to fear, worry, heartbreak, and other conflictive emotions. I fear
the loss of anything I cling to as “I” or “mine.” Because I cling to a self, I fear its
extinction. Because I cling to life, I fear death. I cling to my family, my material
possessions, and my pets. Because of this, I fear losing them. When a loved one
dies or a relationship ends, I can be heartbroken. Because I cling to my physical
possessions, I worry that they might be stolen, damaged, or destroyed. The loss or
destruction of a cherished possession can be a devastating one. It is not just that
such losses occasionally occur; such losses are inevitable because all things are
impermanent. Buddhism teaches that it is only by recognizing the three marks of
existence—that all things are impermanent, that there is literally nothing to cling
to, and that possessing things is not a source of the satisfaction we seek—that we
can rid ourselves of the suffering that arises from attachment.
The conclusion we reach is that whether we think of desire as “thirst” (a sense
of dissatisfaction arising from the feeling that something is missing in our lives)
or as “attachment” (a mental attitude of possessiveness), we are better off without
it. Of course, understood in another way, we are never free from desire. Without
desires we would never do anything because actions are motivated by desires.
But we can act without attachment to the goals of our actions and in this way
“cling to nothing.” I can take a walk with a destination in mind, but I need not
be attached to this goal. I can take a walk just to take a walk. And I can relate to
every action I undertake in this way: as an end in itself.5
Buddhism teaches that
happiness does not require that things be the way we want them to be. Rather, it
is because we seek happiness in trying to control things, insisting that things be
one way rather than another, that we never find happiness. To cling to nothing
can be understood as simply “letting go”—letting things be the way they are
without grasping or aversion. There is a very practical reason why we should do
this. A fundamental fact about our existence is that we live in the present