This essay seeks to understand the nature of happiness and the good life within the context of Buddhist philosophy. Buddhism is a pessimistic philosophy, but only in the sense that it insists that happiness, as we ordinarily conceive of it, is unattainable. It is optimistic insofar as it maintains that true happiness is humanly possible, but only if we see things as they really are and relinquish our desires. Yet, even if we would be happier as renunciants, would our lives be better? To answer this question, we must understand the relationship between happiness and the good life. I argue that happiness is a complex psychological state involving affective, cognitive, and motivational components. Buddhist practice seeks to cultivate these different dimensions of happiness and in this way lay the foundation for living a good life.
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Buddhism is often interpreted as a philosophy of life rather than as a true religion. This is understandable. Buddhism addresses the problem of suffering and offers a way of life by which suffering can be overcome and happiness achieved. Of course, Buddhism is not just a philosophy of life; it is also a religion. But central to Buddhist teaching is a critique of the conventional conception of happiness—a critique that can be appreciated independently of any distinctively religious doctrines, such as karma and rebirth. Buddhism is a pessimistic philosophy, but only in the sense that it insists that happiness, as we ordinarily conceive of it, is unattainable. It is optimistic insofar as it maintains that true happiness is within our reach, but only if we come to see things as they really are and discipline our minds accordingly.
This essay examines the Buddhist conception of happiness and how it relates to the good life. The first section focuses on a core Buddhist teaching: that life is suffering. I argue that this should be understood to mean that the common conception of happiness is fatally flawed. The second section makes a case for the renunciation of desire and explains why it is, at least from a Buddhist standpoint, that we would be better off as renunciants. In the third section, I explore the relationship between happiness and the good life. Although the two notions are not always distinguished, the concept of happiness can be treated as a psychological concept rather than as a normative one. This allows us to ask whether happiness is all that matters in life, and even whether happiness is essential to living a good life. In the fourth and final section, I suggest that Buddhism conceives of happiness as psychological health and that, so understood, happiness is foundational to living a good life.
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The Buddha famously taught that life is suffering, and he located the source of this in desire, thirst, or craving. The happiness we seek is unattainable because our thirsts are unquenchable. This implies that we would be happy if only our desires were fulfilled. Happiness, then, is a state of fulfillment or “desirelessness,” a state completely free from dissatisfaction or want. But, having said this, it is clear that the Buddha’s message is not that happiness is to be achieved by fulfilling our desires, but that we suffer because we mistakenly conceive of happiness in this way. It is because we seek happiness in the fulfillment of desire that happiness is unattainable. Why is this?
First, the stream of desires is endless. No sooner is one desire satisfied than another one takes its place—a sad phenomenon sometimes called the “satisfaction treadmill.”1 Never content with the present moment, we seek happiness in the future, in the satisfaction of some new desire. As any beginning meditator knows, dissatisfaction and restlessness gnaw on us constantly. The untamed mind is never free from the grip of desire, not even for a moment. If to be happy is to satisfy all of our desires, and if the stream of desires is endless, then lasting happiness is unattainable. Some new desire, some unsatisfied want, always appears to disrupt whatever satisfaction we might experience.
Second, desire often assumes the form of grasping or attachment. To a large extent, we seek happiness in our possessions. We covet material things, of course, but also pleasure, health, knowledge, status, praise, and recognition. We are attached to our family and friends, our pets, our material possessions, our bodies, our minds, our careers, our reputations, our health, our physical appearance, our youth, and, of course, life itself. Can we achieve lasting happiness by acquiring and holding on to the things we covet? No, according to Buddhism, for the following simple reason: all things are impermanent. In one way or another, all that we care about, everyone and everything, slips from our grasp. Material possessions crumble into nothingness. Children grow into adults. Relationships end. Health fades. Youth fades. Beauty fades. If this is not obvious, consider this. Death represents the loss of everything we value, and no one escapes death. In Buddhism, impermanence (aniccata) is one of the three marks of all conditioned phenomena. Because all things are impermanent, we cannot achieve lasting happiness by acquiring the things we desire. These things eventually fade away, and with it our happiness.
Third, the things we think will bring us lasting happiness simply don’t. We tend to think: If I only I had the right job, a good marriage, enough money, a new house, then I would be happy. Yet nothing desired, once acquired, is a source of lasting satisfaction. Of course, we derive some satisfaction from achieving our goals, but it soon fades. Psychologists call this “hedonic adaptation.”2 This is another of the three marks of existence: dukkha. All conditioned phenomena, according to the Buddha, are marked by “unsatisfactoriness.” This is rooted in the first mark of existence. Our experience of satisfaction is itself a conditioned, dependent phenomenon. It fades like everything else.
Fourth, if happiness is to be found in the fulfillment of desire, then we must be able to control things—people, situations, and events. To be happy, things must go our way. And this means that we must have the power to make things go our way. Yet, realistically speaking, not much is under our control. Sensing this, we immerse ourselves in worry. When our will is thwarted, as it so often is, we experience frustration. When people don’t behave as they’re “supposed” to behave, we experience anger and resentment. Worry, frustration, anger, fear, resentment, jealousy, despair, disappointment, heartbreak, and many other conflictive emotions are bound up with our efforts to control things. Although it is happiness that we seek, it is suffering that we create for ourselves and for others.
According to Buddhism, the problem is not just that we have limited power over the world; rather, we have no power at all. The self, understood as a center of power and control, as a doer of deeds, an initiator of actions, does not exist. When I think, there is no “I” that makes thoughts appear. When I raise my arm or speak, there is no “I” that makes my arm rise or my lips and tongue move. There is no actor or agent behind my actions. The “I,” understood as an actor or agent, as a center of power and control, is an illusion. This is the third mark of existence: no-self (anattā). Understood as a general metaphysical thesis, the no-self doctrine amounts to the claim that all things lack a substantial core. All things at every moment are in the process of coming to be or in the reverse process of ceasing to be; there is no time when something simply is. There are no “beings” but only “becomings.” This includes myself. My life is a transformational process, but there is no enduring entity that undergoes this process. My thoughts and actions are events, and they are bound up with everything else that happens. They cannot be disentangled from the causal matrix and assigned to a separately existing, substantial self.
We regard many things as possessions, and these things are intimately bound up with our sense of selfhood. Every “my” points to an “I.” I look upon my body, for instance, as my body, not just as a body. But my body is not a possession. It is something I make use of, but only temporarily. It is subject to disease, old age, death, and decay. Sooner or later, it will slip from my grasp, like everything else. Because all things are impermanent, there is nothing that persists from one moment to the next—including myself and everything I conceptualize as mine. This can’t be reconciled with the attitude of possessiveness. Possessiveness insists that things remain the same. But nothing remains the same. The object of my possessiveness now is not the same as the object of my possessiveness a moment from now. Possessiveness rests upon the delusion of permanence. The delusion is thinking that we can arrest the process of change and somehow make something remain the same from one moment to the next, from one day to the next, from one year to the next.
There are a number of reflections that bring home in a powerful way just how deep our attachments are. Imagine that all your physical possessions are destroyed. How devastating would this be? Imagine losing your ability to remember things or to learn new things, to see, touch, or hear. Imagine that you lose your career. Imagine that everyone you care about dies. Imagine that you’re diagnosed with a fatal condition. The truth is that this is (or soon will be) happening to us, but we don’t face this fact. It’s too frightening. We live with the comforting delusion of permanence. (But, importantly, the inevitability of loss is frightening only because we cling to “I” and “mine.”)
Ultimately, we suffer because of an existential contradiction: the contradiction between the deep attachments that we have—to our lives, to our bodies, to our minds, to youth, to heal
บทความครั้งนี้พยายามเข้าใจธรรมชาติของความสุขและชีวิตที่ดีภายในบริบทของพุทธปรัชญา พระพุทธศาสนาเป็นปรัชญาในเชิงลบ แต่เฉพาะในแง่ที่ว่า รมย์ สุขนั้น เราตั้งครรภ์ปกติของมัน เป็นนั้น มันเป็นในเชิงบวก insofar รักษาให้ ความสุขที่แท้จริงเป็นมนุษย์ธรรมดา แต่ เมื่อเราเห็นสิ่งพวกเขากำลังจริง ๆ และสละความปรารถนาของเรา ยัง แม้เราจะมีความสุขเป็น renunciants ชีวิตของเราจะดีกว่า ตอบคำถามนี้ เราต้องเข้าใจความสัมพันธ์ระหว่างความสุขและชีวิตที่ดี โต้แย้งว่า ความสุขเป็นสภาวะจิตใจซับซ้อนเกี่ยวข้องกับส่วนประกอบผล รับรู้ และหัด ปฏิบัติพุทธศาสนาพยายามที่จะปลูกเหล่านี้มิติต่าง ๆ ของความสุข และวิธีนี้วางรากฐานสำหรับชีวิตชีวิตที่ดี...............ศาสนาพุทธเป็นมักจะตีความ เป็นปรัชญาของชีวิตไม่ ใช่ เป็นศาสนาที่เที่ยงแท้ นี่คือความเข้าใจ พระพุทธศาสนาปัญหาทุกข์ และมีวิถีชีวิตทุกข์ใดสามารถเอาชนะและประสบความสำเร็จความสุข แน่นอน พระพุทธศาสนาไม่ใช่เพียงปรัชญาชีวิต นอกจากนี้ยังมีศาสนา แต่ศูนย์กลางพระพุทธศาสนาถูกวิจารณ์ความคิดทั่วไปความสุข — วิจารณ์ที่สามารถชื่นชมอิสระอยู่ใด ๆ distinctively ศาสนา เช่นกรรมและการเกิดใหม่ พระพุทธศาสนาเป็นปรัชญาในเชิงลบ แต่เฉพาะในแง่ที่ว่า รมย์ สุขนั้น เราตั้งครรภ์ปกติของมัน เป็นนั้น ได้ในเชิงบวก insofar ที่รักษาให้ ความสุขที่แท้จริงอยู่ภายในเรา แต่เพียงถ้าเรามาดูสิ่งพวกเขากำลังจริง ๆ และสอนจิตใจของเราให้สอดคล้องบทความครั้งนี้ตรวจสอบความคิดพุทธศาสนาของความสุขและวิธีการเกี่ยวข้องกับชีวิตดี ส่วนแรกเน้นหลักพุทธสอน: ชีวิตเป็นทุกข์ โต้แย้งว่า นี้ควรเข้าใจหมายความว่า ความคิดทั่วไปของความสุขคือเสียชีวิต flawed ส่วนที่สองทำให้กรณีและปัญหาสำหรับ renunciation ของความปรารถนา และอธิบายเหตุอย่าง น้อยมองพุทธ ว่า เราจะดีกว่าเป็น renunciants ในส่วนที่สาม ฉันสำรวจความสัมพันธ์ระหว่างความสุขและชีวิตที่ดี แม้ว่าความเข้าใจทั้งสองจะไม่เสมอแตกต่าง สามารถรักษาแนวคิดของความสุข เป็นแนวคิดทางจิตวิทยาไม่ ใช่ เป็นหนึ่ง normative นี้ช่วยให้เราถามว่า ความสุขคือสิ่งที่สำคัญในชีวิต แม้ว่าความสุขเป็นสิ่งสำคัญในการใช้ชีวิตชีวิตดี ในส่วนสี่ และสุดท้าย ขอแนะนำว่า พระพุทธศาสนา conceives ความสุขสุขภาพจิตใจและที่ เข้าใจ เพื่อ ความสุขเป็น foundational ชีวิตชีวิตที่ดี///////////////////พระพุทธเจ้าซึ่งสอนว่า ชีวิตเป็นทุกข์ และเขาซึ่งตั้งอยู่ต้นนี้ ในความปรารถนา กระหาย อยาก ความสุขที่เราแสวงหาได้นั้นเนื่องจาก thirsts ของเราเป็นเอเซีย หมายความว่า เราจะมีความสุขถ้าเดียวที่มีการตอบสนองความต้องการของเรา ความสุข แล้ว เป็นของหนี้สินหรือ "desirelessness รัฐอิสระอย่างสมบูรณ์จากความไม่พอใจหรือต้อง ได้ พูด เป็นที่ชัดเจนว่า ข้อความของพระพุทธเจ้าไม่ว่า ความสุขจะทำได้ โดยการตอบสนองความต้องการของเรา แต่ว่า เราทุกข์ เพราะเราแสดงขึ้นก็ความสุขในวิธีนี้ มันเป็น เพราะเราแสวงหาความสุขในด้านความปรารถนาที่ว่าความสุขนั้น ทำไมเป็นเช่นนั้นครั้งแรก กระแสของความต้องไม่สิ้นสุด ไม่เร็ว เป็นหนึ่งปรารถนาพอใจมากกว่าหนึ่งเกิดความ — ปรากฏการณ์เศร้าบางครั้งเรียกว่า "ความพึงพอใจ treadmill " 1 เนื้อหาไม่ มีปัจจุบัน เราแสวงหาความสุขในอนาคต ในความพึงพอใจของความปรารถนาบางอย่างใหม่ เป็น meditator ใด ๆ เริ่มต้นรู้ ความไม่พอใจและอาการ gnaw เราตลอดเวลา บอร์เนียวจิตใจไม่ปลอดจากการจับต้อง แม้ไม่อึด ยินดีที่จะตอบสนองทุกความต้องการของเรา และกระแสของความสิ้นสุด ความสุขที่ยาวนานแล้ว ได้นั้น ความปรารถนาบางอย่างใหม่ บางคนไม่พอใจต้องการ ปรากฏเสมอการ รบกวนใด ๆ ก็ตามเราอาจพบความพึงพอใจSecond, desire often assumes the form of grasping or attachment. To a large extent, we seek happiness in our possessions. We covet material things, of course, but also pleasure, health, knowledge, status, praise, and recognition. We are attached to our family and friends, our pets, our material possessions, our bodies, our minds, our careers, our reputations, our health, our physical appearance, our youth, and, of course, life itself. Can we achieve lasting happiness by acquiring and holding on to the things we covet? No, according to Buddhism, for the following simple reason: all things are impermanent. In one way or another, all that we care about, everyone and everything, slips from our grasp. Material possessions crumble into nothingness. Children grow into adults. Relationships end. Health fades. Youth fades. Beauty fades. If this is not obvious, consider this. Death represents the loss of everything we value, and no one escapes death. In Buddhism, impermanence (aniccata) is one of the three marks of all conditioned phenomena. Because all things are impermanent, we cannot achieve lasting happiness by acquiring the things we desire. These things eventually fade away, and with it our happiness.Third, the things we think will bring us lasting happiness simply don’t. We tend to think: If I only I had the right job, a good marriage, enough money, a new house, then I would be happy. Yet nothing desired, once acquired, is a source of lasting satisfaction. Of course, we derive some satisfaction from achieving our goals, but it soon fades. Psychologists call this “hedonic adaptation.”2 This is another of the three marks of existence: dukkha. All conditioned phenomena, according to the Buddha, are marked by “unsatisfactoriness.” This is rooted in the first mark of existence. Our experience of satisfaction is itself a conditioned, dependent phenomenon. It fades like everything else.Fourth, if happiness is to be found in the fulfillment of desire, then we must be able to control things—people, situations, and events. To be happy, things must go our way. And this means that we must have the power to make things go our way. Yet, realistically speaking, not much is under our control. Sensing this, we immerse ourselves in worry. When our will is thwarted, as it so often is, we experience frustration. When people don’t behave as they’re “supposed” to behave, we experience anger and resentment. Worry, frustration, anger, fear, resentment, jealousy, despair, disappointment, heartbreak, and many other conflictive emotions are bound up with our efforts to control things. Although it is happiness that we seek, it is suffering that we create for ourselves and for others.
According to Buddhism, the problem is not just that we have limited power over the world; rather, we have no power at all. The self, understood as a center of power and control, as a doer of deeds, an initiator of actions, does not exist. When I think, there is no “I” that makes thoughts appear. When I raise my arm or speak, there is no “I” that makes my arm rise or my lips and tongue move. There is no actor or agent behind my actions. The “I,” understood as an actor or agent, as a center of power and control, is an illusion. This is the third mark of existence: no-self (anattā). Understood as a general metaphysical thesis, the no-self doctrine amounts to the claim that all things lack a substantial core. All things at every moment are in the process of coming to be or in the reverse process of ceasing to be; there is no time when something simply is. There are no “beings” but only “becomings.” This includes myself. My life is a transformational process, but there is no enduring entity that undergoes this process. My thoughts and actions are events, and they are bound up with everything else that happens. They cannot be disentangled from the causal matrix and assigned to a separately existing, substantial self.
We regard many things as possessions, and these things are intimately bound up with our sense of selfhood. Every “my” points to an “I.” I look upon my body, for instance, as my body, not just as a body. But my body is not a possession. It is something I make use of, but only temporarily. It is subject to disease, old age, death, and decay. Sooner or later, it will slip from my grasp, like everything else. Because all things are impermanent, there is nothing that persists from one moment to the next—including myself and everything I conceptualize as mine. This can’t be reconciled with the attitude of possessiveness. Possessiveness insists that things remain the same. But nothing remains the same. The object of my possessiveness now is not the same as the object of my possessiveness a moment from now. Possessiveness rests upon the delusion of permanence. The delusion is thinking that we can arrest the process of change and somehow make something remain the same from one moment to the next, from one day to the next, from one year to the next.
There are a number of reflections that bring home in a powerful way just how deep our attachments are. Imagine that all your physical possessions are destroyed. How devastating would this be? Imagine losing your ability to remember things or to learn new things, to see, touch, or hear. Imagine that you lose your career. Imagine that everyone you care about dies. Imagine that you’re diagnosed with a fatal condition. The truth is that this is (or soon will be) happening to us, but we don’t face this fact. It’s too frightening. We live with the comforting delusion of permanence. (But, importantly, the inevitability of loss is frightening only because we cling to “I” and “mine.”)
Ultimately, we suffer because of an existential contradiction: the contradiction between the deep attachments that we have—to our lives, to our bodies, to our minds, to youth, to heal
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