2. Better to be a Renunciant
If happiness is a state of “desirelessness,” then there are two ways in which we might reach this state. One would be to fulfill all our desires. Another would be to abandon our desires, to become renunciants. We have seen that, for reasons deeply rooted in Buddhist philosophy, the first way is a dead end. What about the second?
If you desire something, there are two possible outcomes. Either your desire will be satisfied or it will not be. If your desire is unsatisfied, clearly you would have been better off if you had never had the desire to begin with. But suppose that it is satisfied. Are you better off in this case? That is, are you better off as a result of having a satisfied desire than you would have been if you had never had the desire to begin with? If not, then you would be better off if you could rid yourself altogether of desires. That is, you would be better off as a renunciant.
In one sense of the term, we can’t “desire” something if we already have it. I might desire a new home or a new car; I might want to be handsome or brilliant; I might want to play the piano, or to speak French, or to be a marathon runner. These are things I might desire, but only if I experience them as things that are missing in my life, as things that I lack. Understood in this way, accompanying any desire is a sense of dissatisfaction. To satisfy a desire is simply to alleviate this sense of dissatisfaction. Satisfying a desire is like quenching a thirst, and this is precisely how desire is understood in Buddhism. The Pāli term is taṇhā, which also translates as “thirst” or “craving.”
Understood in this way, having a desire is like having an addiction. Smoking a cigarette alleviates the craving for a cigarette, but it does not enhance the quality of a smoker’s life. Ignoring the health risks of a tobacco habit, smokers are not better off than non-smokers because they satisfy more cravings. They would be better off without these cravings. And, in general, the satisfaction of a desire doesn’t add anything to our lives; it simply fills a void. If the ideal state of being is a state of “fullness,” and if satisfying a desire simply amounts to filling a void, then clearly we are no better off as a result of having a desire satisfied than we would have been if we never had the desire.
According to this account, the satisfaction of a desire is not a genuine benefit; it does not enhance the quality of our lives. It might be compared to recovering from an illness. It is good to recover from an illness, but it is better never to be sick. The ideal state of being is to be healthy, and recovering from an illness is a good thing only because it restores us to that state. The satisfaction of a desire is a good thing in exactly the same way: it restores us to health, to tranquility, to fullness.
This is not obviously true, however, for it certainly seems that there is more to the satisfaction of a desire than the alleviation of dissatisfaction. It is an enjoyable experience to drink when you’re thirsty and to eat when you’re hungry. If you never experienced thirst or hunger, you would never have these enjoyments. Don’t these enjoyments enhance the quality of your life? It is said that Diogenes of Sinope, the stoic philosopher, would deliberately prolong his experience of hunger and thirst so that he could more fully appreciate the joys of eating and drinking. Other stoic philosophers have advised us to voluntarily endure certain discomforts (such as being cold and wet) so that we might better appreciate simple comforts (such as being warm and dry).4
On reflection, though, this is rather queer advice. Should I deliberately catch a cold so that, once I recover, I can better appreciate having good health? Should I bash my hand with a hammer so that I can experience a pleasant state of relief when the pain subsides? This would be irrational because, on balance, I would gain nothing. After recovering from an illness, I might well appreciate having good health, and the experience of appreciation is a pleasant one. But this experience is no more pleasant (and probably much less so) than the experience of illness is unpleasant or painful. Similarly, after the pain of bashing my hand with a hammer subsides, I would experience relief, and the experience of relief is a pleasant one. But this experience is certainly no more pleasant (and, I think, much less pleasant) than the experience of bashing my hand with a hammer is painful. On balance, then, I would be at least as well off (and probably much better off) never to have these unpleasant experiences.
The same is true with the experiences of thirst and hunger. These are unpleasant experiences, and it seems correct to say that the experience of assuaging thirst or hunger is no more pleasant than the experience of thirst or hunger is unpleasant. On balance, then, we are not better off as a result of having these desires. This is not to say, of course, that we would be better off if we never enjoyed the simple pleasures of eating and drinking. Eating and drinking are pleasant experiences in their own right, but the pleasure of enjoying food and drink is something in addition to the mere satisfaction of hunger and thirst. It is possible to enjoy things—eating a good meal, listening to music, reading a book, 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.
2. ดีกว่าจะ เป็น Renunciantถ้าความสุข ของ "desirelessness" แล้วมีสองวิธีซึ่งเราอาจเข้าถึงสภาวะนี้ หนึ่งจะมีการตอบสนองความต้องการของเรา อื่นจะสละความปรารถนาของเรา เป็น renunciants เราได้เห็นว่า สาเหตุรากลึกซึ้งในพุทธปรัชญา วิธีแรกคือ ตายสิ้นสุด อะไรที่สองบ้างถ้าคุณต้องการบางสิ่งบางอย่าง มีผลลัพธ์ที่เป็นไปได้สอง ความต้องการของคุณจะพอใจ หรือไม่จะ ถ้าปรารถนาจะไม่พอใจ อย่างชัดเจนคุณจะได้รับดีกว่าถ้าคุณไม่เคยมีความปรารถนาจะเริ่มต้นด้วย แต่สมมติว่า มันเป็นความพึงพอใจ คุณใจดีออกในกรณีนี้หรือไม่ นั่นคือ คุณใจดีมากเนื่องจากมีความต้องการความพึงพอใจมากกว่าที่คุณจะได้รับหากคุณมีไม่เคยมีความปรารถนาจะเริ่มต้นด้วยหรือไม่ ถ้า ไม่ได้ แล้ว คุณจะดีมากหากคุณสามารถกำจัดด้วยตัวเองรวมกันของความต้องการ นั่นคือ คุณจะดีกว่าเป็นการ renunciantในแง่หนึ่งของคำ เราไม่ "ประสงค์" บางสิ่งบางอย่างถ้าเรามีแล้วมัน ฉันอาจปรารถนาที่บ้านใหม่หรือรถใหม่ อาจต้องให้หล่อ หรือสด ใส อาจต้องเล่นเปียโน หรือพูดภาษาฝรั่งเศส การเป็น นักวิ่งมาราธอน นี่คือสิ่งที่ฉันอาจต้องการ แต่เฉพาะ ถ้าประสบการณ์นั้นเป็นสิ่งที่ขาดหายไปในชีวิตของฉัน เป็นสิ่งที่ฉันขาด เข้าใจวิธีนี้ ความปรารถนาใด ๆ ที่มาพร้อมกับความรู้สึกของความไม่พอใจ เพื่อตอบสนองความต้องเป็นเพียงการ บรรเทาความไม่พอใจความนี้ ตอบสนองความต้องได้เช่นชุบความกระหาย และนี้เป็นวิธีเข้าใจความปรารถนาในพระพุทธศาสนา คำว่า Pāli คือ ตัณหา ซึ่งยัง แปลเป็น "กระหาย" หรือ "ซื้อ"เข้าใจในวิธีนี้ มีความปรารถนาที่เป็นเหมือนการติดยาเสพติด จุดบุหรี่สูบบุหรี่ alleviates อยากที่จุดบุหรี่ แต่มันไม่เพิ่มคุณภาพของชีวิตของการสูบบุหรี่ ละเว้นความเสี่ยงสุขภาพของนิสัยการสูบบุหรี่ ผู้สูบบุหรี่ไม่ดีกว่ากว่าสูบบุหรี่เนื่องจากพวกเขาตอบสนองอย่างแพง พวกเขาจะดีกว่าไม่แพงนี้ และ ทั่วไป ความพึงพอใจของความต้องไม่เพิ่มอะไรเพื่อชีวิต เพียงกรอกข้อมูลการเป็นโมฆะ ถ้ารัฐเหมาะที่เป็นของ "ความสำเร็จ" และถ้าตอบสนองความต้องการเพียงแค่จำนวนบรรจุเป็นโมฆะ แล้วชัดเจนเราจะไม่ดีกว่าเนื่องจากมีความต้องการความพึงพอใจมากกว่าเราจะได้รับถ้าเราไม่เคยมีความปรารถนาAccording to this account, the satisfaction of a desire is not a genuine benefit; it does not enhance the quality of our lives. It might be compared to recovering from an illness. It is good to recover from an illness, but it is better never to be sick. The ideal state of being is to be healthy, and recovering from an illness is a good thing only because it restores us to that state. The satisfaction of a desire is a good thing in exactly the same way: it restores us to health, to tranquility, to fullness.This is not obviously true, however, for it certainly seems that there is more to the satisfaction of a desire than the alleviation of dissatisfaction. It is an enjoyable experience to drink when you’re thirsty and to eat when you’re hungry. If you never experienced thirst or hunger, you would never have these enjoyments. Don’t these enjoyments enhance the quality of your life? It is said that Diogenes of Sinope, the stoic philosopher, would deliberately prolong his experience of hunger and thirst so that he could more fully appreciate the joys of eating and drinking. Other stoic philosophers have advised us to voluntarily endure certain discomforts (such as being cold and wet) so that we might better appreciate simple comforts (such as being warm and dry).4On reflection, though, this is rather queer advice. Should I deliberately catch a cold so that, once I recover, I can better appreciate having good health? Should I bash my hand with a hammer so that I can experience a pleasant state of relief when the pain subsides? This would be irrational because, on balance, I would gain nothing. After recovering from an illness, I might well appreciate having good health, and the experience of appreciation is a pleasant one. But this experience is no more pleasant (and probably much less so) than the experience of illness is unpleasant or painful. Similarly, after the pain of bashing my hand with a hammer subsides, I would experience relief, and the experience of relief is a pleasant one. But this experience is certainly no more pleasant (and, I think, much less pleasant) than the experience of bashing my hand with a hammer is painful. On balance, then, I would be at least as well off (and probably much better off) never to have these unpleasant experiences.The same is true with the experiences of thirst and hunger. These are unpleasant experiences, and it seems correct to say that the experience of assuaging thirst or hunger is no more pleasant than the experience of thirst or hunger is unpleasant. On balance, then, we are not better off as a result of having these desires. This is not to say, of course, that we would be better off if we never enjoyed the simple pleasures of eating and drinking. Eating and drinking are pleasant experiences in their own right, but the pleasure of enjoying food and drink is something in addition to the mere satisfaction of hunger and thirst. It is possible to enjoy things—eating a good meal, listening to music, reading a book, 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.
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