Happiness: A Guide to Developing Life's Most Important Skill

by Matthieu Ricard

The fleeting experience of pleasure is dependent upon circumstance, on a specific location or moment in time. It is unstable by nature, and the sensation it evokes soon becomes neutral or even unpleasant.

Pleasure is exhausted by usage, like a candle consuming itself. It is almost always linked to an activity and naturally leads to boredom by dint of being repeated.

In brief, there is no direct relationship between pleasure and happiness. This distinction does not suggest that we mustn’t seek out pleasurable sensations. There is no reason to deprive ourselves of the enjoyment of a magnificent landscape, of swimming in the sea, or of the scent of a rose. Pleasures become obstacles only when they upset the mind’s equilibrium and lead to an obsession with gratification or an aversion to anything that thwarts them.

Although intrinsically different from happiness, pleasure is not its enemy. It all depends on how it is experienced. If it is tainted with grasping and impedes inner freedom, giving rise to avidity and dependence, it is an obstacle to happiness. On the other hand, if it is experienced in the present moment, in a state of inner peace and freedom, pleasure adorns happiness without overshadowing it.

Just as we distinguished between happiness and pleasure, we also have to clarify the difference between unhappiness and ephemeral discomforts. The latter depend on external circumstances, while unhappiness is a profound state of dissatisfaction that endures even in favorable external conditions. Conversely, it’s worth repeating that one can suffer physically or mentally — by feeling sad, for instance — without losing the sense of fulfillment that is founded on inner peace and selflessness.

There are two levels of experience here, which can be compared respectively to the waves and the depths of the ocean. A storm may be raging at the surface, but the depths remain calm. The wise man always remains connected to the depths. On the other hand, he who knows only the surface and is unaware of the depths is lost when he is buffeted by the waves of suffering.

The difference between the sage and the ordinary person is that the former can feel unconditional love for those who suffer and do everything in his power to attenuate their pain without allowing his lucid vision of existence to be shaken. The essential thing is to be available to others without giving in to despair when the natural episodes of life and death follow their course.

the world cannot in itself be called unfair; all it does is reflect the laws of cause and effect, and impermanence — the instability of all things — is a natural phenomenon.

“Don’t think you’re paying me some kind of great tribute if you let my death become the great event of your life. The best tribute you can pay to me as a mother is to go on and have a good and fulfilling life.”

The eighth-century master Shantideva writes: “If there is a cure, what good is discontent? If there is no cure, what good is discontent?”

Neurologically, we know, emotional reactions to pain vary significantly from person to person, and a considerable percentage of pain sensation is linked to the anxious desire to suppress it. If we allow that anxiety to overwhelm our mind, the most benign pain will soon become unbearable. So our assessment of pain also depends on our mind. It is the mind that reacts to pain with fear, rejection, despondency, or a feeling of powerlessness; instead of being subjected to a single agony, we accumulate a host of them.

When we feel severe physical or emotional pain, we may simply look at the experience. Even when it is crippling, we must ponder whether it has any color, shape, or any other immutable characteristic. We find that the more we try to bring it into focus, the more the pain’s definition becomes blurred. Ultimately we come to see that behind the pain there is a pristine awareness that does not change and that is beyond pain and pleasure. We may then relax our mind and try to allow our pain to rest in that state of pure awareness. This will allow us to stop being the passive victim of pain and to resist or reverse its devastation of our mind.

Genuine fearlessness arises with the confidence that we will be able to gather the inner resources necessary to deal with any situation that comes our way. This is altogether different from withdrawing into self-absorption,

We can see this crystallization of “I” and “mine” in many situations of daily life. You are napping peacefully in a boat in the middle of a lake. Another craft bumps into yours and wakes you with a start. Thinking that a clumsy or prankish boater has crashed into you, you leap up furious, ready to curse him out, only to find that the boat in question is empty. You laugh at your own mistake and return peaceably to your nap. The only difference between the two reactions is that in the first case, you’d thought yourself the target of someone’s malice, while in the second you realized that your “I” was not a target.

Here is another example to illustrate our attachment to the idea of “mine.” You are looking at a beautiful porcelain vase in a shopwindow when a clumsy salesman knocks it over. “What a shame! Such a lovely vase!” you sigh, and continue calmly on your way. On the other hand, if you had just bought that vase and had placed it proudly on the mantle, only to see it fall and smash to smithereens, you would cry out in horror, “My vase is broken!” and be deeply affected by the accident. The sole difference is the label “my” that you had stuck to the vase.

This erroneous sense of a real and independent self is of course based on egocentricity, which persuades us that our own fate is of greater value than that of others. If your boss scolds a colleague you hate, berates another you have no feelings about, or reprimands you bitterly, you will feel pleased or delighted in the first case, indifferent in the second, and deeply hurt in the third. But in reality, what could possibly make the well-being of any one of these three people more valuable than that of the others? The egocentricity that places the self at the center of the world has an entirely relative point of view. Our mistake is in fixing our own point of view and hoping, or worse yet, insisting, that “our” world prevail over that of others.

The ego can attain only a contrived confidence built on insubstantial attributes — power, success, beauty and physical strength, intellectual brilliance, the opinions of others — and on whatever we believe to constitute our “identity,” our image, as we see it and as others see it. When things change and the gap with reality becomes too wide, the ego becomes irritated, freezes up, and falters. Self-confidence collapses and all that is left is frustration and suffering.

Experience tells us that those who have managed, even partially, to free themselves of the ego’s diktat think and act with spontaneity and freedom. This is in contrast with the constant paranoia provoked by the whims of a triumphant sense of self.

The idea that a powerful ego is necessary to succeed in life undoubtedly stems from the confusion between attachment to our own image and the resolve to achieve our deepest aspirations. The fact is, the less influenced we are by the sense of our self’s importance, the easier it is to acquire lasting inner strength. The reason for this is simple: self-importance is a target open to all sorts of mental projectiles — jealousy, fear, greed, repulsion — that perpetually destabilize it.

But let’s consider what it is we suppose contributes to our identity. Our body? An assemblage of bones and flesh. Our consciousness? A continuous stream of instants. Our history? The memory of what is no more. Our name? We attach all sorts of concepts to it — our heritage, our reputation, and our social status — but ultimately it’s nothing more than a grouping of letters. When we see the word JOHN, our spirits leap, we think, “That’s me!” But we only need to separate the letters, J-O-H-N, to lose all interest. The idea of “our” name is just a mental fabrication.

Seen from afar, the mirage of a lake seems real, but we would have a hard time wringing any water out of it. Things are neither as they appear to exist nor are they entirely nonexistent.

Like a shooting star, a mirage, a flame, A magic trick, a dewdrop, a water bubble, Like a dream, lightning, or a cloud — Consider all things thus.

The least word that threatens our image of ourselves is unbearable, although we have no trouble with the same qualifier applied to someone else in different circumstances. If you shout insults or flattery at a cliff and the words are echoed back to you, you remain unaffected. But if someone else shouts the very same insults at you, you feel deeply upset. If we have a strong image of ourselves, we will constantly be trying to assure ourselves that it is recognized and accepted. Nothing is more painful than to see it opened up to doubt.

In clinging to the cramped universe of the ego, we have a tendency to be concerned exclusively with ourselves. The least setback upsets and discourages us. We are obsessed with our success, our failure, our hopes, and our anxieties, and thereby give happiness every opportunity to elude us. The narrow world of the self is like a glass of water into which a handful of salt is thrown — the water becomes undrinkable. If, on the other hand, we breach the barriers of the self and the mind becomes a vast lake, that same handful of salt will have no affect on its taste.

When a painful emotion strikes us, the most urgent thing is to look at it head-on and to identify the immediate thoughts that triggered and are fanning it. Then by fixing our inner gaze on the emotion itself, we can gradually dissolve it like snow in sunshine. Furthermore, once the strength of the emotion has been sapped, the causes that triggered it will seem less tragic and we will have won ourselves the chance to break free from the vicious circle of negative thoughts.

Psychologists who study emotions from the evolutionary angle5 believe that they have evolved on the basis of their usefulness to our survival through their capacity to see us through life’s major exercises: reproduction, care for offspring, relations with competitors and predators.

As the philosopher Alain has written: “One movement precludes the other; when you extend a friendly hand, you cannot make a fist.”4

Remember that a thought is only the fleeting conjunction of myriad factors and circumstances. It does not exist by itself. When a thought arises, recognize its empty nature. It will immediately lose its power to elicit the next thought, and the chain of delusion will be broken. Recognize that emptiness of thoughts and allow your thoughts to rest a moment in the relaxed mind so that the mind’s natural clarity remains limpid and unchanged.6

When we look closely at our emotions, we find that, like musical notes, they are made up of numerous elements, or harmonics. Anger rouses us to action and often allows us to overcome obstacles. It also contains aspects of clarity, focus, and effectiveness that are not harmful in and of themselves. Desire has an element of bliss that is distinct from attachment; pride, an element of self-confidence that can be firm without lapsing into arrogance; envy, a drive to act that cannot be confused with the unhealthy dissatisfaction it entails.

We must never forget, however, that the source of disturbing emotions is attachment to the self. If we want to be free of inner suffering once and for all, it is not enough to rid ourselves of the emotions themselves; we must eliminate our attachment to the ego.

“All striving springs from want or deficiency, from dissatisfaction with one’s condition, and is therefore suffering so long as it is not satisfied. No satisfaction, however, is lasting; on the contrary, it is always merely the starting point of fresh striving. We see striving everywhere impeded in many ways, everywhere struggling and fighting, and hence always as suffering.”

The first thing to note is that all passionate desire — as opposed to such primary sensations as hunger or thirst — is foreshadowed by a feeling and a mental representation. The formation of that image can be set in motion by an outward object (a shape, a sound, a touch, a smell, or a taste) or an inward one (a memory or a daydream). Even if we are influenced by latent tendencies, even if desire — primarily sexual — is branded onto our physical constitution, it cannot express itself without a mental representation. It can be voluntary or seem to impose itself on our imagination; it can form slowly or with lightning speed, surreptitiously or openly; but the representation always precedes the active desire because its object must be reflected in our thoughts.

Generally, once mental images linked to a desire begin to build up in the mind, one either satisfies the desire or suppresses it. The former action represents a surrender of self-control, the second initiates a conflict. The inner conflict created by suppression is always a source of distress. On the other hand, the option of indulging a desire is like saying: “Why make everything so complicated? Let’s satisfy the desire and have done with it.” The problem is, you’re never done with it: satiation is merely a respite. The mental imagery that desire is continuously creating very quickly reemerges.

Obsessive desire exaggerates the intensity and frequency of the mental images that trigger it. Like a scratched record, it endlessly replays the same leitmotif.

Another characteristic of obsession is the fundamental dissatisfaction it elicits. It knows no joy, much less fulfillment. It couldn’t be otherwise, since the victim of obsession stubbornly seeks relief in the very situations that torment him. The junkie reinforces his dependency, the alcoholic drinks to delirium, the scorned lover stares at his beloved’s picture all day long. Obsession generates a state of chronic and anxious suffering made up of equal parts desire and repulsion, insatiability and exhaustion. In truth, it is an addiction to the causes of suffering.

Studies indicate that different regions of the brain and neuronal circuits are in play when we “want” something and when we “like” it. This helps us to understand how, once we grow used to feeling certain desires, we become dependent on them — we continue to feel the need to satisfy them even after we stop enjoying the feeling they give us. We reach the point of wanting without liking.4 At the same time, we may wish to be free of the obsession, which hurts by compelling us to desire that which no longer pleases us.

In the same vein, scientists have implanted electrodes in a region of the brain in rats that produces sensations of pleasure when stimulated. The rats can stimulate themselves by pressing on a bar. The pleasure is so intense that they soon abandon all other activities, including food and sex. The pursuit of this feeling becomes an insatiable hunger, an uncontrollable need, and the rats press the bar until they drop from exhaustion and die.

all beings without exception wish to avoid suffering and to know happiness. Genuinely altruistic love is the desire for that wish to be granted. If the love we offer depends exclusively on how we are treated, we won’t be able to love our enemy. However, it is otherwise certainly possible to hope that he will stop suffering and be happy!

When we consider an individual in the clutches of hatred, anger, and aggression, we should consider him more as a sick patient than as an enemy. Someone who should be healed, not punished.

The patient should be distinguished from his disease.

In every instance, envy is the product of a wound to self-importance and the fruit of an illusion. What’s more, envy and jealousy are absurd for whoever feels them, since unless he resorts to violence, he is their only victim. His pique does not prevent those he’s jealous of from enjoying further success, wealth, or distinction.

The truth is, what can other people’s happiness possibly deprive us of? Nothing, of course. Only the ego can be wounded by it and feel it as pain. It is the ego that can’t bear other people’s good cheer when we’re depressed or their good health when we’re sick. Why not take their joy as a source of inspiration instead of making it a source of vexation and frustration?

Renunciation, then, does not come down to saying no to all that is pleasant, to giving up strawberry ice cream or a nice hot shower after a long walk in the hills. It comes down to asking ourselves, with respect to certain aspects of our lives: “Is this going to make me happier?” Genuine happiness — as opposed to contrived euphoria — endures through life’s ups and downs. To renounce is to have the daring and intelligence to scrutinize what we usually consider to be pleasures in order to determine if they really enhance our well-being. The renunciant is not a masochist who considers everything that is good to be bad. Who could put up with this? The renunciant has taken the time to look within herself and has found that she does not need to cling to certain aspects of her life.

“What’s the point of worrying about things that no longer exist and things that do not yet exist?”

As we have seen, pleasures, at first attractive, more often than not turn into their opposites. The effort demanded by the spiritual path and by the process of freeing oneself from suffering follows an inverse progression. Sometimes arduous to start with, it gradually becomes easier and inspiring, and little by little imparts a sense of fulfillment that nothing can replace. Its difficulties give way to a profound satisfaction that states of dependency cannot secure.

Between 1949 and now, for instance, in the United States, real income has increased more than twofold, while the number of people who declare themselves “very happy” has not only not increased but even decreased slightly.

As Richard Layard, of the London School of Economics, states: “We have more food, more clothes, more cars, bigger houses, more central heating, more foreign holidays, a shorter working week, nice work, and, above all, better health. Yet we are not happier. . . . If we want people to be happier, we really have to know what conditions generate happiness and how to cultivate them.”5

Despite the improvement in material conditions, depression is now ten times as prevalent as it was in 1960 and affects an ever younger sector of the population.

Forty years ago, the mean age of people succumbing to depression for the first time was twenty-nine; today it’s fourteen.9

As Alain has written: “How marvelous human society would be if everyone added his own wood to the fire instead of crying over the ashes!”6