Most people obtain happiness by relying on external stimulation. This overall approach is fundamentally wrong. As a result, the range of available stimuli becomes narrower and narrower, the capacity to feel pleasure—the “faculty of sensation”—becomes weaker and weaker, and eventually happiness disappears altogether.
In Buddhism, this phenomenon is called “sensory fatigue” or “fatigue of the faculty of sensation,” a form of tolerance arising from over-stimulation. Take chili peppers as an example: at the beginning, just a little chili makes you feel intensely excited; later on, even a whole bowl doesn’t do the trick. Drug use is the same. At first, a bit of marijuana or ketamine is enough; later, even stronger drugs don’t work anymore, so people resort to injections. Eventually their bodies are covered in needle marks, their faces turn bluish. And they absolutely cannot drink alcohol, because their liver and kidneys have completely lost their detoxifying capacity. At that point, no matter how much money they have, it is meaningless—they have completely lost the ability to make themselves happy.
Do you know why drug users lose the capacity for happiness? In Vajrayāna Buddhism, using the symbolic language of subtle-body practice, it is explained that genuine happiness is associated with the harmonious movement of vital energy (prāṇa) carrying subtle essences (bindu) through the body–mind’s energy centers (cakra). But after taking drugs, all of one’s vital energy, along with the liver and kidneys, is diverted to detoxification—the person becomes “scattered.” Without drugs, they then experience extreme suffering: first psychological discomfort, and later even physical agony. If you don’t give them drugs, they will constantly have a runny nose and tears streaming down their face. This is why detoxification is extremely difficult.
Physical addiction can still be forced to quit with great effort, but psychological addiction is extremely hard to get rid of. Why? Because psychologically, one has “tasted the marrow and knows the flavor.” He knows that thing feels extremely good, so his mind keeps going back to it—especially whenever he feels lonely. He has become accustomed to taking that thing from the outside world, and he simply cannot live without it. Forget about drugs—even smoking becomes hard to quit once you’ve done it for a long time. This is precisely one of the reasons why seeking happiness from external sources inevitably leads to trouble.
Taking things from the outside to make oneself happy, and then clinging to them unwilling to let go—this is what Buddhism calls “desire” or “craving.” Romantic love is no exception. We elevate love to an almost absurd level, believing it to be the noblest thing in human existence. In the past, the noblest ideal was to “plant the red flag across the entire world.” People no longer think that way. Now they want to plant the flag of love at the head of the bed. Love has been pushed to the very top.
I’m not telling everyone to stop engaging in romantic relationships. Although desire is problematic, it doesn’t mean you must eliminate it immediately. Eating is also desire—if you don’t eat, you’ll starve to death. Dating, marriage, and family life all involve desire, but that doesn’t mean the moment you start studying Buddhism you should stop dating, go home, kick your husband out, or divorce your wife. That’s not how it works. What really matters is understanding its nature. Take love, for example: essentially, it is an object that stimulates your happiness. Mixed into that happiness is something very special—hormones—which allow for an extremely concentrated interaction between body and mind.
Moreover, once this object gives rise to your happiness, it also creates imbalance. People often say, “These two people have produced love,” as if there were some thing called “love” floating between them. If you could actually find love, pull it out, and show me what it looks like, I’d buy it on the spot! In reality, no such thing exists. It’s simply that one person’s appearance triggers a kind of happiness in you, and when you appear before them, you trigger happiness in them as well. That’s it—turtle meets softshell turtle, eyes lock, and we call it love.
If he arouses love in you, but you fail to arouse love in him—only resentment—then it doesn’t work, and unrequited love appears. Even when two people are “turtle meets softshell turtle, eyes lock,” it is still unequal. The degree to which he stimulates you and the degree to which you stimulate him are unequal; the duration is unequal, the depth of love is unequal, and most importantly, the endurance of love is absolutely unequal—and it will inevitably disappear.
If you’re lucky—for example, two people make vows before the Buddha, offer water, bow and prostrate—then they meet in this life and match up right away, and perhaps they can stay together for many lifetimes. But you are going to die, you know that, right? After death, will you still match up in the next life? What if in the next life you become a turtle, and he doesn’t—he becomes someone who eats turtles? What then? He’ll slaughter you on the spot. You don’t believe it? Many of the turtles and softshell turtles we eat may well be ones we “matched with” in past lives. Buddhism says it that way—and in fact, that’s exactly how it is.
Therefore, excessively promoting these values leaves life with nothing but this as its meaning. In the past, things were slightly better—people talked about “planting the red flag across the entire world.” It sounded unrealistic, but at least it was an ideal. What about now? Now it’s all about planting the “yellow flag” at the head of the bed—a metaphor for reducing life’s meaning to sexual gratification. If this continues, both body and mind will quickly collapse. Why? Because “planting the red flag across the world” cannot be achieved anytime soon, so people don’t feel disappointed. But planting the yellow flag at the head of the bed can be achieved very quickly, and people assume that once it’s planted, happiness will follow. Really? Either the heart gets depleted, or the kidneys do. (Audience laughs)
So, can there still be happiness? As I said earlier, when turtle meets softshell turtle and they lock eyes, they might stay together for a lifetime. But once they grow old, the happiness between them no longer carries hormones. After seven years, the itch begins. Why? Because the possibility that he can stimulate your hormones keeps dropping—lower and lower. Women suffer the most here, especially after having children, because most of the hormone-triggering capacity disappears. And this is when men are at their worst: they go looking for someone else who can stimulate their hormones. So in the end, women suffer the greatest loss!
If that’s the case, then why haven’t many people divorced? What’s the reason? They have children to raise. It’s very hard for one person alone to earn money for baby formula. Some men are actually quite responsible (if they weren’t, the woman would have to earn money for formula, raise the child, and handle everything else—she simply couldn’t take it). So they don’t divorce. But staying together becomes more like a contract. It’s like the left hand touching the right hand—there’s no feeling, but they can’t separate. If they did, they would suffer, and the children would suffer too. So many families are held together in this way.
I’m not saying this is bad. I’m just telling you that this is how things actually are. If you choose this path and feel he’s good and that he loves you, that’s also fine. It’s like how we humans think feces are disgusting, but dogs think feces are great—you can’t blame the dog. “Feces are so disgusting, how can you eat them?” Well, the dog just likes eating feces. So there’s no absolute good or bad here—the key issue is whether you’re a human or a dog.
So the real problem lies in our habitual way of seeking happiness from the outside. Even love has been messed up—what else could possibly escape this pattern? No matter what it is, we always look outward, constantly grabbing at things. We need some external object to stimulate our happiness. And once we’re used to this, even a moment of loneliness can destroy us. If a person’s mind is no longer being stimulated, they become restless and uneasy; there must be something to stimulate them, otherwise they feel unbearable discomfort. In Buddhism, this is called the “suffering of the blazing Five Aggregates” (pañca-skandha).
Some people say that soldiers in the old days were fearless—you could beat them with wooden boards and they wouldn’t be afraid; even execution didn’t scare them. They’d think, “Eighteen years later I’ll be a good man again,” acting as if that were something heroic! But in fact, you didn’t even need to beat them. Just lock them up for three months without talking to them, and they would immediately beg you: “Please don’t lock me up anymore—can you just kill me instead?” It really was that severe.
There is an experiment in modern medicine: if you take away a person’s phone, give them no books to read, don’t speak to them, and lock them in a room only one or two meters square (the room can’t even be too big—if it’s too big, they can move around), giving them very limited space for activity, then after two weeks they will basically go mad. Why? Because the way their mind operates has become accustomed to having people talk to them, to constantly thinking about many things—to “feeding” on lots of mental input. When all of this is suddenly cut off, they simply cannot endure it.
If you don’t believe it—and you also happen to be a Buddhist—I have a few extra rooms at my photography center. If you’re willing to go, I’ll provide you a place to stay for a few weeks, with free food and clothing. But you must hand in your phone, and all Wi-Fi and internet access will be cut off. Go ahead and try it! You’ll immediately know how unbearable it is, because your mind has already grown accustomed to obtaining happiness through stimulation from external conditions.
What is the most frightening aspect of this way of living?
First, our dependence on external conditions is far too deep. Second—and this is the most crucial point—it blinds us, making us unaware that our own mind can generate great happiness without relying on the outside world at all. This kind of happiness can even surpass all the happiness brought by external objects. Where does this happiness come from? From studying and practicing Buddhism.
If you don’t believe it, as I mentioned earlier, there are some empty rooms at our photography base where a few people—who have nothing better to do after eating their fill—are staying. They can sit for over ten hours at a stretch. Why are they able to sit like that? Of course, I’m not saying this counts as any great spiritual attainment; they’re just sitting rigidly, like wooden posts. But even so, these “wooden posts” can sit for five or six hours, and when they get up, they’re incredibly happy—faces rosy and glowing, feeling that life is wonderfully interesting! (Audience laughs) There’s no Song Joong-ki, no Do Ye Beast involved—so why is that? It’s actually because their minds have discovered another way of experiencing happiness. And this is still just meditative concentration (samādhi)—which, in terms of Buddhist liberation, is still considered a “wooden post.” And it’s not just one person; it’s a small group of people like this. The principle is very simple: if we change the way we live and the way we experience things, our mode of happiness will also change, and we may feel that life becomes more meaningful.
—Excerpted and organized from The Song of Enlightenment (Yongjia Zhengdao Ge), Lecture 08
This article is a preliminary translation draft and has not yet been reviewed or proofread by the speaker.
