Buddhism’s Three Poisons, part 1: my struggle with greed
Why getting what you want is never the answer
"Greed, hatred, and delusion are the roots of all unwholesome states."
— Buddha, Anguttara Nikaya 3.69 (Pali Canon)
The Buddha taught that suffering stems from what he termed The Three Poisons: greed, hatred and delusion. This teaching still resonates today holding up well against other ancient religious edicts (coveting thy neighbour’s ox, anyone?). Perhaps, this is due to its simplicity. And simple it is, stunningly so. Unlike other Buddhist teachings which can seem esoteric (and therefore closed to all but the most spiritually adept) the Three Poisons are immediately comprehensible – because they fit with our everyday experience.
I will cover the poisons in the next three articles – starting with perhaps the most odious.
Greed
We all want things. Which is fine. So long as we get those things. Wanting things and being denied, however, is another story. We all know the feeling of desiring the unobtainable. The flash car. The esteemed job. The beautiful person. Movies show us the ideal state of being (if only we are skilled enough to obtain it). Advertising alerts us to objects we never knew we wanted. Take the famous example of Henry Ford who in the early twentieth century told Americans they needed cars. Ask them what they want, he said, and they’d say a faster horse.
The crushing rejoinder is that once we get what we want, we aren’t happy. A cliché, yes – and as writer Alan Wicker once said, “money doesn’t make you happy, but it certainly allows you to be miserable in comfort.” (Bravo, sir). Still, getting what we want is a problem. It might be a good problem, but a problem, nonetheless. The fact is we can never satisfy our desires. Not really. For once we get what we want we move on to the next thing. And there is always a next thing. Whether that be the next goal to attain, possession to seize, or mountain to climb, there is always something else.
Cars were my thing. The craving started when I moved from London with my wife and baby son to a provincial English town. As city people we were used to a car-free life (cars being a sometime hassle in the metropolis). But in the hinterlands, having your own wheels is a necessity. As such, we promptly purchased a ten-year-old Kia Ceed. An unremarkable family hatchback, sure, but a miracle machine, nonetheless. We could finally explore the rural idyl we (reluctantly, on my part) found ourselves in.
We were dazzled by this wonderous technology. No more catching country buses with their unreliable schedules and meandering routes. We could whizz from A to B without fuss. Hell, we could go to Z if we wanted! We roamed from village to village, down by the sea and up into the flatlands of Suffolk. It was magical - and it lasted approximately one month. I had not driven regularly in years and the giddiness of commanding a vehicle was intense. However, like all intense feelings it was short-lived, and I quickly identified the downside of our situation.
As I explained to my wife, the Ceed was not agile enough. The engine was small, so it didn’t have enough punch. Also, the upholstery was unacceptably worn. Overall, the situation was suboptimal. Thankfully there was a clear solution – we upgraded. And so, within a matter of months we traded in the dilapidated Ceed for a (somewhat) newer Ford Focus. This is more like it, I thought, as we pulled out of the dealership forecourt. Power. Manoeuvrability. Plush interior leather. It seemed we had it all. Only, we didn’t. And within weeks, I realised it was just another car. In some ways, better (newer), in other ways, worse (pricier).
In the year since, I have intermittently reasoned that I need more power still. More comfort. More flash. More of everything! Thankfully, my wise wife shuts me down with gusto. A simple ‘no way’ and my desire is stuffed at its source – contained once more.
My yearning (or let’s be honest, my greed) caused suffering. Granted, the scope was limited, it was more discomfort than all-out pain, but it was there. And it was entirely of my own making. I really could have done without the car craving. This was evident at the outset and yet I felt almost completely unable to stop it.
What is the solution to this suffering, the antidote to this poison? Thankfully, there are many answers, one can develop a sense of contentment; satisfaction with what one has. But this is difficult. For there is an inherent struggle within. I must harangue myself, negotiate and agree that my situation is good, that I do not want for anything. Desire pulls me one way, contentment the other. How I fare in each encounter depends almost entirely on which way the wind is blowing.
There is another way. It involves similar bargaining and yet feels more manageable somehow. It is to reflect on ‘impermanence’. This is the ever-true notion that everything changes. The things we love will fade; similarly, the things we fear fall away. This transience applies to desire. The satisfaction of getting what we want will evaporate, to be replaced by the next thing to want. And in any case, the thing we get will not last. It will break. Or become obsolete. It will die. Only last week, I told my wife our car was on the verge of obsolescence – and that we should consider a new one. “So, what,” she said. “When it dies, it dies.” I nodded. And with that, we moved on.
“There is no fire like greed, no grip like hatred, no net like delusion, no river like craving.” Buddha, Dhammapada 251