The Desire for Awakening

by Thanissaro Bhikkhu

When the Buddha lists the various forms of suffering under the first noble truth, one of them is “not getting what is wanted.” If you read just that much, and you remember that the Buddha also said that craving is the cause of suffering, you might think that the cure for that form of suffering is simply not to want anything: When you don’t want anything, you won’t be disappointed when you don’t get anything. You won’t suffer.

It’s from this line of reasoning that people have drawn the conclusion that if the key to the goal of not suffering is not to want anything, then the path there should also involve not wanting anything, either. From that, it follows that a path of not wanting would have to be a path of not doing, and to be truly not doing anything, you can’t assume that you’re doing the path—or that there’s even anyone there to do the path to begin with. The path simply unfolds as you get your “self” out of the way.

But if you read the Buddha’s explanation of what he means by “not getting what is wanted,” and if you view that explanation in light of his own quest for awakening, you realize that the path to ending that form of suffering is more subtle and strategic. It involves wanting and doing, and you have to take responsibility for making sure it gets done.

He explains “not getting what is wanted” like this:

This explanation complicates the picture because the desire not to be subject to birth, aging, illness, death, and all the rest was precisely the desire that motivated the Bodhisatta—the Buddha-to-be—in his search for awakening.

The desire that motivated him to search for awakening differed from the more generic desire to put an end to aging, etc., in that he recognized that the ending of the more everyday forms of not getting what you want—such as freedom from sorrow, lamentation, and despair—required something radical: total freedom from birth and death. That, in turn, would require a dedicated search. He called that search the noble search, in contrast to the ignoble search that looked for happiness in things subject to birth, aging, illness, and death, such as relationships and possessions (MN 26).

Now, it wasn’t the case that his desire to go beyond birth, etc., was limited to just the beginning of his path. His continued desire to find the deathless explains why he wasn’t satisfied with the first two knowledges on the night of his awakening: knowing his previous lives and knowing how beings throughout the cosmos die and are reborn in line with their actions. Only when he found the deathless through the third knowledge—knowing that he had mastered the duties of the four noble truths—did he end his search.

He then taught his students to give rise to the same desire for the deathless, and—rather than simply wishing for the deathless, or abandoning that desire and resting content with things subject to death—to focus their desires on the path to the deathless and to follow through with it until they had reached the goal.

This is why the Buddha noted that one of the secrets to his awakening was “discontent with skillful qualities” (AN 2:5). As he described his quest for awakening, when he followed a path of practice and found that it didn’t lead all the way to the deathless, he abandoned it “in search of what is skillful” (MN 36). He kept trying to raise the level of his skill until it yielded the results he wanted. Only when he reached the deathless was he content.

He illustrated this principle with an analogy: If a person has need of the heartwood of a tree, he shouldn’t content himself with the leaves and twigs, the bark, or the sapwood. He has to keep searching until he finds the heartwood that will serve his purposes (MN 29).

So the desire for the deathless is not the problem. The problem is in wanting to attain the deathless simply through wishing it to be so. This is why the Buddha taught that the duty with regard to suffering is not to abandon the desire for the deathless, but to comprehend it. When you comprehend the problem, you’ll comprehend the solution, and you can focus your desires there.

The Buddha makes this point in more abstract terms in an interesting variant on dependent co-arising, his list of the causes that lead to suffering and stress. Most versions of the list end with suffering, but one version takes suffering as the jumping-off point for a series of factors beginning with conviction: When you comprehend the suffering of not getting what you want and can actually pinpoint the problem, that’s your motivation for placing conviction in the Buddha’s path and desiring to follow it. When you do, you give rise to joy, to the rapture, pleasure, and calm of concentration, and to the discernment that inspires dispassion, leading to total release (SN 12:23). When you focus your desires on following the right path of action, you’ll get what you want.

Ven. Ānanda used an analogy to illustrate the role of desire on the path and in attaining the goal.

Once, when he was staying in a park, a brahman came and asked him what the goal of his practice was. Ānanda replied that the goal was to abandon desire.

The brahman then asked whether there was a path of practice leading to the abandoning of desire, and Ānanda replied that there was. He then described the path in terms of a teaching called the four bases of power: mental power endowed with concentration based on one of four things—desire, persistence, intent, and analysis—along with the fabrications of exertion, or right effort.

The brahman then replied that the path would have to be an endless path, because there’s no way you could abandon desire by means of desire.

Ānanda responded with his analogy: Before the brahman came to the park, didn’t he have a desire to come? Didn’t he make an effort to act on that desire? And when he arrived, wasn’t that desire, along with the effort, allayed?

The brahman admitted that that was the case.

In the same way, Ānanda continued, when a person has attained total awakening, whatever desire he or she had for awakening, whatever effort he or she made for awakening, is allayed (SN 51:15).

What he implies here is that you need desire to get on the path and stick with it to the end. And as he also implies, it’s not the case that, in the higher stages of the path, you attain the goal by abandoning the desire to get there. You abandon the desire because you’ve arrived.

Now, the path and the goal are two different things. The goal is unfabricated, which means that it doesn’t depend on any conditions. It’s not something you do. The path, though, is fabricated. It doesn’t cause the unfabricated, but the act of following the path can take you there.

And it is a path of doing. The important thing is that you do it right. You can’t clone awakening by abandoning all efforts in imitation of what you’ve read about the goal. We can illustrate this point with another of the Buddha’s analogies. Suppose you want milk from a cow. If you try to get it by twisting the cow’s horn, you won’t get any milk no matter how much you want it. But if you pull the udder, you’ll get the milk (MN 126).

All too many people try getting milk by twisting the horn and then, when they don’t get any, they stop twisting the horn. They notice that not twisting the horn is more peaceful than twisting it, so they decide that peace is to be found, not by doing anything to the cow, but by embracing your innate cow awareness. They even suggest that that’s what the Buddha meant by “milk.”

Now, cow awareness may bring you peace and relief after years of twisting the horn, but it still leaves you thirsty because it’s no way to get any milk. It would be a shame to content yourself with being thirsty, because the milk is still potentially available. What you have to realize is that you originally took the wrong approach, and that you’ll have to make the effort to find the right approach. Even though the act of pulling the udder is very different from the act of drinking milk, and it’s not as peaceful as simply being aware of the cow, still, when you pull the udder, you’ll get the milk. You can end your thirst. That’s why it’s the right approach.

As the Buddha says in that sutta, the right approach to awakening is the noble eightfold path. And as he states in a famous verse from the Dhammapada, it’s up to you to follow the path.

	Just this
	is the path
—there is no other—
to purify vision.
	Follow it,
and that will be Mara’s
	bewilderment.…

It’s for you to strive
	ardently.
Tathāgatas simply
point out the way.
Those who practice,
absorbed in jhāna:
	From Māra’s bonds
	they’ll be freed. — Dhp 274, 276

Here the Buddha’s not simply taking poetic license in saying that it’s for you to strive. Again and again, throughout the Canon, when he describes how you should talk to yourself as you take on different aspects of the path, he advises you to use your sense of “I” to emphasize the fact that you’re making the choice to practice properly, and you’re going to have to accept responsibility for carrying through with that choice. Even though you’ll eventually need to abandon the sense of “I am” as you approach the final stages of the path—just as you’ll have to abandon desire and striving—you won’t arrive at those final stages unless you first put that “I am” to good use all along the way. Only then, when the time comes, can you abandon it in a way that’s healthy and effective.

The Buddha himself, when describing his quest for awakening, said again and again, in effect, that “I did this”:

A prime example of how he taught the skillful use of “I” to others is found in his instructions to his son, Rāhula, when Rāhula was still a young boy. The Buddha tells him to reflect on his actions before doing them, while doing them, and after they’re done, to make sure that he doesn’t intend any harm and that his actions actually succeed in avoiding harm. In each case, the reflection involves taking responsibility for his actions: “This action I want to do…” “This action I am doing…” “This action I have done…” Only when Rāhula takes responsibility for his actions in this way can he purify them. This, the Buddha says, is how all those in the past, present, and future who purify their actions have acted, are acting, and will act.

And this skillful use of “I” applies not only on the beginning levels of the practice, but also on more advanced stages. Here, for instance, is how the Buddha recommends making mindfulness the governing principle with regard to developing discernment and releasing the mind:

This is how he recommended that Ānanda aim at attaining the highest form of emptiness:

I, I, we: These terms have their skillful uses. They remind you that you have to take responsibility for the path. No one else and nothing else can do it for you. If you try to throw away all notions of desire, striving, and your role in doing the path, the path won’t get done. Only when it’s done can you safely put these notions aside.

You may have heard of the simile of the raft: To get to the further shore, you use twigs, branches, and vines you find on this shore to put together a raft. This stands for the fact that the raft has to be made of things—like desire and your sense of “I”—found in the unawakened mind. And you have to put them together skillfully. You can’t just dump them in the river and hope that they’ll carry you across.

Once you’ve made the raft, then, holding on to it and making an effort with your hands and feet, you swim over to the other shore. At that point, you can put the raft down and go on your way. But you don’t put it down until it’s done its job, and you do put it down with a sense of appreciation:

In the same way, you don’t put aside your desire for awakening or your sense of yourself as responsible for the path until the path has done its job. And when you put them down skillfully, you’ll do it with an appreciative sense of the good they have done.