The First Noble Truth

The first Noble Truth deals with the indisputable fact of dukkha, that ever present feature of existence, and rightly therefore, the starting point of the Dhamma. I say it is rightly the starting point, because the one aim of the Dhamma of the Buddha is to show a way of escape from dukkha. Hence he has said:

“Dukkhañ c’eva paññapemi Dukkhassa ca nirodham ”

“One thing only do I teach Sorrow and its end to reach”

Let us understand this Truth in the way enunciated by the Buddha. “This, O Monks,” said the Buddha, “is the Noble Truth of Dukkha: Birth is dukkha, Decay is dukkha, Death is dukkha. Sorrow, Lamentation, Pain, Grief and Despair are dukkha. Association with the unloved, separation from the loved—that is also dukkha. Not to get what one desires—that is also dukkha. In a word, this five-fold mass which is based on grasping—that is dukkha.” Except the last example just mentioned, to which reference will be made later, the others are examples of the obvious manifestations of dukkha.

Now what exactly is dukkha? The word dukkha is made up of two words du and kha. Du is a prefix meaning bad, low, mean, base or vulgar. Kha means empty or hollow. The two words taken together therefore refer to that which is bad because it is empty, unsubstantial, unsatisfactory or illusory. It refers to a state of unsatisfactoriness if one may use the expression. The popular rendering of dukkha as “suffering” is not quite satisfactory since the word “suffering” is likely to convey the idea of pain only and does not introduce the idea of insubstantiality or illusoriness. The word dukkha must awaken in our minds not only thoughts of pain and distress, but also all those thoughts about the unsatisfactory and illusory nature of the things of this world, their insubstantiality, their failure to satisfy completely, and their inevitable ending in disappointment, sorrow and disharmony. Dukkha consists of that state of unbalance, that continued agitation and disturbance to which all beings are subject by reason of the absence of stability and permanence in this world, by reason of the never ending rise and fall of things leading to a universal “unsatisfactoriness” or disharmony. Perhaps the word “Disharmony” can be regarded as the closest equivalent of dukkha. If however we prefer to use the word “suffering,“ we still may do so giving it however a wider connotation, so as to include the other shades of meaning to which I have just referred.

However obvious the fact of universal dukkha may be, there are many among us who refuse to believe that this world is a world of disharmony and suffering, and are quick to condemn Buddhism as a doctrine of pessimism. Nor is this to be wondered at. The Buddha himself hesitated to preach these Truths to an ignorant and doubting world, for he knew that they cannot be easily grasped. There is present in the human mind, a tendency to resent the intrusion of a thought or idea which is likely to upset its own comforting view of things to which it has been long accustomed. It is for a similar reason that one might refuse to test one’s temperature with a thermometer, or refuse to be medically checked up, for there is an aversion to the discovery that something is wrong within oneself.

One likes to continue in the fond thought that all is well. Thus it so happens that many refuse to accept the Truth of Dukkha, because they resent the idea that they are suffering from the universal malady of dukkha. They close their eyes to these views which are disturbing and distressing, and are quick to placate themselves, with the seemingly comforting thought that all is well, or else that all will somehow end well. Where ignorance is bliss, they prefer not to be wise. When, however subsequent events and circumstances compel them to realize, with what ease friends can turn into enemies, with what ease health can turn into sickness, with what ease secure possessions can turn insecure, with what ease youth inclines in one direction only—the direction of old age, with what ease old age inclines in one direction only—the direction of decay and death, are they not then thoroughly disillusioned? Can they then be heard to say “This earth-life really satisfies us”? Then and then only, through sheer bitterness of experience do they develop a sane approach to the understanding of the Truth of Dukkha, and if they steadily persist in this line of thinking and pursue it, they will find little difficulty in some day appreciating the fact that all things of this earth-life are involved in dukkha, wedded to dukkha and are productive of dukkha, and that this earth-life itself, in the last resort, is empty, illusory, and unsubstantial.

We have only to look around us with observant eyes and thoughtful mind to be convinced of the Truth of Dukkha. Who is the man whose course of life from birth to death has run undisturbed, like the unruffled waters of a placid stream, without even a single upheaval of worry, fear or grief to disturb that gentle drift? Which is the home that has not mourned the loss of a near and dear relative? Where in this world are the lips from which the cry of pain has never been heard? Where is the heart that has not heaved a sigh, and has not felt within itself the agony of sorrow at some time or other? Just at this moment, even as I am speaking and you are listening, can you visualize how many hundred thousands, nay how many millions of sick men in this wide world are tossing about on beds of pain, in homes and in hospitals? How many millions of patients are, even at this precise moment, lying stretched on tables in operating theatres of hospitals, hovering perilously between life and death? How many millions, having arrived at the end of life’s fitful journey, are this very moment gasping for the breath that is deserting them, gasping their last gasp? And how many millions of bereaved parents and bereaved children are weeping, pining for them that will not, and cannot, ever return? Not to see is not to know, except for the thoughtful.

Then, consider the extent of poverty and unemployment in this world, and the terrible suffering they cause. Are not these unmistakable indications of universal dukkha? As Jacob Boehme once remarked, “If all the mountains were books and if all the lakes were ink and if all the trees were pens, still they would not suffice to depict all the misery in this world.”

But the critic will now interpose a question: “What Dukkha is there to the man blessed with health and wealth and the other good things of life?” Yes, he too is a victim of dukkha. He is no favoured exception to the rule of dukkha. The man blessed with health and wealth and the other good things of life, so long as he lives in this world, is part of this world, and as such, he will have to live and move with the rest of the world, for man is a gregarious animal. This means that he will have to associate with those who do not possess these good things of life. This invariably leads to situations of unpleasantness, to situations of jealousy and enmity, to situations of conflict between the haves and the have-nots, to the innumerable conflicts between the interests of labour and capital. Are not all these dukkha to the man who is said to be enjoying the good things of life?

Then what of the endless care and anxiety necessary to maintain oneself in health, to preserve unimpaired one’s wealth and the other good things of life? Is not this an agony—the agony of maintenance? And is not this agony another form of dukkha? Then what of the agony of apprehension—the apprehension that all his good things of life may not stay long? What safeguards shall I adopt to protect my properties from the onslaughts of robbers and enemies, and also to protect them from the inroads of decay? “How long shall I be fortunate enough to enjoy my possessions?” These are the headaches, not of the “have-nots” but of the “haves.” Are not all these indicative of dukkha? And when the protective methods adopted fail to answer their purpose, what of the agony of disappointment and the agony of loss? Where does not dukkha reign supreme?

I am now gradually leading you, from cases of obvious dukkha known as dukkha-dukkhatā, to cases of dukkha not so obvious, which occur as a result of the operation of the law of change. These latter are called “viparināma dukkhatā.” “Viparināma” means change. The Buddha once used an expression of just three words which meant very much: “Yadaniccaṃ taṃ dukkhaṃ”! “Where there is change, there is dukkha…” Just consider, when everything is changing and nothing is stable, what is the logical outcome but disharmony? The very incidence of change bespeaks dukkha or heralds the approach of dukkha. Therefore change itself is dukkha because there is the potentiality of disharmony and suffering. Is there anyone who has given us a guarantee that fortune will not turn into misfortune, that satisfactory conditions will continue to be satisfactory? There will always remain the possibility and potentiality of change. As long as this bare possibility exists, so long will there be fear and anxiety about the continuance of satisfactory conditions. This is one aspect of viparināma-dukkhatā. the very insecurity of the good things of life has from the earliest dawn of human history bespoken dukkha. The monarch fears for the security of his kingdom.

Despite all his royal splendour he has his painful problems. We have heard it said “Uneasy lies the head that wears a Crown.“ The subject fears for the security of his life. The capitalist fears for the security of his wealth. The labourer fears for the security of his employment. If everything is changing and nothing is at rest, there can be no peace, no security in this world. If there is no peace, no security in this world, what will there be in their stead? There will be fear and insecurity. This again is dukkha. The fear of economic upheavals, the fear of unemployment, the fear of epidemics, the fear of wars, the fear of revolutions and the fear of many a world crisis bespeak dukkha. Most of them result from world conditions of insecurity. Is not dukkha then a necessary evil in this world—a cosmological necessity? In this sense, dukkha may be said to have an existence apart from man’s awareness of it. Can we forget that two of the three great characteristics of all world-phenomena as declared by the Buddha are anicca (impermanence) and dukkha?

We can now appreciate the extent to which this element of change or viparināma can undermine all worldly happiness. When conditions change, as change they must, the very sweetness of the pleasure of sense-gratification turns into the bitterness of dukkha. It is the same with every other form of worldly happiness. The joys of family life may be comforting, the joys of friendship may be exhilarating, but conditions changing, the break up of the ties of family life, the tearing asunder of the bonds of friendship, through so many possible causes as misunderstanding, ill-feeling, acts of third parties and lastly through death, are bound to produce as great a sorrow as was the original joy. In short, great as was the joy of attachment, so great will be the sorrow of detachment or even greater. The greater the height from which you fall, the greater is the pain you will experience. The axe of impermanence is always there to fell the tree of joy. It hangs over all worldly joys like Damocles’ sword. Mark you—it is not for nothing that the all-knowing Buddha has proclaimed: “Nandi pi dukkhā”, “Joy itself is sorrow.”

Not only are the things enjoyed constantly changing, but—what is more—the person enjoying them is also constantly changing. He too is subject to the inexorable law of change. We thus witness the amusing spectacle of a changing being pursuing a changing object. This brings us to the third aspect of dukkha known as saṅkhāra-dukkhatā. We have already dealt with dukkha-dukkhatā, the obvious aspect of dukkha. Then we dealt with viparināma-dukkha, that aspect of dukkha which results from change or the possibility of change. Now we shall deal with the saṅkhāra aspect of change. Saṅkhāra, a word which has many secondary meanings, in its original sense refers to that which is formed by many things joining together, a composition, a group or aggregate or mass. In the present context it refers to the human being regarded not as an entity but as a mass or collection of five groups or aggregates. These constitute the being called man.

Of these five groups or aggregates (pañcakkhandha is the Pali word), which constitute the composite man, one is the physical factor of rūpa, the body, and the other four are the mental factors of vedanā, the sensations, saññā, the perceptions, saṅkhāra, the volitions and viññāṇa, the states of consciousness. They are called groups or aggregates because each is again a combination of several other factors. None of these Aggregates or component factors is selfexisting. They arise out of a cause. They are conditioned. That is to say, their existence depends on certain conditions and when these conditions and causes cease to exist, they too cease to exist. Thus the human body is constantly undergoing a kind of metabolic change. Old cells are continually breaking down and new cells are continually taking their place. Physiology concedes this. Often owing to the imperceptibly slow pace of this change, it is not perceived as change but nevertheless there is change: Hence the human body is not an entity but a process. Infancy, boyhood, youth, old age, are but stages in this process. The human mind, nāma, is also not an entity. It is also constantly changing. It is just a flow or succession of never ending sensations, perceptions, volitions and states of consciousness, all of which mental factors are collectively called nāma or mind. In this flow of mental factors, each follows the other with such a rapidity of succession, that what is in reality a plurality assumes the semblance of an entity or unity, even as the fire in a lighted stick, made to turn round and round, assumes the semblance of a circle or ring of fire, whereas in reality there was only a succession of positions taken up by the fire of the lighted stick. So there only seems to be a static thing called mind, whereas what exists is just a process or flow of mental factors.

The mind is correctly said to be “nadi soto viya” i.e. like the flow of a river, and is never the same for two consecutive moments. The river one crosses in the morning is not the river he re-crosses in the evening. Each time, each moment, it is a different set of waters that flow. Similarly where the mind is concerned, each time it is a different sensation or perception or volition or consciousness that exists, only to pass away giving rise to another. Psychology concedes this. So we arrive at the all-important conception that the nāma-rūpa or mind-body combination which constitutes the composite being called man, is not a permanent self-existing unity but a process. It is a conditioned process, i.e. it comes into existence on account of certain causes and conditions.

When these causes and conditions cease to exist, the process also ceases to exist. As has been aptly said in the Saṃyutta Nikāya, hetuṃ paṭicca sambhūta, by reason of a cause they came to be; hetubhaṅgā nirujjhati, by rupture of a cause they die away. Being a process, it is something that is changing and is not permanent. For that very reason, it is dukkha. So we see that dukkha is inherent in the very formation of the human being. This is saṅkhāra-dukkhatā. This is that last example of dukkha that was referred to by the Buddha when in his enunciation of the First Noble Truth he said, “This five-fold mass which is based on grasping—that is dukkha.” It is in the very nature of this mass of groups or aggregates to suffer dukkha. The being itself is dukkha. In its very formation it is dukkha. In this sense, one may say that dukkha is a biological and psychological necessity.

From The Significance of the Four Noble Truths by V. F. Gunaratna