Would you consider yourself forgetful? 

It happens to everyone. You rush from room to room on a self-imposed mission, looking for something, only to reach your destination and have the reason for your franticness evaporate entirely. Perhaps you spend ages searching for your phone, only to find it nestled comfortably in your hand or back pocket. Or maybe you suddenly become conscious that you are standing staring blankly into the refrigerator, wondering what on earth you came in for, leaving only a gnawing frustration. Or you are having a meaningful conversation with a friend, and you wait for a perfect moment to interrupt your friend to find that the burning issue that made you want to interrupt has vanished when you open your mouth to speak. “What did I want to say again?” you sputter, met with bewildered stares. How could they possibly know? These are the moments that remind us – our brains, for all their incredible feats, are not infallible filing cabinets. They're more like overflowing treasure chests, where memories sometimes get buried beneath a jumble of thoughts and distractions. This is the realm of forgetfulness, a quirky but ultimately an intentionally-harmless human experience.

These situations, often termed the "doorway effect," highlight a common phenomenon: the tendency to forget information upon entering a new environment. While it may seem like a natural function of the brain, it can wreak havoc on our daily routines. Forgetfulness, almost ingrained in humanity, poses various challenges. Studies suggest the average person misplaces nine items a day. Using your personal experience, can you estimate what tops this list? Keys, of course. These studies estimate that the average person spends a total of 2.5 days a year searching for misplaced personal items. Approximating 8 billion people in the world, the cumulative time spent would amount to a whopping 20 billion human days every year searching for not the cure for cancer, not the elixir that gives immortality, not the meaning of life; no! Just lost stuff. I can personally vouch for those lost hours, having spent countless moments hunting for misplaced keys and other essentials due to my forgetfulness.

Now, imagine this relatable scenario, reflecting on our shared experience: You jolt awake from a blissful dream, the shock fuelled by the realisation that your alarm is silent. Self-blame sets in – why didn't you set it last night? Leaping out of bed, you confirm your worst fear – you're late. As you scramble to get ready, the urge to sprint out the door halts with a sinking realisation: your keys are nowhere to be found. The mere narration of an imaginary situation can make us feel uneasy and anxious, even when we know that we aren’t in it currently. Now comes the intense and frantic search. You dash around the house, scouring every nook and cranny with a whirlwind of questions and pleas for help. In this moment of heightened anxiety, each tick of the clock feels like an agonising hour. Dread creeps in as you rummage through pockets and bags, their contents cascading out like objects out of a magician's hat – loose change, forgotten receipts, a well-worn paperback, earpods, a piece of paper scribbled with a name and phone number which, rather bizarrely given the situation, you thought you’d lost. Still, no keys.

Suddenly, a gentle tap on your shoulder breaks the frantic search. You whirl around, and there they are, keys dangling from an outstretched hand like a lifeline by your guardian angel. Relief washes over you, a tidal wave erasing the distressed moments of searching. In that instant, the key ring feels like the Holy Grail, the answer to all your prayers. Baffling, isn’t it that a bunch of keys can offer you such delight? If asked at that precise moment what brought about this happiness, you would attribute it to the keys themselves or to the person who recovered them, wouldn’t you? Amidst the euphoria, it may seem as though the keys are the source of all this elation. But wait! Fast-forward a few hours. You glance at the key resting innocently in its designated spot. Does it still hold the same power, the same amount of joy? Then, could you attribute the joy you experienced earlier to the keys themselves? Did the keys offer the individual who found it for you the same gush of jubilant exaltation as it seemed to do for you? If the joy that you experienced was an intrinsic characteristic of the keys, it should offer it to all who see it without prejudice, shouldn’t it? 

Consider the individual who found the keys, your temporary guardian angel. Initially, their assistance feels like a blessing, as you endow them with an almost angelic aura. Hugs, embraces, and kisses ensue, depending, of course, on the nature of the relationship you share with them. However, the appreciation you feel towards them, like the initial relief, tends to fade with time. Does this perception persist throughout the day, or do they inevitably revert to their ordinary persona, complete with all their faults and flaws, which momentarily seemed to disappear?

Ultimately, neither the person nor the object—those keys—hold the exclusive power to bring about pleasure. Rather, it is the pressure and tension accumulated during the search that, upon relief, culminates in the release of joy. In this light, the pleasure experienced is not so much a product of the keys or the person but rather a manifestation of the relief from the burden of searching.

We've integrated the joy of searching into our very upbringing, passing it down to our children through activities like "Where's Wally." This beloved series of children's puzzle books presents intricate illustrations teeming with characters engaged in various amusing antics. Young readers eagerly accept the challenge of locating Wally and his friends cleverly hidden amidst the pages. Wally's distinctive red-and-white-striped attire sets him apart, yet the illustrations often feature deceptive elements, adding to the thrill of the search.

One day, I observed a toddler furrowing their brow in concentration, its tiny finger tracing the pages of the book. Assuming they were struggling to read, I offered help, only to realise they were on a quest to find Wally. Together, we started searching, and, with a keen eye, I quickly found Wally. A radiant smile illuminated the child's face, stretching ear to ear, and from that moment on, I became their hero. Whenever they encountered difficulty in locating Wally, they sought my aid.

The seemingly vexed expression on the child's face seemed rooted in an artificial scenario, as the book isn’t a life-or-death situation. However, the process of finding Wally and the keys are the same. Both endeavours entail a common goal - the search for something. Until the search is complete, this activity is accompanied by mounting mental pressure. Each individual faces a unique threshold, according to the situation, that determines how much pressure they can endure. For example, the child will go through a certain amount, and when the pressure becomes too high, they will give up and move on. However, the promise of a rewarding outcome can bolster resilience, enabling them to persist in the face of heightened pressure. Finally, when the sought-after item is finally found—whether it be keys or Wally—a palpable sense of relief washes over, instantly dissipating the accumulated pressure. This release of tension brings about a profound sense of pleasure, returning the mind to its prior state, relaxed and at ease. In essence, this is pleasure.
Let's explore the concept of pleasure through a more scientific lens to explore the relationship between pressure and pleasure and help us view it through the light of the phenomenon of cause and effect. Let us use water as our subject, a seemingly neutral substance, but one which can become a source of profound pleasure without any additional enhancements. Imagine four groups of participants subjected to the same conditions: intense physical exertion under the scorching sun, with no access to water throughout the duration of the experiment. Ideally, all participants would experience similar thirst levels.

Group A receives a glass of water after 1 hour of deprivation. As they take their first sip, they experience a certain level of happiness, denoted as X. Now, consider Group B, which receives the exact amount and type of water, but after 2 hours of deprivation. Despite all other variables remaining constant, their experience of pleasure upon drinking the water surpasses that of Group A. Moving on to Group C, who receives water after enduring 4 hours without it. Their pleasure upon quenching their thirst is expected to be the most intense among the three groups. Meanwhile, Group D serves as the control group and is denied access to water throughout the experiment. Consequently, they do not experience any pleasure associated with water consumption. What can we infer from these results? The pleasure derived from water consumption increases as the duration of deprivation lengthens. Despite the consistency in factors such as the amount and type of water, the critical determinant of pleasure is the duration of deprivation. This scenario suggests that pleasure isn't inherent in the object itself (the water) but rather arises from the relief of pressure (thirst). The longer the deprivation, the more intense the pleasure upon fulfilment. We misattribute the surge of pleasure to the object (water) when, in reality, it's the release of built-up pressure that triggers the positive feeling: more pressure, more pleasure.
In previous articles, we explored the asphyxiating grasp of addiction on humanity and how it hinges on our perception of reward. The stronger we believe something brings pleasure, fuelling the cycle, intensifying cravings and rendering it increasingly challenging to break free from the cycle. Addiction thus forms a self-reinforcing loop, trapping individuals in its grasp.

Consider an addiction you (or someone you know) face; consider something you feel deeply drawn to or crave. Why do you have such a strong desire for it? At its core lies the pursuit of happiness and the pleasure that was seemingly derived from it. But as we discussed earlier, this seems very controversial and paradoxical, given that pleasure isn't inherent to the object or activity itself but rather arises from the release of internal mental pressure. The understanding that pleasure comes from relief from pressure entirely contradicts the feeling of pleasure that we get when we consume the object or engage in the activity, almost as if we project the pleasure onto the object or that it is a delusion.

If we were to recall our discussion in a previous article on chocolate - a common indulgence,  we demonstrated that pleasure isn't inherent in its ingredients. The combination, when the ingredients are mixed and the final product is created, triggers a positive perceptual response, and even then, not all people find this pleasurable. Let's conduct another thought experiment for all the chocolate enthusiasts out there. Imagine a table overflowing with 100 chocolates, all for you to consume. Initially, this may sound like a dream come true or a form of torture, depending on your experience. Now, if asked which piece would bring you the most pleasure, which one would you choose? Prior experience indicates that the 100th would not bring joy, but disgust and discomfort. The first bite, however, gives rise to the most pleasure. Here's the key: shouldn't the 100th bite be the most pleasurable if pleasure comes from the chocolate? Using mathematical logic, we know the more real natural numbers you add to a number, the greater the result; however, when it comes to chocolate, the logic flips: the more we add, the less we receive. Repeated indulgence diminishes the reward, suggesting pleasure arises from pressure release, not the object itself. 

For devoted chocolate enthusiasts, the mere suggestion of abstaining or giving it up can trigger a surge of pressure. This explains why, although for New Year's resolutions, many individuals resolve to forgo chocolate, they succumb to cravings within a few short months, weeks or even days. Our minds, anticipating the loss of something pleasurable, build up pressure. For most, this pressure becomes unbearable, leading individuals to yield a relapse. Only the most resilient among us manage to persevere until year's end. The problem lies in the persistent perceptual association between chocolate and pleasure. As long as that connection exists, this pressure continues to mount unabated. Whether through finding substitutes or succumbing to cravings, the mind seeks relief from this self-imposed constraint. This is precisely what addiction exploits. It hijacks our reward system, creating artificial pressure for the desired object. Caught in this pressure cooker, the addict seeks relief through the addictive behaviour, perpetuating the cycle. A former addict, now a fellow monk, once recounted to me his ability to procure recreational drugs within a matter of days, underscoring the mind's relentless pursuit of relief when pressure reaches a critical threshold. Addiction capitalises on this vulnerability by hijacking the brain's reward system, perpetuating a ceaseless cycle of seeking solace through addictive behaviours.

Over time, however, the pleasure we receive from a desired object or activity seems to diminish gradually. We're no longer satisfied with the initial experience; we crave more and more to recapture that initial euphoria. This phenomenon is evident in individuals grappling with addiction to illicit substances. Someone might start using a substance for a specific reason, like seeking relief from problems or the ability to feel something different, and the initial effects of the substance trigger both physical and psychological pleasure, driven by biochemical changes in the brain, including fluctuations in neurotransmitters like dopamine and other chemicals. However, by mistakenly assuming that the source of pleasure is the substance itself, they believe that the substance itself holds the key to happiness. They eagerly succumb to cravings whenever triggered, oblivious to the true nature of their satisfaction. This fuels the cycle: as the initial pleasure diminishes, the urge to recapture it intensifies, leading to increased dosage or even exploration of more potent, harmful substances.
This isn't limited to addiction; it permeates every facet of pleasure-seeking behaviour. Remember your school crush? Initially, just seeing them alleviated the pressure and sparked pleasure. But over time, that visual pleasure waned, prompting the mind to seek additional sources of gratification. The mind might then crave the sound of their voice, leading to a conversation. But the cycle continues. Sight, sound, touch – the desire for more escalates as the initial pleasure fades. The frightful consequence of this never-ending search for pleasure is that although the initial pleasure fades and the mind continues to seek the next source of gratification, what do you do when all potential sources of pleasure are exhausted? Consider again your school crush. Societal norms dictate that while it may be permissible to steal the occasional furtive glance or enjoy the sound of her sweet voice without explicit permission, anything beyond that requires consent. So now you must invest yourself to promote that relationship from crush to girlfriend. To the opportunistic romantic, holding hands (touch) or maybe a forbidden kiss might be as far as this relationship will proffer. Anything more will require further consent and an even greater investment of time, energy, money, etc. You shift up to fiancée and shortly after that to spouse. So now, with consent, there is unrestricted access. Still, how far can you go? Although unsatisfied, your mind seeks limitlessly to tap the next goldmine of pleasure; what someone or something can offer as ‘food’ to your five sense doors is very much limited. Once you have seen it all, heard it all, smelt it all, tasted it all and touched it all, what do you do next? What can you do next? Cue the immoral and sinful transgression of extramarital affairs, the consequences of which need no introduction. The question remains: does the search for pleasure ever end? Will the mind ever be satisfied? If so, how? The insatiable mind is a ticking timebomb of psychological suicide. What refuge is there besides the Dhamma, which is the only cure for a mind attached to sensuality? May all sentient beings be healed by the sublime Dhamma!

If you or anyone you know needs help or support to overcome the many psychological issues which we discuss in these articles, please feel free to reach out to us. We, the Maha Sangha, exist to serve those who seek unconditional happiness.