What is Mood?
Mood, as a mental phenomenon, is central to the human experience. Yet most people — laypersons and mental health professionals alike — are stumped when asked to define what ‘mood’ actually is. Ask yourself: Can you define it? Typically, people discover they know full well what mood feels like but cannot articulate a definition that such a fundamental phenomenon deserves, or even generate an acceptable description of what it is.
Here’s a proposed definition: Mood is a transient, nonverbal constituent of consciousness that registers the quality and intensity of one’s underlying feelings, reflecting the perceived quality of one’s present circumstances.
Permit me to elaborate: As the definition suggests, feelings are the building blocks of mood. The term ‘feeling’ refers to both physical sensations (e.g., “I feel full” or “I feel a pain in my stomach”) and emotions (e.g., “I feel inspired” or “I feel ashamed”). Both types of feelings trigger the brain’s cognitive processes to form narratives, which are the source of their meaning.
Pure feelings (before they’re wrapped in narrative) are nonverbal signals inherently possessing a binary quality: feelings are either positive or negative, good or bad. Feeling satiated, secure, and loved are examples of positive feelings; feeling hungry, scared, and abandoned are examples of negative feelings. At any given moment, these feelings register on an intensity continuum, ranging from barely noticeable to overwhelming.
The primary evolutionary purpose of feelings is to protect survival by triggering reflexive behaviors (feelings have many other functions discussed elsewhere). The quality of a feeling determines the direction of the behavior it triggers: positive feelings trigger attraction, negative feelings trigger repulsion.
The intensity of a feeling determines the urgency of the response — more intense feelings are automatically assigned higher priority and elicit quicker response.
The advantage this system offers is speed, a potentially critical factor facing a survival threat. The alternative — constructing a behavioral response based on rational analysis — is a much slower process and less suitable for managing existential threats. Cognitive analysis, however, is clearly advantageous in the pursuit of happiness.
The quality and intensity of our feelings carry essential information about the nature of our present circumstances: An overall positive quality informs the brain that the present environment is inviting; an overall negative quality signals a problem or threat. The intensity parameter indicates the magnitude of appeal or urgency of the threat. Both are key to quick decision-making that benefits operating in the survival arena.
It makes sense, then, that the brain would monitor these parameters. However, constant monitoring of the continuous flow of feelings would consume substantial brain resources. The need to track the quality and intensity of each emergent feeling presents a resource-utilization dilemma. Mood solves the dilemma: the overall quality and intensity of the feelings in play at any given moment show up automatically in consciousness as what we experience as mood.
By automatically aggregating the quality and intensity of present feelings into consciousness, mood functions as a tool for registering the perceived quality of one’s present circumstances. By circumventing the use of language, mood increases the system’s response speed; moreover, the exclusion of language spares the massive investment of brain resources that generating and paying attention to the meaning of the fluctuating flow of feelings would require.
The link between mood and the perceived quality of the present is fairly self-evident. What is less obvious — and of the utmost importance — is that the link is bidirectional: Mood at any given moment influences the perception of the quality of that moment. A good mood introduces a positive bias into the brain’s assessment of reality; a bad mood introduces a negative bias into the brain’s assessment of present circumstances.
This bidirectional influence is a well-recognized psychological phenomenon called mood-congruent bias (Bower, 1981; Forgas, 1995). A good mood tends to introduce positive mood-congruent bias; a bad mood tends to introduce negative mood-congruent bias.
[Sidebar: Since mood conveys information intrapsychically — from brain centers that process sensory/emotional data to the brain’s choice-making apparatus and consciousness — it is no surprise that it also plays a role in interpersonal communication.
In the first year or so of life, before language develops, the experience of feelings is dominant. At that stage, mood is the primary tool available to communicate our subjective perception of the quality of the present to our environment. Anyone with experience caring for young children (or adults with undeveloped language skills) recognizes mood’s role as a communication tool.
At any age, displaying a good mood — by laughing or joking — broadcasts that the present registers as a positive experience, that “things” are going well or “everything is okay.” Conversely, displaying a bad mood — by crying or sulking — communicates that the present is registering as a negative experience, that “something” is not right.
Since mood does not include a narrative, the information it carries lacks specificity. Mood alone is insufficient to convey the subtleties and complexities of mature interpersonal relationships. Over-reliance on mood as the primary means of communication can lead to misunderstandings, especially in complex relationships. Developing effective verbal communication skills is crucial for navigating the complexities of human interaction.]
The effects of mood-altering substances illustrate how mood shapes perceptions of reality. For example, euphorigenic substances — those that have a direct mood-elevating effect (e.g., cocaine, methamphetamine, MDMA) — introduce positive mood-congruent bias. These substances improve the subjective sense of reality’s quality. Analgesics, or pain-reducing substances (such as opioids and alcohol), tend to be sedating and appear to elevate mood indirectly by reducing the negative impact that pain has on it (studies of mild analgesics such as acetaminophen (Durso et al., 2015) suggest, in my interpretation, that pain can negatively affect mood even when it doesn’t register consciously — because it is too subtle and/or monotonous). Directly or indirectly, artificially improved mood can introduce positive mood-congruent bias, resulting in a pleasant but unrealistic elevated perception of the quality of one’s reality.
The improved sense of reality’s quality caused by mood-altering substances is, of course, temporary; it only lasts for as long as the chemical causing it circulates in the body at a high enough level. This well-recognized phenomenon underscores the seductive appeal of positive mood-congruent bias: It is powerful enough to offset the knowledge (that every addict has) that the substance’s effect is short-lasting, essentially guaranteed to trigger “a crash” back to reality, followed by an urge for repeated use, and that the repeated use (of most of these substances) has disastrous consequences (Koob & Volkow, 2010).
I am reminded of a quote from Kurt Vonnegut’s book Hocus Pocus: “And haven’t I myself said that the happiest parts of my life were when I played the bells? With absolutely no basis in reality, I felt like many an addict that I’d won, I’d won, I’d won!”
Mood-congruent bias occurs subconsciously — without awareness of it happening at all — but it can usually be exposed and brought into consciousness with simple introspection. I think that this is an example of what Dr. Jung had in mind in a quote widely attributed to him: “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life, and you will call it fate.” It certainly describes the impact that mood can have on the perceived quality of the present.
Given the potential cost of unrecognized mood-congruent bias, the required effort is well worth the investment.
Mood and the Pursuit of Happiness
Being in a good mood is not the same as being happy. Distinguishing between happiness and a good mood is crucial for pursuing happiness effectively. Ignorance of the distinction — which is remarkably common — leads to systematic misallocation of resources and chronic frustration.
The aspiration for happiness is a defining human trait; arguably, it’s uniquely human. For members of our species, a respite from survival threats (an easily overlooked precious luxury) is far from enough. We want more than just to stay alive; for example, we want our lives to have meaning and purpose. Primarily, however, we want to experience happiness.
Happiness is an amazing concept. Throughout recorded human history, it has been considered a central life goal, yet it is, at best, vaguely defined; typically, it is completely undefined. This raises the question: How can something be considered supremely important without being defined? The ubiquitous experience of mood is a big part of the answer: The fact that happiness is undefined does not register as a problem because we rely on the mood phenomenon to guide us in its pursuit.
It is widely considered self-evident that being in a good mood signals success in pursuing happiness, and conversely, being in a bad mood signals failure. Without realizing it, most of us eventually equate a good mood with happiness itself and a bad mood with unhappiness. Unfortunately, these are costly misconceptions: Placing good mood on par with happiness sanctions avoiding the task of defining it — based on the prevalent notion that knowing what something feels like makes studying it (i.e., exploring it intellectually) unnecessary. Additionally, equating happiness with good mood supports inflating the importance of the mood phenomenon far beyond what’s justified. The negative consequences of these misconceptions are incalculable.
The language we typically use exposes our tendency to treat happiness and good mood as if they were the same. For example, “I was very happy when I won the lottery” really means “I was in a very good mood when I won the lottery.” Conversely, “I was very unhappy when the stock market crashed” means losing money put me in a very bad mood. The notion that happiness can be attained by winning the lottery or lost by a stock market crash is simply wrong — it reveals a misunderstanding of both happiness and mood.
The interchangeable use of these terms is so deeply ingrained that pointing out the logical fallacy is usually dismissed as overly pedantic. It is not pedantic — the effective pursuit of happiness depends on maintaining clarity of this distinction.
Since the pursuit of good mood is radically different from the pursuit of happiness, it’s possible to simultaneously do well in one and poorly in the other. To illustrate this, consider a convicted felon serving a lengthy prison term. This imaginary incarcerated felon may occasionally be in a good mood — say, after his beloved home team wins the Super Bowl. But given his imprisonment, it is safe to say that his pursuit of happiness is unlikely to be going well. Conversely, you can be in a bad mood while pursuing happiness effectively. For example, a monk may be deeply saddened, i.e., in a bad mood, following the passing of his mother, but this is unlikely to derail or even affect the efficacy of his pursuit of happiness.
[Sidebar: The pursuit of a good mood is a “finite game” — focused on a desired outcome and tightly linked to experiencing pleasure or avoiding pain. Pursuing happiness is an “infinite game” — there is no ‘there’ there. It is focused on the process or journey, not on an outcome, an open-ended lifelong pursuit. (I’m referring here to J.P. Carse’s excellent book Finite and Infinite Games, which I highly recommend; Thanks, CB, for introducing me to it.)]
The mental tools that work well in the pursuit of a good mood are inherently different from those that serve the pursuit of happiness. Fundamentally, the pursuit of a good mood is supported by innate reflexive drives to avoid pain and attain pleasure.
Reflexive behaviors bypass cognitive analysis, thereby shortening reaction time. They are most effective where speed is critical (i.e., in finite, competitive “games”), particularly in the survival arena (where obtaining pleasure and avoiding pain reign supreme). Automatic, instinctive behaviors lose value when speed matters less, particularly in the pursuit of happiness.
Reflexive, predetermined behaviors lack the complexity and nuance required for the effective pursuit of happiness. In general, the efficacy with which happiness is pursued improves by minimizing or avoiding automatic reactions in favor of deliberate actions.
[Sidebar: Reflexes can be hard-wired, present at birth (protecting survival), or acquired through repetition or practice — known as habits. Habits come in two types: good habits support value-driven choices; bad habits undermine them. Good habits can be cultivated through deliberate practice. Mindfulness is a framework for developing good habits designed to support the pursuit of happiness.]
To be clear: there is nothing wrong with pursuing pleasures and a good mood. Pleasures are linked to the quality of life, and the reflexes that serve this pursuit are hard-wired in our DNA.
Problems emerge, however, when we fail to distinguish between the pursuit of happiness and the pursuit of good mood — specifically, when resources needed for pursuing happiness are unwittingly invested in pursuing pleasures.
Human resources are limited and should be used deliberately and mindfully. Mindful resource utilization means prioritizing their allocation so that higher-priority needs are attended to first.
Rationally, the order of priority of the main human pursuits is survival, happiness, and pleasure. (The distinction between happiness and pleasure is discussed in detail in the Happiness chapter.)
Mindful resource utilization means allocating resources accordingly. This means that survival needs should be addressed first, and subsequently, resources can be invested in pursuing happiness. Investing in pursuing pleasures makes sense only after both survival and happiness needs are met.
It’s a mistake to invest resources in pursuing happiness if they’re needed to secure survival. Similarly, it’s a mistake to invest resources in pursuing pleasure when they’re required for pursuing happiness, obviously, a grave mistake if those resources are necessary for survival.
For example, donating money to charity would be a mistake if that money is needed to pay the rent. Giving to charity may be an investment in the pursuit of happiness (as an expression of one’s passion and compassion), but a mistake if the money is needed for shelter, a survival need.
Similarly, purchasing a new car as an investment in pleasure would be a mistake if it came at the expense of one’s inner peace — because that would undermine one’s pursuit of happiness, a higher priority than the pursuit of pleasure. Of course, it would be a mistake if the money were needed to meet a survival need, such as covering the rent.
The pursuit of happiness is a much bigger deal than the pursuit of a good mood. Mood is a transient reaction to the perception of present circumstances. In comparison, the appeal of happiness is a defining human trait, and the efficacy of one’s pursuit of happiness is a defining personal trait that manifests one’s attained levels of inner peace, passion, and compassion.
Over my decades of practicing psychiatry, I have encountered countless patients who complained of depression (many were previously diagnosed with major depression) and summarized their predicament with something like: “I have just about everything anyone can want, and I’m still miserable. What’s wrong with me?” (Often, they referred to their distress, self-deprecatingly, as “a first-world problem.”) With exploration, many realized that their actual problem was a painful sense of failure in the pursuit of happiness, exacerbated by their access to an abundance of pleasures.
An underlying problem most of them shared was the failure to distinguish happiness from a good mood. Their persistent confusion contributed to gradually increasing frustration and distress. In many cases, erroneously equating good mood and experiencing pleasures with pursuing happiness effectively also contributed to financial, substance abuse, and relationship problems — all traceable to habitual misallocation of resources. They invested resources in acquiring pleasures and avoiding pain instead of where those resources were needed more urgently: in the pursuit of happiness.
The primary issue behind this common pattern, in my opinion, is ignorance: a lack of the knowledge necessary to pursue happiness effectively. This opinion is influenced by and consistent with the Buddhist view that ignorance — Avidya in Sanskrit — is the root cause of all suffering.
True to my training in medicine, I consider this fundamental diagnosis — ignorance — as involving both good and bad news. The good news is that ignorance is a treatable condition: learning can cure it. The bad news is that the treatment is not easy; it requires sustained commitment and persistent effort.
More often than not, learning is a slow process; moreover, implementing what we’ve learned usually requires a lot of practice. But to my knowledge, there is no alternative treatment for ignorance.
My diagnostic and prognostic feedback has been met with mixed responses: Some patients were relieved to hear that they did not suffer from a psychological disorder or psychiatric illness. Others were disappointed to learn that there was no quick fix — no pill to remedy what ailed them. Some were even more disappointed when they learned that, to get better, they had to cultivate tolerance — a hard sell in a discomfort-averse climate (in part, this reflects the central confusion discussed above: equating discomfort with failure in pursuing happiness).
Tolerance is required to contain the negative impact of unavoidable pain and suffering on the pursuit of happiness (as per Buddhism’s First Noble Truth). Tolerance — the willingness to experience discomfort or pain without reacting — enables overriding the reflexive response to pain. As discussed above, reflexive reactions lack the sophistication and nuance required for the effective pursuit of happiness, hence tolerance is indispensable.
Intolerance legitimizes the use of force, which is invariably detrimental to the pursuit of happiness. Force is antagonistic to happiness because it is inherently destructive. The use of force may be unavoidable (arguably, even reasonable when facing existential threats), but it is incompatible with the effective pursuit of happiness. One simply cannot pursue happiness with force.
[Sidebar: War is defined as a method for conflict resolution that relies on the use of force. The mere willingness to consider using force to resolve a conflict amounts to a willingness to go to war, whether conscious or not.
One of the most damaging myths in human history is the idea that it is possible to win a war. This is a lie: wars can only be lost. No war has ever truly been won. While one side’s losses may surpass the other’s, leading them to claim victory, this is merely an illusion. In reality — at any level (intrapersonal, interpersonal, or international) — everyone involved in a war is guaranteed to lose.
The idea of war is so profoundly irrational that warmongers inevitably rely on fanning anger and hate, which are intoxicating emotions. Intoxicants impair judgment, and under their influence, the use of force may seem reasonable.]
The effective pursuit of happiness is a creative process: it amounts to creating order in place of disorder or chaos (and it relies on negotiation for conflict resolution). Creating order requires an investment of energy (according to our trustworthy physicist friends and their annoying but indisputable laws of thermodynamics).
Energy can be invested in two ways: instantaneously or gradually. By definition, the instantaneous release of energy is a show of force. The alternative — a measured, gradual release of energy — is a show of strength.
Pain intolerance manifests in a reflexive discharge of energy — all at once, in an instant — as a show of force. It may bring immediate relief, but sooner or later, it is guaranteed to have a destructive impact. When pain is met with tolerance, the same energy can be released gradually over time, as a show of strength. Tolerance enables one to use one’s energy deliberately — constructively and creatively — which is compatible with pursuing happiness effectively.
Intolerance is synonymous with espousing the use of force, which leads to one of two paths: either force is available and applicable, or force is unavailable or inapplicable. Neither path is compatible with the effective pursuit of happiness. If force is used, it is guaranteed to have a destructive effect. Alternatively, if force is unavailable or inapplicable, the reflex to use it is blocked or frustrated, which adds misery to the underlying pain. (Unlike pain and suffering, misery is avoidable; failing to avoid it can only interfere with the pursuit of happiness.)
To be clear, refraining from the use of force is not the same as being passive or avoiding action. In the pursuit of happiness, being passive is not more effective than being reactive. The effective alternative to both is being active. Being active hinges on the ability to override the pressure to respond reflexively, generated by one’s feelings and mood. (For a detailed discussion of reaction vs. action, see the Calm chapter in the Theory section.)
Being active in the pursuit of happiness means acting in a value-driven way — choosing actions that most accurately express one’s system of values (as discussed in Choice Making Theory).
The negative consequences of confusing good mood with happiness are substantial, to put it mildly. Investing resources needed elsewhere in chasing moods — pursuing pleasures, avoiding discomfort — feels productive in the moment but systematically undermines the pursuit of happiness over time. Clarity on the distinction between these phenomena is not theoretical, pedantic, or a luxury; it is a requirement for pursuing happiness effectively.
REFERENCES
Bhikkhu Bodhi (Trans.). (2000). The connected discourses of the Buddha: A translation of the Saṃyutta Nikāya. Wisdom Publications.
Bower, G. H. (1981). Mood and memory. American Psychologist, 36(2), 129–148. https://doi.org/10.1037/0003-066X.36.2.129
Carse, J. P. (1986). Finite and infinite games: A vision of life as play and possibility. Free Press.
Durso, G. R. O., Luttrell, A., & Way, B. M. (2015). Over-the-counter relief from pains and pleasures alike: Acetaminophen blunts evaluation sensitivity to both negative and positive stimuli. Psychological Science, 26(6), 750–758. https://doi.org/10.1177/0956797615570366
Forgas, J. P. (1995). Mood and judgment: The Affect Infusion Model (AIM). Psychological Bulletin, 117(1), 39–66. https://doi.org/10.1037/0033-2909.117.1.39
Koob, G. F., & Volkow, N. D. (2010). Neurocircuitry of addiction. Neuropsychopharmacology, 35(1), 217–238. https://doi.org/10.1038/npp.2009.110
Vonnegut, K. (1990). Hocus Pocus. Putnam.