Buddhist psychology identifies the mental phenomenon of ‘attachment’ as a primary source of suffering (Bhikkhu Bodhi, 2000). Whether one fully embraces this framework or not, it aligns with our experience: attachments cause us distress. Despite attachment’s widely recognized negative impact, most people cannot define it — they know what it feels like but not what it is. This gap between recognition and understanding calls for a serious examination of attachment and exploration of more effective alternatives.
Attachment describes how a consciousness relates to something, e.g., a person, an object, or an idea. It is defined as a mental connection characterized by non-negotiable insistence on a specific, desired outcome. Connecting by attachment is a setup for trouble, for a variety of reasons, the most fundamental of which is the Law of Impermanence, which guarantees that attachments will lead to pain and suffering. For example, being attached to one’s youthful good looks, impressive athletic abilities, powerful professional position, or loving relationship will lead to suffering, if for no other reason than the fact that everything changes.
Buddhist guidance is not a prerequisite for appreciating the link between attachments and suffering. It is widely recognized, albeit viscerally and emotionally rather than intellectually. Since the Western worldview tends toward binary thinking, we often frame connection in either/or terms: we are either attached or detached. Within this framework, when attachment causes suffering, detachment is the only alternative.
The concept of attachment as a cause of suffering is illustrated by a story about a monkey-catching technique (that I believe is actually used in some parts of India). According to the story, the hunters tie a small wooden box to a tree trunk and place a honey candy inside. Monkeys, lured by the scent, squeeze their hands through a small opening to grab the candy. But the opening is too small for a clenched fist to pass back through. The monkey gets trapped, doomed by its own desire. The monkey’s attachment to the candy is so strong that it obscures the simple, liberating solution: letting go.
[Sidebar: Another illustration of the same point is offered in a Simpsons episode (‘Marge on the Lam,’ Season 5 Episode 6). Homer gets both arms stuck in a couple of vending machines. Just before a repairman is about to saw off his arms, a colleague asks, ‘Homer, are you just holding on to the can?’ Homer’s response: ‘Your point being…?’ His attachment to the free candy and soda is so strong that only the threat of amputation makes the connection with his entrapment register.]
When the brain detects the connection between grasping and pain (which may register consciously or not), it lets go — we detach. Physically, when the pain source is external and removable, this is nearly always effective. Mentally, it invites a serious problem because detachment amounts to withholding caring. When we detach from something, we disconnect from it — and it is impossible to care about something we have disconnected from. The problem stems from the fact that detachment is indiscriminate and, because it can provide relief from pain (even if only temporarily), is readily reinforced and can become habitual. Therein lies the serious threat: by opting for detachment, one forfeits caring — a prerequisite for pursuing happiness effectively. The monkey’s demise (and Homer’s close call) is caused by its attachment, which obscures the causal connection between grasping and entrapment. The opposite — letting go reflexively without evaluating whether detachment is the appropriate response — is also incompatible with mindfulness. Automatic detachment is especially costly if it becomes ingrained, i.e., a self-protecting habit. As such, it can lead to withholding caring as a way of life — ultimately at the cost of the pursuit of happiness itself.
The either/or worldview often ignores important options. In this case, the binary formulation misses the crucial third option: commitment. A consciousness can relate through attachment, through detachment, or through commitment. The more a relationship is based on attachment or detachment, the more problematic it will be.
It is worth noting that both detachment and commitment share something important: neither involves grasping. In Buddhist terms, both represent non-attachment. The difference is that detachment achieves non-attachment by withdrawing caring, while commitment achieves it by sustaining caring without insisting on a specific outcome. Non-attachment without caring is detachment; non-attachment with caring is commitment.
Relationships based on commitment are more compatible with the pursuit of happiness. Unlike attachment, which fixates on specific outcomes (where caring is a liability — the more we care about a specific outcome, the more we suffer when impermanence inevitably violates it), commitment focuses on the process (where caring is an asset — caring about the process sustains engagement and effort regardless of any particular result). Unlike detachment, which withdraws caring to avoid pain, commitment supports staying connected (with a reliance on tolerance — the calm willingness to experience pain without reacting to it — as a way to deal with pain when it is encountered).
To understand the three-options model, we need to examine what actually causes pain in our connections. Consider a loving relationship — with one’s child, partner, or with a close friend. Contrary to popular belief, love does not cause pain.
Pure love is like a beam of light from a flashlight — no matter how forcefully you swing the flashlight, the beam cannot hurt. But attach a stick to the flashlight, and you can cause real damage. Similarly, what causes pain is not the love itself but the contaminants — specifically, expectations — that we attach to it.
We expect our children to thrive, our partners to reciprocate, and our friends to be available when we need them. At a deeper level, we have a ‘meta-expectation’ — that our caring will be powerful enough to protect those we love, guarantee the fulfillment of our (more obvious) expectations, and preserve the relationship. When reality falls short of these expectations, we experience pain.
The crucial insight is that the pain comes not from caring but from attachment to the expectations that contaminate it.
[Sidebar: Another way to think about attachments brings back the overarchingly important way we relate to time: We get attached to the way we think the past could have been, the present should be and the future ought to be. Therein lies the functional importance of compassion: A mind that readily forgives the past, accepts the present and sustains hope for the future is unlikely to be trapped by attachments to the way things could, should, or ought to be.]
Understanding how our attachments actually cause us pain is an important step toward developing the ability to choose how we connect mindfully. In addition, I think it is also important to understand why we default to attachment and detachment despite their costs, and why commitment, despite its advantages, is relatively elusive.
Connecting through attachment, and opting for quick detachment in response to discomfort or pain, works well in the context of pursuing survival. Attachment’s non-negotiable insistence is effective when facing survival threats — one cannot negotiate with a predator, fire, or injury. Quick detachment is similarly advantageous — escaping a pain source rapidly can save one’s life; wasting resources on lost causes can cost it. It is compatible with survival mode, i.e., quick, forceful reactions that require fast judgment, and benefits from instinctive, feelings-driven actions that are ultimately devoted to fulfilling the needs of the ‘self.’ (For a detailed discussion of survival mode and thrival mode, see the Home page and the Anxiety Management chapter in the Practice section.) Survival mode does not serve the pursuit of happiness. To pursue happiness effectively, one needs to be in thrival mode. In thrival mode, the use of force is avoided (due to its destructive effects), and speed is devalued relative to timing. Behavioral choices are made through thoughtful analysis and are value-driven. In thrival mode, connectedness is based on commitment rather than attachment. This does not mean that commitments are forever (nothing is). Being committed means that when a connection is uncomfortable or causes pain, detachment is not the immediate option. Instead, the discomfort or pain is tolerated so that the value of the connection can be analyzed reliably. Letting go — detaching — remains an option, but choosing it is not based on reflex or feelings but rather on one’s value system. (For a detailed discussion of caring and passion as essential elements of the pursuit of happiness, see the Depression chapter in the Theory section.)
For example, consider wealth as an idea one relates to. An attachment to wealth would be manifested with a competitive, even cut-throat attitude, insistence (e.g., on scheduled outcomes), and thus reliance on the use of force in one’s financial dealings and responding with anger (which justifies the use of force) when things are not going one’s way. A commitment to wealth is more likely to be manifested by an aspiration for excellence (i.e., to be worthy of high remuneration), and tolerance of difficult financial circumstances that permits a calm assessment and identification of the right course of action. The attached attitude may result in greater wealth, but not necessarily; it doesn’t guarantee wealth. The committed attitude may lead to the same (or better) financial outcome, but it is unquestionably better suited for the pursuit of happiness.
This brings to mind a quote by Warren Buffett, who I think it’s fair to say knows something about wealth: “Basically, when you get to my age, you’ll really measure your success in life by how many of the people you want to have love you actually do love you. I know people who have a lot of money, and they get testimonial dinners and hospital wings named after them. But the truth is that nobody in the world loves them. If you get to my age in life and nobody thinks well of you, I don’t care how big your bank account is — your life is a disaster. That’s the ultimate test of how you have lived your life.” (Buffett, 2001)
REFERENCES
Bhikkhu Bodhi (Trans.). (2000). The connected discourses of the Buddha: A translation of the Saṃyutta Nikāya. Wisdom Publications.
Buffett, W. (2001, July 18). Remarks at the Terry College of Business, University of Georgia. Athens, GA.