Pain, Suffering, and Misery

The triad of pain, suffering, and misery has to be studied, unattractive as it is, because it is inextricable from the human condition and quite relevant to the pursuit of happiness.

Pain

Think of pain as analogous to a warning light on a car’s dashboard.

Q: Why do warning lights turn on? A: Because cars are designed and built that way. The design of modern cars includes the placement of tiny light bulbs behind the plastic sheath that makes up the dashboard. Each light bulb is connected to a specific sensor and to a battery making the event of a dashboard light turning on possible.

We feel pain for the same reason — because it is in the design. Our pains are not an aberration. The ability to feel pain is in our makeup.

The next question is “Why are cars designed and built that way?” The answer has to do with the evolution of cars. The first cars did not have warning lights on their dashboard (actually, early cars did not have dashboards at all). Over the years car designers realized that in all likelihood there will come a time in the life of a car when the driver’s attention will need to be removed from where it normally is and placed elsewhere. 

Normally, the driver’s attention should be placed on the road ahead. However, car designers learned that, occasionally, safe driving will require that the driver’s attention will be placed on the car itself. For example, if the engine begins to overheat it is prudent for the driver to bring attention to the engine cooling system, or if the oil pressure is getting too low it is prudent for the driver to bring her attention to the oil tank.

Therein lies the purpose of pain. Pain is a tug at the coattail of consciousness causing a shift in attention and awareness. It is an alarm designed to bring attention to a problem that requires it.

Car designers make the warning signals mildly unsettling — red and orange lights placed right at the bottom of the driver’s visual field, sometimes accompanied by annoying ringing tones. Of course, warning systems could have been designed differently, to be less annoying. For example the scent of roses could be released in the car when the oil level runs low, a scent of lilacs when the engine begins to overheat, and so on. Such an alarm system would be more pleasant but, for obvious reasons, less useful. Unpleasant sensations are more effective in forcing a shift of the driver’s attention to the source of the problem. Pain is inherently noxious so that it is difficult, if not impossible, to ignore thus maximizing the alarm system’s efficiency.

It is noteworthy that not every sensation that is (functionally) a pain is associated with hurting, and not every sensation that hurts is a pain. Some sensations have the function of pain (i.e., sensations that show up in consciousness in order to bring attention to where attention is needed) but are not typically regarded as such. Examples include experiences such as dizziness, loss of appetite, fatigue, itching, tingling and so on. The key example of a sensation that hurts but functionally is not a ‘pain’ is the sadness felt in response to a loss, referred to as ‘grief’. Grief hurts but it is not a ‘pain’ because it is not designed to bring attention to a problem that needs fixing. We grieve as a result of registering (i.e., paying attention to) a loss. Grief is not designed to bring attention anywhere. Unlike ‘pain’, grief is not a signal that something is ‘broken’ and needs fixing. On the contrary, the absence of grief following a significant loss often is a reason for concern about something being out of order.  (This is discussed in more detail in the Depression section.)

Pain itself is not a problem. It points to a problem. It is a harsh teacher but not the enemy. The correct approach to pain is to decipher the message it carries and subsequently implement a corrective action. The relief from pain usually confirms the efficacy of the corrective action. (Note that this applies to acute pain. There is a major difference between acute and chronic pain. Acute pain carries a message that needs to be deciphered. Chronic pain carries no new information. Its story has been told; it delivers nothing new to learn from. Therefore, the management of chronic pain is very different from the management of acute pain.)

Pain System States

So, pain systems are alarm systems. An alarm system can be in one of three states: It can be under-active, over-active or well calibrated.

An example of a warning system in an under-active state would be a case in which a wire connecting the battery to the light bulb is broken. If the light bulb behind the oil-can symbol is disconnected from the battery the oil pressure warning system will be unresponsive to low oil pressure and hence in an (extremely) under active state. This is a dangerous state for the car and its passengers. The driver depends on getting a signal from the oil reservoir (via a light turning on behind the oil-can symbol) when attention happens to be needed there. If the signal can not be given because the system is in an under-active state, sooner or later, complications are sure to ensue.

The same principle applies to pain. There are numerous pathological states in which a pain system is under active. The most common example is diabetic peripheral neuropathy. One of the possible complications of diabetes is a progressive loss of pain sensation in the lower extremities. This happens as a result of damage to the peripheral nerves, the wires that normally conduct the pain signal from the toes and feet to the central processing unit, the brain. The consequences of diabetic peripheral neuropathy can be, and often are, dire. As a result of the lost ability to sense pain the patient does not become aware of minor trauma, nicks and small cuts to the feet. Relevant messages are not transmitted because the wires are broken. Without awareness and subsequent care of the problem a minor cut can develop into a minor, local infection. Again, the faulty wires prevent transmission of the signal even though it is now more urgent to attend to the afflicted area. Awareness is not brought into the situation and the minor localized infectious process progresses. The patient may become aware of the problem in the periphery only when the infection has progressed to a more problematic stage. As a result, it is not uncommon for patients with diabetes to experience horrific complications that can lead to an amputation of the affected limb and even death from systemic infections. Such catastrophic events can stem from problems that would require no more than a band-aid to be addressed properly, had the warning system been at an adequate state.

When the low oil pressure warning light turns on, doubtlessly, it is unwelcomed news for the driver. But it is also doubtless that it is much preferable to learn of the problem from a light signal on the dashboard than a smoke signal from the engine. Similarly, pain from a cut on the foot is not good news. But, it is much better to feel this pain early, when a corrective intervention is easy and simple, than to not feel it and learn of the problem once it becomes a major issue that is difficult and complicated to address.

Another example that illustrates our dependency on a properly active pain system is a rare neurological disease called congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis (CIPA). Patients suffering from this rare disorder are born without the ability to feel pain. In our analogy, a patient with this disorder would be akin to a car built without wires connecting the engine to the dashboard’s warning system. CIPA is an extremely serious condition associated with a very high mortality rate. More than half of the afflicted patients die before age three, underscoring the fact that we depend on pain to survive. As I said above, pain is not the enemy.

The same principles that apply to physical pain apply to mental pain. Guilt, for example, is a mental pain. As such, it is a signal designed to bring attention to an interpersonal problem, specifically, a problem in one’s own conduct. Somewhat like the patient with CIPA, some people apparently are born with an inability to feel guilt. We call this condition sociopathy. Sociopaths seem to feel nothing where a normal person would feel the pain of guilt. As a consequence, sociopaths either die violently at a young age, or they are amputated from the body of society and placed in prison, or both.

The other problematic state of alarm systems is an over-active state. To use our analogy, imagine a car in which the insulation between two wires leading to the low oil pressure warning light bulb has eroded; when the exposed wires touch, the warning light comes on. Driving over a bump in the road momentarily brings the exposed wires into contact, causing the oil pressure warning light to turn on, even though there is nothing wrong with the oil system.

Imagine starting a trip across the country in this car. Just as you leave your hometown the oil-can sign on your dashboard lights up. If you are like me, you curse and pull over. You lift the hood, check the oil level only to find that it is perfectly fine. You slam the hood shut, get back behind the wheel somewhat relieved to find that the light is off, and get back on the road. A few minutes later the warning light comes on again. Now what? Maybe you repeat the drill once more, but by the third time you can’t deny you have a problem and it’s not in the oil system itself. Do you keep going, ignoring the warning signal? Possibly, but that would be taking the risk that at some point in the trip you will be ignoring a genuine low engine oil state, risking potential catastrophic consequences to the engine. Perhaps you decide to cancel the trip, but that would be frustrating, especially given that, to the best of your ability to tell, there is nothing wrong with the oil system itself. Perhaps you pull into a service station and consult a mechanic. Regardless of what you choose to do, it is clear that you are dealing with a threat to your travel plans. Inevitably, dealing with a hyperactive warning system is frustrating and confusing. Often it leads to derailment of the journey plans.

Back to the human experience side of our metaphor. Any of our pain systems can be hyper active. Let’s start with a physical pain example. A pain generated when there is no need to bring attention anywhere is called phantom pain. It is purposeless, it carries no message. The archetypal phantom pain is pain felt in an extremity following its amputation. Amputees can develop a syndrome in which pain is felt coming from a limb that is no longer there. It can be excruciating, and it is certainly real. As any physical pain, phantom pain forces a shift in attention to a specific part of the body. It’s just that there is no part of the body there to pay attention to. The problem is not in the limb but in the wires that used to extend out to where the limb once was. In addition to the problem of the pain itself, which can be debilitating, living with phantom pain tends to be extremely frustrating.

Overactive pain systems (like under-active pain systems) can be mental just the same as they can be physical. Perhaps the most commonly occurring overactive mental pain system involves anxiety. Anxiety, like guilt, is a form of mental pain. Normally we feel the pain of anxiety when our attention is needed elsewhere from where it is. For example, if you are hiking in the mountains and your attention is on the picturesque scenery, the sound of a nearby bear should instantaneously cause you to feel a sharp pain of anxiety which is designed to force your attention to where it is needed more urgently — away from the view and onto the threat (in order to quickly identify an escape route). Feeling the same anxiety without the trigger, i.e., when there is no bear there, is not uncommon — phantom anxiety. A full blown episode of phantom anxiety is referred to as a panic attack.

Types of Pain

All of the different pains we can feel can be organized into four levels: Physical, psychological, interpersonal and spiritual. Obviously, the first has to do with the body, the last three are of the mind, or mental pains.

This is consistent with the organizational scheme according to which all the material in consciousness is in one of three categories: ‘Self’, ‘Other’ (all that is not of the ‘Self’) and ‘Process’ (where changes in the ‘Self’ and the ‘Other’ register). Physical and psychological pains originate in the ‘Self’ category. Pain that originates in the ‘Other’ category can be referred to as interpersonal-pain. Pain that originates in the ‘Process’ category can be referred to as spiritual pain.

Physical pains include the obvious pains originating from any specific part of the body as well as other, generalized, noxious sensations such as shortness of breath, nausea, insomnia, fatigue, dizziness, loss of appetite, etc.. The common element to all physical pains is that they are signals designed to bring attention to a particular part or system of the body where there is a problem that requires attention.

The first of the three mental compartments is the psychological level which, by definition, allows only the participation of the ‘Self’. It is a stage that permits entrance only to one actor, the ‘self’. Think of psychological pains as pains that can be experienced in a universe where nothing other than the ‘Self’ exists. The archetypal psychological pains are:

• Self doubt
• Self disappointment (which can blossom into self disgust and self hatred)
• Threat of a loss of some part of the ‘Self’ (The most common form of this pain is anxiety, which stems from the threat of loss of control, fundamentally, loss of control over one’s own mind; more on this here:  https://wp.me/P7aKBB-zU ).

The second mental compartment holds experiences that involve an additional participant beyond the ‘Self’, thus creating an interpersonal environment.  Interpersonal pains require the existence of someone other than the ‘Self’, even if that other participant exists in memory, or even only in the imagination. The following are pairs (– because they involve the ‘Self’ and an ‘Other’) of archetypal interpersonal pains:

•  Guilt and unfairness: Both arise when a contract is broken. Guilt is the pain a normal brain needs to be able to experience when one breaks a contract with another; unfairness is the pain experienced when one is on the receiving end of a broken contract.
• Shame and disappointment: Both arise following exposure in inadequacy (as in, exposure of “false advertisement”). Shame is the pain a normal brain needs to be able to feel when one is exposed as inadequate and thus unable to fulfill their promises; disappointment is the pain experienced following the realization that one is on the receiving end of an unfounded promise.
• Loss of autonomy and abandonment: Both arise from problems with the distance in a relationship. Loss of autonomy is the pain a normal brain needs experiences when one is consumed or dominated by another; abandonment is the pain experienced when the distance in a relationship is so great the connection is threatened or severed.

The third compartment holds information about the journey, or the ‘Process’ (of life). It gives rise to what can be called ‘spiritual pains’. The archetypal spiritual pains are:

• Hopelessness and pessimism
• Regret
• Meaninglessness and purposelessness. This pain is unique to the spiritual experience — the pain of perceiving the journey itself, — i.e., one’s life, as lacking aim or direction.

Note that the term ‘archetypal’ as it is used here refers to primary, or fundamental, pains: Just as the visual and gustatory systems utilize mixtures of a small number of primary colors (three) and primary flavors (six) to generate the rich experience of color-vision and taste, the whole spectrum of human pain is built on a short list of primary, or archetypal, pains.

Since pain is designed to bring attention to a specific problem in a specific area, it is important to develop the ability to identify the specific point of origin of each of our pains. Unfortunately perhaps, the four compartments from which pain can arise are poorly insulated. This means that if a pain is not dealt with quickly and effectively it will cause a problem (and a pain) in the adjacent compartments. Unattended physical pain typically, sooner or later, leads to  psychological pain. If it is not attended to, it is likely to eventually lead to a problem at the interpersonal level which will manifest as interpersonal pain which, if also neglected, will cause spiritual pain, and vice versa.

Another level of complexity is added by the fact that, functionally, as mentioned above, not everything that hurts is a pain, and not all pains hurt… “Pains that don’t hurt” are sensations that functionally are pains (signals designed to bring attention to where attention is needed) but are not usually considered or recognized as such. Physical examples include such phenomena as blurry vision, lethargy, shortness of breath, and loss of appetite. Mentally, apathy, loss of interest, and boredom are some examples of functional pains that may not be associated with hurting and thus may not lead to the required shift in attention and the subsequent initiation of a corrective action.

Examples of ‘hurts that are not pains’ include teething pain and the skeletal-muscular pain known as “growing pain”. These experiences hurt but they don’t point to a problem that requires attention. They are triggered by normal, healthy events that hurt. Bringing attention to these normal events is not supposed to lead to a corrective action. No corrective action is called for, because there is nothing behind these experiences that needs correcting. 

The primary example of a hurt that is not functionally a pain on the mental plane is grief. Grief is a normal reaction to the recognition of loss. Unlike the ‘Self’ based pain of a threat of a loss (which, as I keep repeating, is designed to bring attention to somewhere in order to initiate some corrective action) grief follows the recognition of a loss after it has taken place. In its essence (non-pathological) grief is a confirmation of the value of that which was lost, rather than a signal designed to initiate a corrective process. The realization that grief is not a pain, regardless of how much it hurts, is important; it is reviewed in detail in the (currently pending but soon to become available) discussion of Depression.

Pain Management

There are three types of approaches to a dashboard warning light turning on. The first, the ‘Homer Simpson approach’, goes something like this: A warning light goes off, the driver has an emotional response (“Doh”) then quickly covers the dashboard with some object, turns the radio up and — “whoo hoo”, problem solved!  The Homer Simpson style of dealing with a warning signal can bring momentary relief, but it is very short lived. In the long run, inevitably, it leads to more serious and complicated problems that tend to be costlier and more difficult to solve.

An example of this method of dealing with physical pain is the overweight, out of shape man who feels chest pressure when climbing a flight of stairs (“Doh”!). A couple of antacid pills, a few analgesics, and maybe a beer or two later and “whoo hoo” the discomfort is all gone. Unfortunately, this all too common management style of chest pain is just about guaranteed to lead to serious cardiac problems, if not death.

At the other end of the spectrum is the ‘hysterical driver approach’. This driver responds to a light on the dashboard as if it means that the engine is about to explode. The hysterical driver attributes a disastrous meaning to the mere fact that a warning light has turned on. This driver is over reactive and therefore ineffective at dealing with the signal.

The hysterical driver is analogous to the hypochondriac. Hypochondriacs attribute life threatening meanings to trivial pains. A chest cold cough means lung cancer; a headache invariably signals a brain tumor, and so on. Again, the same applies to the management of mental pain. A pang of self doubt means guaranteed failure; overreacting to the pain of self doubt often leads to dropping out, giving up, prematurely and unnecessarily. A twinge of guilt means one can not be forgiven; overreacting to guilt often leads to non productively groveling for forgiveness.

And then there’s the prudent driver: When the prudent driver notices the warning light she keeps in mind that this is a message that needs to be interpreted. She pulls over to the side of the road so that she can attend to the message. She looks at the icon on the dashboard, then takes out the owner’s manual, finds the appropriate page with the relevant information — deciphers “the message” carried by the signal, and follows the instructions in the manual. The prudent driver is attentive to and systematically analytical of the warning signal, which promotes the generation and application of a deliberate course of corrective action.

In terms of pain management, the prudent operator remembers that the pain is a message carrier. When it shows up, the message it carries needs to be deciphered. Sometimes it is easy to do. For example, waking up in the middle of the night with abdominal pain following the consumption of a large pizza and a pitcher of beer, the message may be that you are eating like “a baby with money” (to quote Bob Odenkirk). It would probably be worthwhile to take this message into account for future dietary reference. When the message is more complex the prudent operator will bring the vehicle to the expert mechanic, their physician, therapist, clergy or another authority figure for a consultation.

As difficult as it may be, approaching pain with calm is key to managing it optimally. Maintaining calm — a state of observing without reacting, in the face of pain is inherently challenging. Pain is noxious and self centering; in its essence it negates calm. The judgment of pain as a negative experience followed by redirecting all attention to can be said to be in the design of sentient beings. This design works great in the survival arena. However, it doesn’t serve the pursuit of happiness well at all. The ability to maintain calm in the face of pain is referred to as tolerance. The importance of tolerance in the pursuit of happiness can not be overemphasized.

Judgment (in general, and in our discussion, of pain) automatically leads to a reaction. To maintain calm (which, per its definition, requires non-reactivity) one needs to suspend judgment, which becomes increasingly difficult as the pain intensifies. Suspending judgment can be accomplished by replacing it with curiosity, or interest. However, to replace judgment, the interest has to be non self-centered (i.e., the opposite of the reflexive self-centered attention that is triggered by pain). It is well within the reach of an ordinary person to maintain calm in the face of acute pain, but it does require considerable practice. The practice of mindfulness aims to cultivate this ability.

(For a detailed discussion of the theory of Calm and the practice of cultivating it go to https://wp.me/P7aKBB-nQ and https://wp.me/P7aKBB-cs .)

Suffering

The working human brain requires a meaning to everything that registers in consciousness. Our brains will either discover or manufacture a meaning for all that we perceive as real. The perception of pain is no exception. By definition, suffering is the meaning of pain. (A discussion Meaning can be found here: https://wp.me/P7aKBB-9X ) 

Since the normal human body has pain receptors, sooner or later, there will be pain. Since meaning is obligatory, sooner or later there will be suffering. It is unavoidable.

To illustrate the point that suffering is the meaning of pain, imagine two young, healthy, pregnant women going into labor in adjacent rooms at an imaginary medical center. It is fair to assume, for the sake of this example, that their labor pain is identical. Now let’s imagine that the young woman in one room is nine months pregnant, her labor starting on her delivery due date, and that the other young woman is only on the fifth month of her pregnancy. Obviously, their suffering will be radically different: The meaning of the first lady’s pain is that she is soon to meet her child. Her pain is considerable but she is not suffering much. To the second lady, the same pain has the opposite meaning — it means that she is facing the risk of losing her child, a meaning associated with unimaginable suffering. 

Let’s consider another, less dramatic, example: Think of two guys hammering a nail; imagine that at some point both miss the nail and accidentally land a blow to one of their fingers (again, let’s assume that the physical and neurological parameters in both scenes are such that the pain the two guys experience is essentially the same). Now, imagine that the first guy is a carpenter on a construction site, and the second guy is an aspiring violinist who, on the following day, is scheduled for a once-in-a-lifetime audition with a major orchestra. The same pain will have a very different meaning thus triggering  very different suffering experiences: To the carpenter it is a professional hazard, and the pain is a reminder that he must be more careful at work. To the violinist the same pain may mean a colossal disaster, an end to a life-long dream. 

The participants in these imaginary scenarios cannot avoid experiencing some degree of suffering. But, each of them can either amplify their suffering or refrain from doing so, refrain from making it worse than it has to be. For example, to the lady in the first room the pain may trigger doubts in her ability to get through the delivery experience, which, in turn, she may interpret to mean that she doesn’t have what it takes to be a good parent. The second lady may worsen her suffering by concluding that her pregnancy is lost before it gets to that stage (early labor can be stopped and the pregnancy carried to term). The carpenter may interpret his pain to mean that he is inept and that he is stuck in a dreadful job. The violinist may think that the meaning of his pain is that his musical career is over. These are imaginary but not extraordinary examples of a wrong meaning attributed to a painful event, which amounts to worsening one’s own suffering. The underlying point is that the question is not whether or not we will suffer (again, sadly, we will). The question is how we will suffer. When it becomes our time to experience pain, are we going to search for, and find, the correct meaning in it, or are we going to attribute the wrong meaning to it and make our suffering worse?

According to Buddhist mythology, Siddhartha Gautama, a king’s son who later became the Buddha, began his quest when he realized how prevalent human suffering was after he left the royal palace for the first time. Essentially, he couldn’t accept that the overwhelming abundance of suffering he saw outside the palace was devoid of purpose. His search for the cause and purpose of suffering led to his enlightenment and subsequent teachings.

The Buddha’s teachings begin with the four Noble Truths: The first Noble Truth states that there will be suffering; life and suffering are inseparable. The second Noble Truth states that (mental) attachments are the cause of all suffering. The third Noble Truth states that there is a way out of suffering. The fourth Noble Truth states that the path out of suffering (the eightfold path) is a mental practice, following the teachings of the Buddha.   

The concept of ‘attachment’ as a cause of suffering is illustrated by a method for monkey catching used (possibly, to this day) in some parts of India. The monkey hunters use a small wooden box which they tie securely to the trunk of a tree. A candy-bar made with honey is placed inside the box. Monkeys apparently love honey, can smell it from a distance, and are thus lured to the contraption. The box has a small opening that allows the sweet toothed monkey to just squeeze its hand through and grab hold of the candy-bar. However, the opening is not big enough to allow the clinched monkey hand to pass back out of the box. Hence, the monkey gets trapped, doomed by its own desire. The monkey’s attachment to the candy-bar is so strong it overshadows the simple fact that just by letting go, by unclenching the fist, it can find liberation. Hence, Buddhism suggests the opposite of suffering is freedom. (For further discussion of attachment and its alternatives go to https://wp.me/P7aKBB-8N .)

‘Meaning’ stems from causality, i.e., from the cause-and-effect, or the before-and-after, sequence of events; hence, the discovery of ‘meaning’ is linked to the perception of time. Concordantly, understanding suffering (and of the attachments that cause it) can be organized on the backdrop of the way we relate to Time, i.e., our attitudes about the past, the present, and the future.

An attachment to the past is the inability to let go (much like the monkey’s inability to let go of the candy-bar) of a notion of how the past should have been. Grasping onto an imagery of a better past invariably (and unnecessarily) adds meaning to the pain therein, thereby increasing the associated suffering. Such attachments amount to stubborn unwillingness to give up hope for a better past, which explains why forgiveness effectively reduces the suffering associated with painful past experiences. 

Attachments focused on the present come in two varieties (both, again, reminiscent of the monkey’s choice). The first is an attachment to a notion of how the present should be — grasping onto an imaginable better present, a present that is less painful than it actually is. The second is grasping onto a pleasant present — this suffering stems from dread of the inevitable change. An unwillingness (or even a reluctance) to let go of a cherished aspect of the present is guaranteed to cause suffering, because of the law of impermanence (which is discussed here: https://wp.me/P7aKBB-2A ). The law of impermanence simply, and non-negotiably, states that nothing stays the same, everything changes. An attachment to any aspect of reality (e.g., youth, good health, loving relationships, etc.) ensures suffering through anticipation of the inevitable change, and through experiencing it as it unfolds. The two varieties of attachments to the present are offset by acceptance. Specifically, acceptance of the present (painful) as it is, and acceptance of impermanence — the inevitability of change.

Attachments to the future amount to grasping (yup, monkey-like) onto a notion of a specific future; a rigid insistence on a certain future. Given that the future (with a few unattractive exceptions) is unknowable and therefore uncertain, insistence on anything about it is not only futile, it inevitably results in pain (which usually involves anxiety) and countless ways of secondary suffering. Future attachments can be eased by the deliberate application of hope to one’s thinking about the future. Hope requires uncertainty — where there is certainty there is no hope. As such, the deliberate inclusion of hope negates the illusion of certainty and, consequently, offsets the tendency to attach to a specific future.

It is next to impossible to overstate the importance of this triad — forgiveness, acceptance, and hope, in the negotiations with suffering. Interestingly, the state of mind that simultaneously incorporates forgiveness of the past, acceptance of the present, and hope for the future is one of compassion. Therein lies the rational explanation for the efficacy of compassion in containing suffering (more on this elsewhere). 

Another Buddhist insight suggests that all human suffering falls into one of two scenarios: In the first scenario suffering results when a person wants something that they cannot obtain (i.e., an attachment to the way the present should be). In the second scenario a person wants something which they do obtain (i.e., an attachment to an unchanging preset, or to the illusion of permanence). Does this mean that we are therefore doomed to suffer? Not necessarily. Indeed, the third Noble Truth states that there is a way to end suffering. 

One way out of the trap (presented by the two suffering scenarios) is to stop wanting. That is, to develop a mind free of desire, a mind that does not want anything. Difficult, to say the least; potentially incompatible with human nature. The reality may be even worse — the idea of developing a mind free of desire may be paradoxical, as developing a mind free of desires is, in-and-of itself, a desire. Nonetheless, countless spiritual practitioners (e.g., Buddhist monks and nuns) continue to devote their lives to the practice of developing minds free of desires and are therefore free of suffering. I don’t think that their efforts are in vain. The aspiration (and the associated practice) makes sense when we consider human desires as a continuum: The more burdened by desires a mind is, the more suffering its owner will experience. The more desires one can get rid of, the less suffering he or she will experience.

The second way out of the suffering trap is through developing a mind that finds the process of pursuit of that which one desires inherently satisfying, regardless of its outcome. A mind that finds the process of pursuing the ‘prize’ as, or even more, satisfying as obtaining it will be immunized from the suffering inherent in getting and in not getting it. The key is to replace the value of the ‘outcome’ with the value of the pursuit of the outcome — the value inherent in the movement in the right direction. I think that realistically (for ordinary folks, that is, excluding high level mental practitioners) we can aspire to reduce or minimize suffering, not to eradicate it. It is in line with emphasizing the ‘the journey’ over ‘the destination’, the effective pursuit of happiness over the imagery of being happy. 

The importance of moving in the right direction – pursuing happiness effectively is consistent with the idea that suffering has a value. Undesired as it obviously is, suffering can be rewarding. The potential reward inherent in suffering comes down to a single thing — learning. If one learns something worth knowing from the encounter with suffering, the suffering wasn’t for nothing. ‘Learning something worth knowing’ is synonymous with moving toward the Truth and away from ignorance — moving toward enlightenment. Consistently, the completely enlightened person (even as an abstraction), one that has nothing left to learn — their ignorance completely abolished, is therefore free of suffering. Therein lies the purpose of suffering (and the correct understanding of the law of Karma which represents an educational system, not a justice system). Understanding this underscores the importance of maintaining a calm mind, particularly the face of pain and suffering: A ‘calm’ mind is simply better suited for learning than any other imaginable alternative. Furthermore, it explains the importance of tolerance — a prerequisite for calm, in the pursuit of happiness.

Misery

As stated earlier, the human brain is meaning dependent: Normally, all that registers consciousness has a meaning (in comparison, data without a meaning can present as part of the process of dreaming, or as part of the psychotic process). Think of ‘meaning’ as a frame around the data held in consciousness. The brain requires one frame; a second frame around the first one (and a third around the second and so on) can be added, but only one is required. 

Suffering, as discussed above, can be defined as the meaning of the pain that registers in consciousness — the required frame around it. Misery can be thought of as a second frame, as the meaning of suffering. As a second layer of meaning, misery is not required or obligatory, it is a choice, an elective option. 

More specifically, misery is a self-centered meaning of suffering. As such, misery comes in two variants. The first variant of misery attributes a meaning to suffering that frames it as evidence of the unfairness with which life treats the ‘Self’. The state of mind associated with this type of misery involves thoughts such as “my life is so unfair to me” and triggers feelings of unfulfilled entitlements. The second variant of misery frames suffering as evidence of the Self’s helplessness. It typically manifests with thoughts along the line of “there is nothing I can do about my condition” and with feelings of victimization.

Giving these meanings to suffering is not only superfluous, it is factually wrong: Life is neither fair nor unfair (see the definition of fairness) and there is always something one can do to influence their circumstances.

I’ll explain: First, let’s look at misery in the form of the unfairness of life. It is rationally unfounded because the concept of ‘fairness’ does not apply to the relationship we have with life. Considering ‘fairness’ as a deliberate allocation of some resource according to the needs for that resource, thinking of life as a process in which resources are given or withheld deliberately is an irrational personification of life. Alternatively, if we consider ‘fairness’ as a phenomenon inherent to the fulfillment of a contract, regarding life as fair or unfair is based on sustaining the illusion of a contract with life. Either way ‘fairness’ does not apply to the relationship with life. Consequently, the misery that stems from considering one’s life as unfair is not founded in reality.

Second, let’s look at misery in the form of helplessness. The sense of complete helplessness (“there’s nothing I can do”) expresses the notion of zero influence over one’s surroundings, which is incompatible with physical reality. It is impossible to avoid influencing that which we come in contact with. Showing up to reality is influencing it. The mere ability to generate a thought (such as “there is nothing I can do about my circumstances”) attests to the fact that influencing the surrounding circumstances (at the very least, the perception of the surrounding circumstance) is unavoidable. A conscious awareness of a situation comes with some influence over it (again, at the very least, over the way in which it registers in consciousness). One’s influence may be immeasurably small (as in ‘The Butterfly Effect’), but it is not nothing, it’s greater than zero. Whether from the religious point of view that attributes power to prayer, or from the psychotherapeutic point of view that considers visualization as a way to impact reality, there is always something one can do to influence their circumstances. The impact of a butterfly hovering its wings on the global weather (which, arguably, may have the same magnitude as the impact of prayer, or visualization) is minuscule, but it is not zero.

The bottom line is that pain and suffering are unavoidable; they are in the design. Misery is a choice. Seen as a choice — to be or not to be miserable, it goes without saying that the choice to be miserable is not mindful. It amounts to investing some energy in making matters worse than they have to be (and thus stands in conflict with ‘the first order of business’). Obviously, misery is incompatible with the effective pursuit of happiness. By scanning one’s thought process for evidence of the ‘misery themes’ (i.e., searching for thoughts suggestive of life’s unfairness and/or a sense of helplessness, particularly in the face of pain and suffering) it is possible to identify them when they arise and subsequently, negate them through a rational examination. 

The Opposites of Pain, Suffering, and Misery

Pain, suffering, and misery are found at one end of an experience spectrum. At the other end of the spectrum each has a “mirror image”, an opposite.

The opposite of pain is pleasure. Pleasure is an innocuous neurological event designed to increase the frequency of the behavior that causes it.

Since the brain is meaning-dependent (in both the encounter with pain and  the encounter with pleasure) there will be a meaning to pleasure just like there is a meaning to pain (i.e., suffering). The meaning of pleasure is satisfaction. In this sense, satisfaction is the opposite of suffering. Consistently, meaningless pleasures are not satisfying: The pleasure of a meal becomes satisfying to the chef if its meaning is a confirmation of a successful effort. The pleasure of orgasm becomes satisfying when it is experienced in the context of a loving relationship, as opposed to the same pleasure when one is alone.

As discussed above, the brain can continue to generate layers of meaning beyond  the required first layer. The self-centered meaning of satisfaction is hubris. As such, hubris is the mirror image, the opposite, of misery.

Functionally, hubris is the attribution of a self-centered meaning of one’s satisfying experience. The general hubris has two themes. In the first the ‘Self’ is considered so special as to be entitled to experiencing pleasure. In the second  the ‘Self’ is considered so powerful as to be able to force its will on reality so that its desires are fulfilled. Either meaning is, of course, irrational. Hence hubris is, by definition, erroneous.

Just as the brain is liable to habitually add a frame around suffering (namely, misery) it is liable to add a frame around the experience of satisfaction. However, since only one layer of meaning is necessary, additional layers of meaning are superfluous. Therefore, like misery, hubris is a misguided choice; as such it is incompatible with the effective pursuit of happiness.