Becoming is suffering

We encounter many fortunes and misfortunes in life. When misfortunes arise, people tend to rely on conventional and superficial explanations, directing blame outward. When someone we love dies, we point to an illness: “He died because of cancer.” When someone suffers great financial loss, we attribute it to external conditions: “She lost money because of competitors.” Many such examples can be given; they are virtually endless. Here, by “suffering,” the emphasis in this post is primarily on the immediate discomfort and displeasure that arise in the presence of misfortune, as these are the most evident and universally recognised expressions of dukkha.

In this way, whenever misfortune occurs, the mind habitually turns towards surface-level explanations to justify what has happened. Rarely does it attempt to uncover the deeper cause of suffering. Within the confines of worldly thinking, no matter how much one searches, the true root of suffering remains concealed. But this root can be understood through the Buddha’s teaching.

On one occasion (Ud 2.4), when the Buddha was residing at Sāvatthi, he and the Saṅgha received great honour and material support, which aroused jealousy among rival ascetics and brahmins. Unable to tolerate this, they insulted and harassed the monks whenever they encountered them. The monks reported this to the Buddha.

In response, the Buddha taught that "when experiencing pleasure or pain, one should neither identify it as “mine” nor attribute it to others. Suffering does not arise merely from contact with pleasant or painful experiences, but from the presence of clinging."

In other words, suffering arises due to clinging and its consequent process: becoming (bhava).

• Taṇhā paccayā upādānaṃ — Conditioned by craving, there is clinging.

• Upādānapaccayā bhavo — Conditioned by clinging, there is becoming (of five aggregates).

  
  

Through clinging, there arises bhava, a renewed existence characterised by the five aggregates, which are inherently bound up with suffering. Therefore, why do misfortunes occur? Not because of other people, nor merely due to external conditions. The fundamental reason lies in bhava itself—in becoming. It is because there is an existence constituted by the five aggregates, all of which are intrinsically dukkha.

From bhava (becoming) there arises jāti (birth). With birth as condition, there inevitably follow ageing (jarā), death (maraṇa), sorrow (soka), lamentation (parideva), pain (dukkha), grief (domanassa), and despair (upāyāsa). This sequence is the lawful relationship of conditioned existence.

From birth, ageing inevitably follows. As ageing is dukkha, many seek remedies, quick fixes, and medical interventions in an attempt to appear younger, feel younger, or delay the signs of decline. In doing so, there is often an implicit attempt to deny the reality of ageing itself.

The mind, unable to accept this process, develops aversion and turns away from what is actually occurring. Rather than understanding ageing as a universal condition, it treats it as something undesirable that should be resisted or concealed. At the same time, people observe others growing old and remark, “They have become old,” without recognising that they themselves are subject to the very same process, inevitably moving towards that condition.

Death, too, is approaching. It is equally unavoidable. Just as ageing cannot be escaped, death stands as a certainty for all who are born. But because of the fear and discomfort it evokes, many avoid reflecting on it directly. Instead, attention is diverted towards distractions, or death is treated as something distant, as though it applies only to others.

When death does occur, especially to those close to us, it is often experienced with shock and resistance, as if something unexpected has taken place. The mind struggles against the reality of loss, not because death is unnatural, but because it has not been deeply understood or accepted. In this way, aversion arises towards an inevitable aspect of existence. At the same time, people observe the death of others and think, “They have died" or "They died because of this illness", without fully recognising that they themselves are subject to the same fate. There is a subtle assumption of exception, as though death belongs to others but not yet to oneself. But from the moment of birth, death is already implicit, steadily drawing nearer.

There are also times when nearly every person has experienced grief, sorrow, or lamentation over loved ones, possessions or conditions, as well as bodily pain, mental distress, and despair. These responses are deeply familiar and widely shared. Yet, despite their universality, the mind rarely turns towards the underlying cause of such suffering. Instead, it remains fixated on surface-level explanations, repeatedly dwelling on the misfortune itself. In doing so, the mind tends to circle around the experience, replaying it, reacting to it, and becoming further entangled in it, as though crying or mental distress could resolve the situation. However, such reactions do not bring an end to suffering; rather, they often reinforce it by deepening attachment and aversion.

What, then, is meant by “suffering”? It is simply a particular outcome within the process of bhava (becoming). When illness arises, when wealth is lost, or when separation from loved ones occurs, these are not isolated events that can be fully explained by immediate causes alone. Rather, they are natural consequences of being born. Where there is birth (jāti), there must also be ageing, loss, and death. These experiences are inherent to the very fact of existence. And that birth itself arises from bhava—becoming—which is conditioned by clinging.

At the same time, of course, it would be inaccurate to dismiss conventional causes altogether. Illness has biological conditions; financial loss has economic conditions; conflict arises due to interpersonal causes. Attending to these is necessary for practical living and can help to alleviate immediate forms of suffering. However, if the mind stops at this level, it mistakes contributory superficial conditions for the root cause. It is similar to attempting to manage a chronic disease by addressing only its symptoms. One may take medicine but if the underlying cause—such as harmful habits or lifestyle—is not addressed, the problem persists. In the same way, dealing only with external circumstances may provide temporary relief, but it does not touch the deeper structure that gives rise to suffering again and again.

That's why the common tendency to attribute suffering solely to external conditions—disease, other people, circumstances—captures only the most superficial layer of causation. These are proximate conditions, not the fundamental cause. The Buddha's Dhamma reveals a deeper structure, which is that as long as there is bhava, there must be jāti; and as long as there is birth, the entire mass of suffering cannot be avoided. For this reason, the Buddha declared in the teaching of Dependent Origination:

"Thus, there is the arising of this whole mass of suffering."

"Evametassa kevalassa dukkhakkhandhassa samudayo hoti."

Here, the term "kevala" carries the sense of “entire,” “complete,” or “whole.” In the expression "kevalassa dukkhakkhandhassa", it emphasises totality—not a partial or occasional suffering, but the full aggregate of suffering that inevitably arises with conditioned existence.

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Another uncomfortable truth at the level of conventional understanding, is this:

"You desired this existence. You worked towards it. You have now obtained it. And with it comes suffering—unavoidable, inseparable, part of the same package. No matter how much you resist or try to escape it, you cannot abandon the suffering without abandoning the very existence you have taken up. For it was precisely this that was desired."

What is meant here is that, in the past, actions (kamma) have been performed, conditioned by craving, ignorance, and clinging, which laid down the conditions for this present existence to arise. Through that accumulation, this existence has now come to be. And because it is conditioned, it is inherently bound up with suffering.

So, what is experienced now is not accidental. It is the unfolding of those conditions. This existence, having arisen through such causes, necessarily carries with it ageing, illness, loss, and death. These are not additions imposed from outside, but are inseparable from the very nature of what has been established.

For this reason, suffering within this existence is unavoidable as long as the underlying causes remain. One cannot retain the existence while expecting it to be free from suffering, because the two arise together from the same process.

People then often question why the same problems and misfortunes recur: “Why does this keep happening?” When analysed carefully, it is also because of clinging itself. Clinging can also fixate on painful experiences—loss, grief, resentment—and appropriate them as “mine.” Once appropriated, the experience is not simply known; it is held, revisited, and sustained. In this way, suffering is not only experienced but maintained through clinging. From a doctrinal perspective, this is precisely where becoming (bhava) becomes relevant. With clinging as condition, there is becoming (upādānapaccayā bhavo). Each act of clinging establishes and reinforces a particular state—an ongoing “becoming” centred around that experience of suffering. This can be understood not only at the level of rebirth, but also moment to moment: the mind reconstitutes the same pattern, giving rise to a renewed presence of that suffering.

Thus, the recurrence of suffering is not accidental, and it reflects the persistence of its conditions. As long as clinging remains, becoming continues; and as long as becoming continues, the conditions for suffering are repeatedly established. What appears as “the same problem happening again” is, in fact, the continuation of the same underlying process.

Of course, one might also argue that there are also good aspects in life—pleasures, affection, joy, and moments of happiness. This is true. Within bhava, pleasant experiences do arise. However, these too are conditioned and therefore impermanent. Because they are subject to change, they fall under vipariṇāma-dukkha—the suffering of change. What is pleasant does not remain; what is gained must eventually be lost; what is enjoyed cannot be held onto. It is precisely this impermanence of pleasure that reveals why becoming itself is dukkha. The problem is not the presence of pleasure, but its instability. Because it cannot endure, it cannot serve as a reliable basis for lasting ease. Instead, it gives rise to attachment, and when it inevitably changes or disappears, dissatisfaction follows.

For this reason, even refined and wholesome forms of happiness—such as the bliss of jhāna, or the happiness that arises from wholesome actions—are still included within the Noble Truth of Suffering. Not because they are undesirable, but because they are conditioned and impermanent. What is impermanent is subject to change; what is subject to change cannot be ultimately satisfying; and what cannot provide lasting satisfaction is therefore dukkha.

Despite this, there is no need to resort to blame—neither towards oneself, nor towards others, nor towards external conditions. The process is impersonal. As long as ignorance and craving remain, actions continue to accumulate, and results follow accordingly. This is the lawful nature of things: when the causes are present, the results arise. In the same way, suffering persists as long as the causes that give rise to suffering continue to be cultivated.

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Circling back to what the Buddha said: "when experiencing pleasure or pain, one should neither identify it as “mine” nor attribute it to others. Suffering does not arise merely from contact with pleasant or painful experiences, but from the presence of clinging."

Clinging (attachment), when analysed in Dhamma terms, does not arise in isolation. It is rooted in greed (lobha) and is frequently accompanied by either conceit (māna) or wrong view (diṭṭhi).

Let us consider māna here. Māna is the tendency towards identification—the subtle or gross sense of “I” and “mine.” It appropriates experience, turning what is merely occurring into something personal. Because of this identification, suffering is intensified. When misfortune arises, instead of seeing it simply as “this is a misfortune,” māna inclines the mind towards: “this is my misfortune.” With this identification come sorrow, grief, and mental displeasure. When death occurs, instead of understanding it as a natural event of this existence—death as death—the mind takes it as: “my friend has died.” Again, with this identification come sorrow, grief, and distress. The event itself has not changed, but the way it is held has. Through identification, the experience becomes personal, and with that personalisation comes additional suffering.

On its own, māna already gives rise to this personalisation of experience. However, when wrong view (diṭṭhi) arises together with it, the suffering becomes much stronger. What is merely taken as “mine” becomes further reinforced as something believed in and held onto as true. The identification becomes a fixed standpoint. With diṭṭhi, the mind may take positions such as: “this should not happen to me,” or “this loss is truly mine.” The experience then becomes deeply rooted and anchored. Because it is now supported by belief, the mind clings more firmly, resists more strongly, and is less able to release the experience. As a result, suffering is not only intensified, but also prolonged and multiplied with no end in sight.

This can be further understood through the teaching in the Salla-sutta. The Buddha explained that when an ordinary uninstructed person (puthujjana) is struck by pain, they are struck by two arrows. The first arrow is the initial painful experience—the unavoidable contact with what is unpleasant. The second arrow is the mental suffering that follows: sorrow, lamentation, and distress. This second arrow arises not from the event itself, but from the mind’s reaction—through identification, craving, and resistance. This second arrow is the worse because in reality, nothing is as serious as the mind makes it. The initial experience may be minor—like a small prick on the finger—but the mind can amplify it and turn that brief and insignificant sensation into prolonged suffering. For example: a brief negligible mistake is made, but the mind holds onto it, generating regret and self-blame long after the event has passed.

Thus, māna and diṭṭhi contribute directly to the second arrow. By turning experience into “mine,” they ensure that pain is taken up and prolonged. Suffering is deepened and sustained through identification. By establishing a sense of “I” in relation to experience, a basis is created upon which pain is not merely known, but appropriated. And once appropriated, it becomes heavier, more persistent, and more difficult to release.

Why does this happen? Also because of clinging (lobha). When there is identification, there is clinging; and as the mind can also cling to suffering itself, the more clinging there is, the stronger the identification; and the stronger the identification, the more the experience is reinforced and sustained. Because of that, there is a “becoming of suffering” in the mind—a re-establishment of that experience as something real, personal, and continuing. So, becoming (bhava) is not only a future-oriented process leading to rebirth, but also a moment-to-moment accumulation of kamma (kamma-bhava), continually shaping conditions for further suffering (and rebirths full of suffering). Whenever there is clinging (upādāna), there is becoming; and wherever there is becoming, suffering is present.

Through this, this can be reflected again: "You desired this existence. You worked towards it. You have now obtained it. And with it comes suffering—unavoidable, inseparable, part of the same package. No matter how much you resist or try to escape it, you cannot abandon the suffering without abandoning the very existence you have taken up. For it was precisely this that was desired."

What is also meant here is that in each moment, actions are being performed—not necessarily with the intention of creating a future existence, but driven by greed (lobha), aversion (dosa), and delusion (moha). Actions—whether physical, verbal, or mental—are conditioned by these unwholesome roots. These moment-to-moment reactions are not insignificant. They accumulate as kamma. This is kamma-bhava: the active process of becoming (accumulation of kamma) through repeated patterns of reaction with intention. Even without an explicit intention to “become,” the mind is constantly constructing conditions through these unwholesome tendencies.

This accumulation of kamma leads to suffering not only in a distant future, but within the course of this very life as well. It manifests as misfortunes, difficulties, and unwholesome resultants that arise from these conditions. And beyond this life, when these accumulated conditions mature further, they can give rise to future existences in which suffering continues to unfold, and a life full of only suffering (such as hell).

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To understand that bhava is dukkha is not a pessimistic stance. It is a recognition of its intrinsic nature. It is also not a denial of happiness. It is a clear recognition of the nature of conditioned existence. It is seeing things as they are: that whatever arises through conditions is unstable, liable to alteration, and incapable of yielding lasting fulfilment. This understanding does not lead to despair, but to wisdom that releases clinging.

“Seeing things as they are” refers to a direct and experiential understanding of reality: the ultimate Dhamma. To truly see that whatever arises through conditions is unstable, liable to change, and incapable of providing lasting fulfilment, the mind must be sufficiently purified. This clarity does not arise through reflection alone. Yes, reflection can give rise to wise attention (yoniso manasikāra) and orient the mind in the right direction, but its depth remains limited if it is not supported by development. For this reason, the cultivation of mindfulness and concentration is essential. Through sustained mindfulness, the arising and passing of phenomena can be observed directly. Through concentration, the mind becomes steady, unified, and less disturbed by distractions. With this foundation, insight can develop, and only then does the understanding of anicca, dukkha and anatta nature of this bhava become clear in an immediate way. Without this, one may speak about these principles, yet still relate to experience as though things were stable, controllable, and capable of providing lasting satisfaction. When the mind has been trained correctly—through mindfulness, concentration, and careful observation—the understanding of bhava as dukkha becomes evident and unshakeable.

But until then, at all times, you must wisely contemplate that when misfortune occurs, it is not something alien that has intruded into an otherwise satisfactory existence. It is a manifestation of the very nature of conditioned existence. The discomfort arises not only because of the event itself, but because of the underlying assumption that such experiences should not occur. As long as the causes remain, the result follows accordingly. Becoming is not merely followed by suffering; it is the very condition that makes suffering possible. To become is to take up what must be maintained, what must change, and what must eventually be lost. It is to establish a field in which pleasure and pain arise, but where neither can be secured.

Becoming is not problematic because of particular events or conditions within it, but because of its very nature—unstable, conditioned, and liable to affliction.