It is only by confronting the fact that suffering is woven into human existence that we can debunk the allure of the self-help industry and build an alternative politics of suffering, where to suffer is not pathologised but publicly acknowledged and politicised.

Self-Help and Its Promise

At the heart of the self-help industry lies an enticing promise, that feelings of pain, anxiety or discomfort can be eliminated. Whether it be through shifting your mindset, cultivating better habits or achieving clarity through meditation, we are sold the promise that if you commit to the inner work, a ‘better life’ awaits you.

In a precarious and unstable world, this is very alluring. Finding a job, buying a house or starting a family may seem increasingly out of reach, but working on yourself and your habits and expectations is something you can directly control.

And, to an extent, the promise of self-help can be true. If you have the time to meditate, journal or self-reflect, you may feel calmer and more confident, and improve your relationships.

However, the problem comes when self-help is positioned as the solution to suffering, as though a pain-free, frictionless life without any pain or discomfort were possible.

The Wheels of Consumerism

With the current intensity of suffering we are facing, with 1 in 4 adults in England experiencing mental health issues each year1, we’ve reached a point where our desire to feel better is increasingly targeted as a site of profit extraction. Self-help books, therapy apps and wellness retreats all provide a purchasable fix that promises to end suffering, whilst bolstering the ideal of an optimised self that is not weighed down or held back.

The result is that when we do inevitably suffer, as the commodified solutions of the self-help industry rarely deliver lasting relief, it is all too easy to interpret this as an anomaly, or a sign of weakness or personal failure to cope with the demands of contemporary life. There’s an underlying sense that we shouldn’t be feeling this way.

Our resultant discomfort is used to fuel further consumption and shore up our investment in the system. As cultural theorist Lauren Berlant puts it, we learn “to expect that this time, nearness to this thing will help you or a world to become different in just the right way”2. The fallacy that we could buy or self-improve our way out of suffering is reinforced.

This compulsion to consume keeps capitalism gearing on, constantly failing to truly satisfy us, but feeding off that discontent to propel us deeper into the system. Trapped in the cycle of wanting more, where more is never enough, we are perpetually sold the illusion of escape.

The Denial of Dukkha

A striking contrast to the logic of self-help and consumer capitalism can be found in the Buddhist teaching of dukkha.

As the story goes, the Buddha was born a prince in what is now modern-day Nepal. He was the son of a wealthy king, who hoped his son would one day inherit his kingdom. In an attempt to guarantee this future, the king created a life of total ease, pleasure and convenience for his son.

The prince was surrounded by luxury food, constant entertainment and extravagant displays of wealth, all intended to keep human suffering out of sight.

However, this was not enough for the young prince. Eager to understand the meaning of human suffering, he left the palace. Confronted with the realities of old age, sickness and death, the prince, later known as the Buddha, came to the realisation that human suffering can never truly be escaped, however much we try.

This is not to suggest we will persistently suffer, or that suffering is experienced evenly, rather that human existence is never ultimately satisfying in the way we want it to be. There will always be a subtle sense of lack or a yearning for things to be different.

There’s no word in the English language that adequately captures the grittiness of this persistent unsatisfactoriness. In the ancient language Pali, it is described as dukkha, and it is an inevitable condition of human life.

Whilst the Buddha was not living under capitalism, the palace his father erected for him can be understood as analogous to the conditions of consumer capitalism we face today. We are continually sold the promise that feeling dissatisfied or unhappy can be overcome, and every pleasure, need or convenience can be made available on-demand.

Now, whilst the roots of dukkha are located in human existence, the conditions of capitalism heighten our vulnerability to dukkha, precisely because we are sold the belief that we can attain satisfaction and fulfilment through consumption and accumulation. And, as the Buddha taught, it is the relentless search to escape dukkha that exacerbates suffering.

The result is that not only are we sold the illusion that dukkha is ultimately solvable, but we are prevented from seeing the conditions in our lives that are furthering our suffering. We are taught to put our faith in a system, and the institutionalised logics of self-interest and greed which accompany it, that intensify our suffering. And no matter how much you accumulate, or how successful you are, no one ever truly wins. Even those who have it all are often still miserable.

Beyond the Logic of Resolution

The significance of dukkha lies in the recognition that by attempting to escape or deny the unsatisfactoriness of human existence through consumer capitalist means, suffering is ultimately exacerbated. To acknowledge the existence of dukkha can therefore be a means to unsettle the seductive promise of the self-help industry, alongside consumer capitalism more broadly, and to reorientate ourselves to the suffering we face.

Rather than engaging in the relentless search for solutions to dukkha, enthusiastically enabled by consumer capitalism, we could instead collectively acknowledge and interrogate the conditions that intensify the suffering of ourselves and others.

For instance, we could notice how the incentive to accumulate and act from greed and self-interest rarely leads to lasting happiness, instead making us cling to what we have and feel endlessly in need of more. We could foreground how harmful systems of extraction and exploitation are prerequisites for many of our comforts and conveniences. This interrogation could act as a catalyst to investigate alternative sources of fulfilment and meaning, questioning the consumer scripts we have been sold and reflecting on what is truly important to us. This may entail practicing and systematically advocating for values, such as selflessness, generosity and contentment, that counter capitalist logics.

By doing so, we not only build a new society, but suffer less along the way.