Tricycle | Awake in the World

Consumer culture has spawned a class of spiritual shoppers who bring their acquisitive instincts to the practice of the dharma.

When we turn to spirituality, we may think that we’re leaving the corruption of the world behind. But our old ways of thinking do not disappear; they follow us, coloring the way we approach spiritual practice. Since we have all been raised to be good consumers—getting the most while paying the least—as dharma students and teachers we carry our consumer mentality right into our spiritual practice.

How does consumerism manifest on the part of the student? First, we shop for the best product—the best group, the most realized teacher, the highest practice. We go from this place to that, seeking the best spiritual product to “buy.” We want the highest teachings, so we neglect foundational practices. Viewing ourselves as fully qualified disciples, we don’t see much need for basic practices such as ethical discipline and restraint of our senses; instead, we jump into the most advanced tract.

As consumers, we want to be entertained. We’ll attend a center as long as the teacher is entertaining, but when we hear the same teachings over and over again, we get bored and look for the exotic. Coming from the Tibetan tradition, I can say that Tibetan Buddhism obliges us. While in Tibet many of these practices and accoutrements are part of the culture and not seen as exotic, in the West they have become so. There are high thrones for the teachers, brocade seat covers and tablecloths, robes, long horns, short horns, bells, drums, processions, deep chanting, and, oh yes, hats! Yellow ones, red ones, black ones. With all the paraphernalia, how could one ever get bored practicing Tibetan Buddhism? Yet after a while, these become old, and we’re left with our own mind, our own suffering. Having little endurance or commitment to our practice or our teachers, we seek fresh stimulation. We fail to notice that our teachers still do foundational practices and attend basic teachings given by their spiritual mentors. We neglect to see that repetition may be just what we need or that exploring the reason for our boredom could yield fresh insights.

Consumer culture is modeled on instant gratification. We say we want a close relationship with a spiritual mentor, but when that mentor’s guidance challenges our desires or pushes our ego’s buttons too much, we stop seeking it. At the beginning of our practice, we profess to be earnest spiritual seekers, aiming for enlightenment. But after the practice has remedied our immediate problem—the emotional fallout of a divorce, grief at the loss of a loved one, or life’s myriad setbacks—our spiritual interest fades, and we once again seek happiness in possessions, romantic relationships, technology, and career.

In past ages, spiritual aspirants underwent difficulty to meet teachers. Tibetans traversed the high Himalayas to meet wise mentors in India; Chinese crossed the Takla Makan Desert and Karakoram Mountains to attend monasteries and bring back scriptures from India. But our consumer attitude has led us to expect results with little effort. We think, “Why should we have to travel to attend teachings? Our teacher should come to us! We have jobs, families, such busy lives. We don’t have time to cross town, let alone go to another continent.” Forgetting that the seeker’s very effort and struggle open him or her to the teachings, we resent that our spiritual practice should impinge on our preferences.

In addition, receiving teachings or doing spiritual practices takes time, which we don’t have. We ask our teachers to “modernize” the teachings and practices—to shorten and simplify them—so they will conveniently fit into our lives. As consumers functioning in a world of supply and demand, we take our business elsewhere if our wishes aren’t satisfied. Asian Buddhists make offerings to the monastic community to accumulate merit that brings a good rebirth. Looking at them, we Westerners say, “They’re doing spiritual business. They’re practicing dana—generosity—to get something for themselves.” Thinking that we’re superior to Asians following old traditions, we don’t give to the monastic community. Holding to our work ethic, we want would-be recipients to go out and get a job.