When asked to summarize his spiritual approach, Gandhi was said to have given a three-word response: “renounce and enjoy!”  To some this phrase might seem paradoxical – renunciation is not often associated with having a good time (if it’s thought about at all).  But as so many of our historical spiritual heroes and exemplars obviously practiced renunciation in many forms, and most of us have probably had at least some experience of relief and ease when temporarily living more simply (such as when camping or on retreat), we might want to examine the benefits and possibilities of renunciation with some depth and care.  

Sometimes, particularly in meditation practice circles, renunciation is divided into two kinds –  “outer renunciation” of material things and activities, and “inner renunciation” of mental habits and unwholesome patterns.  Among modern, western-influenced spiritual practitioners who focus on cultivating a deeper awareness of the present, outer renunciation is not a particularly popular subject, but inner renunciation, by some name, is usually celebrated.  This psychological interpretation can make sense of the phrase “renounce and enjoy!” in something like this way – if true and lasting satisfaction is to be found in the appreciation of the present moment, then pursuits and entanglements focused on the future or past should be understood as distractions and let go of, or renounced. These concerns just obscure our clarity and lessen our ability to observe and appreciate the wonder of our immediate, embodied life. Of course we don’t need to stop all planning for the future, or remembering the past (and this seems impossible anyway), but certainly we can lessen the importance we give to these mental phenomena, and turn more of our attention to the simple pleasure of this moment.  Even most non-meditators would agree that letting go of excessive worry is a useful renunciation, or that lessening the time we spend dreaming of the future or holding on to past memories is probably a healthy direction.  Most meditation practitioners would go further and recommend letting go of conditioned beliefs and habitual preferences as an important practice, bringing us greater freedom from our personal limitations and conflicts.  

But aside from all these psychologically-framed renunciations, many meditation practitioners (not to mention most others) become much less enthusiastic when considering outer renunciation – the renunciation of material comforts, or conventional ways of living.  In fact, the subject seems to often bring up uncomfortable reactions and a desire to change the subject.  But it’s clear that deeply admired figures like Gandhi included the giving up of material comforts, and the surrendering of many conventions of daily life, as a central aspect of their renunciations, and their spiritual life in general.  For Gandhi his material renunciation seems to have been considered primary and essential.  The same can be said for the historical Buddha, and, if we’re honest, for most of the celebrated, exemplary spiritual figures throughout the history of our religious traditions.  Can we today afford to ignore or deny this aspect of renunciation and still consider our practice authentic and truly effective?

Through careful observation and the support of meditative practices, we can come to see that our “inner” lives – our psychological realm – and our “outer” lives – what we might consider our physical, environmental realm – are not fundamentally separate realities.  Although we often categorize experience into either mental phenomena (“inner”) or physical, objective phenomena (“outer”), in focused meditation we come to realize that there is really only one, single flow of experience.  We might limit our sensory input and focus on patterns of the mind, or we might focus on an object of the conventional senses “out there”, but whatever display dances across the stage of our consciousness, the stage remains constant and the show must go on!  Whether the players are labeled as outer objects or mental phenomena, they can equally fill our awareness, and the constant and thorough interaction, or interpenetration, of these different aspects is obvious.  When our psychological states change, our way of perceiving our surroundings is changed as well, and our behavior  is correspondingly transformed.  Conversely, when our environment and our daily life practices are altered, there is a corresponding change in our psychological states and mental patterns.

The recognition of this mutuality between our “inner” and “outer” realms is a basic reason so many honored spiritual teachers throughout history have advocated and modeled a simple, non-harming way of life including material  renunciation.  By giving up the seeking for material wealth and excessive comfort, the mind is relieved of the painful patterns of desire and dissatisfaction, and can turn it’s attention to appreciating the gift already present.  By restricting one’s behavior in order to create less harm to others, awareness of the “other” grows and becomes part of one’s own sphere of interest – loneliness and competition are reduced and compassion is nurtured.   

But the idea of material renunciation seems deeply challenging, scary, and even offensive to many in contemporary spiritual practice communities, particularly in affluent circles.  Although all kinds of  mental training and contemplative practices are embraced, including physical exercises, and many revolutionary philosophical issues are welcomed for consideration, the suggestion of changing one’s daily way of life in fundamental ways is much less easily received.  This indicates that the issue of renunciation, and the change in daily life that it implies, is directly challenging to our self-image (as challenging our self-image is usually what makes us nervous or offended).  Our identity is intimately bound to our daily habits and comforts, and, importantly, to the standards of our social circles, more so than to any philosophy or religious practice.  And to challenge our perceived self image is daunting.  But isn’t that what true spiritual practice is really about?  For this very reason, the deeply transformative potential of renunciation practice becomes apparent.

So what, exactly, needs to be renounced in our way of life that will lead to authentic spiritual development and liberation?  Gandhi’s response to this inquiry focuses on the principle of “ahimsa” – non-harm – to abstain from behavior that causes harm to other beings.  This means more than just avoiding the infliction of direct violence; it includes the harm that might come to others indirectly through what we eat, wear, buy, and through our speech, and even thought.  It is a practice with deep roots in all major Indian religions, but particularly in the yogic schools, in Buddhism, and in Jainism, and we can see essential resonances of this principle in other religions around the world.  The centrality of this principle in our spiritual practice can be understood clearly when we consider what we all desire to be free of : the dissatisfaction that comes from being a lonely, isolated, vulnerable, and threatened self in an uncaring world.  If we want to move beyond the narrowness and anxiety of a self-centered, grasping and competitive existence, then our daily behavior needs to start reflecting a more universal concern.  We need to awaken an understanding of the welfare of all beings as the central concern of our lives – in other words, to expand our sense of self to include the entire community of life that fills our existence (for after all, it is all beings together that make up our conscious world – we can either split it up or embrace it whole).  And we need to bring our actual daily decisions to become aligned with this vision, choosing the actions and way of life that brings the least harm to others, and understanding that living in this way creates the greatest joy for all beings together, including the body-mind we call our own.

For Gandhi, the Buddha, and so many others we have come to call saints, this meant reducing one’s material needs to a minimum and sharing all the abundance that is available with all who need it.  By renouncing the craving for materials, and for coercive power over others, that is such a central societal motivation in most large, hierarchical civilizations, these pioneering figures created a new vision for community that celebrated  the welfare of  all beings as the highest value.  With the understanding that taking more than one needs means less for others (whether people, animals, or other living things) then this means each individual using only the material resources that is needed for basic health and reasonable comfort – wholesome food in appropriate amounts that cause the least harm to obtain, a minimum of functional clothes, a simple shelter that gives basic protection from the elements. And  a willingness to share whatever abundance one discovers – both material and spiritual.

How we might apply these principles in our own lives today, enmeshed as we are  in an unprecedented and wildly expanding world culture of consumerism and massive industrial activity, is an essential  issue.  It is essential for our own practice and peace of mind, and it is essential for the survival of biological life on the planet (and these two issues, of course, cannot be separated).  The effects of our everyday activities, particularly what we buy (including fuel and energy) are more complicated and have more far-reaching effects than ever before in history.  And sadly, the harm inflicted on others – both less privileged people, and other living beings in our industrial “farms” as well as in the natural world – is more extensive and devastating than ever before.   At the same time, the effects of our way of life is more hidden from us than ever before – often occurring in far-away lands, and in remote locations and restricted facilities. The media we turn to for information keeps us in the dark about these processes, as to report on them would be to challenge the very mechanisms on which our civilization currently runs.  In addition, the daily practices that are at the root cause of so much devastation (because they use so many more resources than is actually available for all, and that the natural ecosystem can sustain) have become so ubiquitous in the wealthier countries that they are hardly ever questioned – not participating in them seems out of the question. (If we do consider such options, we’re justifiably afraid we’d be isolated from our social circles if we act on it).  Most of the time we are no longer even aware of the forces, resources and materials involved in the mechanized world with which we interact with everyday.  Some obvious examples of these elements of our daily lives include car driving, airplane travel, heating and cooling our environments, buying electronic devices, and the replacement of local, natural food with processed and packaged products from distant industrial food producers.  Most people in our society do not yet seriously, or consciously, question many of these facets of modern life, and amongst those who do, few actually refrain from them, or do so in only token ways.

This is not to “blame”- as already indicated, there are many forces embedded in society that influence us all to continue doing what we’re doing, and strong psychological pressures to dissuade us from deviation.  The first step is to become aware of the consequences of our way of life, which is finally, slowly happening, and at the same time to be introduced to the possibility of another way to live, which is still pretty obscure.  There is a great opportunity, therefore, for those inspired by the revolutionary implications of spiritual practice to introduce and model a new way forward – a way of life that can return us to a more modest, balanced, sensitive and aware interaction with the resources around us.  And a way of life that creates more joy, as it develops our appreciation for what we already have, and celebrates our capacity for universal compassion and our membership in the vast community of life.

One of the most formidable obstacles to such a fundamental re-creation of how we live, as was mentioned, is the the fear most of us have that a radical change in our life would leave us socially isolated.  For any one individual to attempt, on their own, to renounce all the daily activities linked to harmful effects on other beings would mean to stop participating in most of our basic social pastimes, or to do them in a much different way than our friends and acquaintances.  As social creatures, this is challenging to say the least.  The solution, of course, is to create whole communities of transformation that can provide social support to those trying to change.  It’s not surprising that the formation of alternative communities has been central to the work of  successful and influential spiritual movements throughout the ages.  In Buddhism sangha – community – is considered one of the three most essential aspects of the path of awakening, together with a teacher and a practice path.  Gandhi’s interest in creating ashrams to teach the public about simple living as spiritual practice is another, more modern, example.

In our present times a community-based movement for simplicity would need to first clearly establish it’s priorities regarding what to renounce – this must be based on the realities of our current environmental and social crises.  One idea would be to form community around the shared intention of becoming car-free, or more generally fossil fuel-free, as one aspect of it’s guidelines.  Another might be to greatly reduce, or even give up, the use of money.  This practice would dramatically limit the harm that results from our usual excessive consumerism by reducing the opportunity for it, and instead help us turn our attention toward what we really need, and the many ways that we can obtain those needs through networks of social connections and sharing.  At the same time, we could begin to enjoy a liberation from the fear of debt and the stress of competition that accompanies the money economy, and also become freer from the frustration of needing to engage in unnecessary and personally irrelevant work.  That such a life is possible even amidst our present society has been proven by numerous individuals including myself – whether a large community, and a movement, with such intentions might be inspired to emerge remains to be seen.  They certainly have in the past – the original Buddhist monastic movement required it’s members to refrain from using money – and many alternative communities throughout ages and cultures have created alternative sharing economies outside the bounds of the larger societies in which they were embedded.

Dedication to a renunciant way of life can be seen, in itself, to be an effective force for reducing suffering in the world, and also to relieve the practitioner from the psychological burden of striving to get ahead (a big part of the process of letting go of the obsession with the self).  Numerous practices and disciplines found in many spiritual traditions, however, are also important aspects of our path – they are immensely helpful in clarifying one’s mind and uncovering our heart’s original intention towards compassion and joy. 

Through meditational practices and arts we can strengthen our ability to appreciate the unlimited and joyful nature of present awareness, and as we discover the deep contentment available in presence, our ability to renounce the superfluous, both psychological and material, grows enormously.  A third aspect of the spiritual path – wisdom teachings – are also a vital support for creating a new, liberating way of life.  These teachings, whether directly from teachers or from their writings, can introduce us to (or remind us of) the fundamental freedom of our original, essential nature, clarifying our true potential for transformation and greatly inspiring our work in meditation, as well as strengthening our willingness to embrace renunciation.

These three branches of the spiritual path – renunciation, meditation, and wisdom teachings – can thus be seen to mutually interact with each other to produce an effective practice –  one that creates real transformation towards a life of liberating and compassionate action.  In the Buddhist tradition these three aspects of religious life can be seen to directly correspond to the famous trinity of “sila” (ethics), “samadhi” (absorption in presence), and “prajna” (transcendent wisdom), which describe the three essential components of the Buddha’s path.

Another three-part model from the Buddhist tradition that can help elucidate these aspects of practice is the poetic description of the three “bodies” of the Buddha – the Dharmakaya, Sambhogakaya, and Nirmanakaya.  The Dharmakaya indicates the ultimate, non-dual reality of our consciousness free from conceptual limitations; this can be linked to wisdom teachings which can cut through our webs of conceptual delusion and reveal the original nature of our boundless awareness.  The Sambhogakaya indicates the joyful experience of liberation that blossoms when wisdom is realized, and the burden of selfish pre-occupation is released.  This can be linked with the practice of meditational arts which help us taste and appreciate the joy and contentment available in the present moment.  Finally, the Nirmanakaya indicates the apparent, “ordinary” world of daily life viewed and shared by all beings, into which we bring forth the fruits of our practice and spiritual experience in order to relieve all suffering and discontent.  This can be linked with our practice of renunciation – our courage, developed through practice, to give up all behavior that causes harm, all selfish pre-occupation that limits our ability to help, and in general to live a life of sensitivity and compassion toward all beings.

These three “bodies”, of course, are not three different, separate entities – they are three angles or perspectives from which we can view the seamless whole of our evolving experience of awakening.  They are useful, however, in discovering whether our practice is in balance – by reflecting on these three perspectives we are better able to see whether there are any crucial deficiencies or neglected areas in our practice.  

Of these three branches it is the Nirmanakaya – our actualized behavior in the ordinary world – that is the most descriptive of our ultimate direction in spiritual practice: to be helpful in reducing suffering for all beings.  It is our daily activity that most directly reveals the real value of our spiritual practice as a force for good, and as a fulfillment of our heart’s altruistic nature.  It is the Bodhisattva’s “entering into the marketplace” that finally shows the maturity of our practice – how we can evolve from a focus on “personal” experience and open out to a life of compassionate engagement and actual helping activity for the benefit of others.  It is just this aspect of practice, however, that seems most lacking in development in contemporary spiritual culture.  It is this Nirmanakaya realm, intimately  engaged in social concern, ethical maturity, and a highly cultivated sensitivity to the world of living beings, that is the least articulated, least focused on, and (perhaps understandably) most often looked upon with suspicion and unease.  (“Don’t tell me how to live my life!”)

Most contemporary practice centers would certainly consider themselves as advocating a reasonably ethical standard of behavior, and in the context of the accepted norms of the somewhat liberal enclave of society in which they operate, that might be true.  Also, many of these centers have often focused on questions of ethics when related to internal problems of the abusive behavior of some teachers.  But very few actually dare to articulate a vision of right livelihood that seriously challenge those accepted habits of our culture that are unleashing unprecedented ecological and social crises around the world.  Most meditation circles might try to recycle, to gently encourage occasional car-pooling, or sometimes buy organic food, when it doesn’t cost too much more than conventionally grown – these are all common behaviors in the larger sub-cultures (generally “liberal” and fairly prosperous) that most western meditation enthusiasts come from.  However the reality of our current world predicament – including enormous ecosystem destruction, a world-wide species extinction crisis, accelerating global climate chaos, massive human exploitation, dislocation, and cultural erosion, and cruelty to animals on an increasingly unfathomable scale – demands more from those who aspire to be examples of sanity and liberation for the wider society.

The founders of the Buddhist path, as well as the pioneers of several other influential spiritual traditions, lived and advocated a life of intentional poverty – they embraced a homeless life, owning only a few robes and personal possessions, walking from village to village to collect alms, and sleeping in forests and parks.  Their example taught their culture important values – what was really required for  a fulfilling life, and what was not. – and their presence was a living invitation to all to explore the phenomena of greed, desire, and competition in all of our lives.  The religious orders that maintained these ways of life were preserving our human capacity for sharing and simplicity as an alternative to the obsession with accumulation and status that often dominates in large, hierarchical civilizations, and which today has grown to truly frightening proportions.  Isn’t it time for the members of today’s spiritual practice groups to start re-evaluating the importance of these ways of life, and how we might return to them in some form?  Isn’t it time for at least the most dedicated within our spiritual communities – those who’ve publicly dedicated their lives to being an example of practice, such as a monk, priest, or teacher – to reclaim our renunciant roots in some substantial, contemporarily relevant way?  

In order for this potential to actualize and develop, those who resonate with such a vision need to speak out – to connect with other like-minded practitioners and form new networks and communities.  We need not limit ourselves to sectarian categories, whether of lineage, denomination, or even religion, but include all who hear the call to live a contemplative religious life in which meditative practices are embedded in a context of joyful, compassionate renunciation.  One of the great opportunities of the modern religious environment is our exposure to so many different religious paths – this pluralistic atmosphere is already leading many communities to explore new combinations of practices and traditions.  In my own sangha we combine the sitting practice of the Zen tradition (and much of it’s teaching approach) with taiji, qigong, hatha yoga asanas, and a vocal singing practice from the Indian tradition of Raga.  Many communities have crossed even greater cultural distances and combined Asian practices with Christian and Jewish contemplation.  These are exciting developments, but they are usually confined to the aspect  of spiritual life I’ve called the “Sambhogakaya” – the exercises we practice to induce a more heightened and sensitive appreciation of the present moment.  Or sometimes they might include the “Dharmakaya” – the way we approach and articulate our deepest wisdom.  But mostly neglected is the “Nirmanakaya” – the way we can revolutionize our daily lives, bringing our ordinary behaviors in line with our spiritual insights for the purpose of actualizing the universal principle of ahimsa – relieving all beings from suffering.  For this we need a new articulation of the role of renunciation in our spiritual paths.

To understand the need for renunciation we need to start by re-evaluating the ethical codes and parameters that we use to guide our lives.   Our realm of ethical consideration must begin to include a healthy challenge to our daily activities that are deeply entwined in systems of oppression and destruction around the world, even if we have habitually avoided looking at this subject.  We need to create new sets of ethical precepts, or at least a new understanding and application of traditional precepts, in order to adequately respond to the challenges of the contemporary world.  Ending our habits of excessive and conspicuous consumption must be central to this project – greatly reducing (or eliminating) our use of money, and dramatically reducing (or eliminating) our use of cars, airplanes, and other large devourers of energy and producers of pollution, are an important place to begin.  There might be many creative ways to carry this process forward, but we must all begin to see how crucial this process is toward creating a spiritual culture that is truly effective in revolutionizing our own lives, and in making our spiritual paths relevant for the wider community of beings on this planet.

As our understanding grows of the importance of ethics for a healthy spiritual path,  and our view of ethics grows to encompass all our daily activities, we need to start looking toward our teachers, elders and leaders with a critical eye in this regard.  We need to recognize when we give uncritical acclaim to those teachers who seem to possess an impressive command (or anyway speak impressively about) only one aspect of spiritual practice, such as insight into non-duality or the practice of meditative absorption, but neglect the others, particularly the need for an ethically exemplary way of living.  For example, some teachers in the western neo-advaita (“satsang”) movement often speak impressively about experiencing non-dual awareness, but have much less to offer in the realm of regular practices or in guidelines for ethical living.  It is sometimes implied that all aspects of spiritual maturity develop spontaneously from an experience of awakening beyond the self, but the examples of the daily lives of the teachers might have very little to show for this in terms of a mature ethical understanding.  (The traditional Advaita Vedanta movement in India, on the other hand, was infused with a deep respect for the practice of renunciation, and although meditation practice instructions might be rarely articulated, many practices were assumed in the cultural context).  Similarly, many modern, western expressions of Sufism, Yogic-Tantric paths, or shamanic-derived groups might be skilled at presenting practices that induce temporarily unusual and exciting (or relaxing) states of mind, (and these might be legitimately inspiring), but have less to offer in terms of clear wisdom in how to apply those experiences to daily life, and particularly how our lives can be transformed in order to help other beings.   Buddhist circles in the west are particularly strong in presenting daily practices, and sometimes they balance these instructions with a decent introduction to non-dual wisdom teachings. But in the realm of challenging our culturally conditioned ways of life, there is much less to be found – although most Buddhist communities will teach and discuss lists of ethical precepts, the focus is on personal issues of relatively narrow scope, and ethics which are already acknowledged and accepted by the larger culture.  The vision and willingness to challenge the ethical norms of our mainstream culture fall far short of that of our Buddhist originators or predecessors, and also of the needs of our contemporary world.  In older spiritual cultures it was widely expected that a mature practitioner would have outgrown their desire for the excessive and unnecessary (both material and psychological), and would naturally live a life of renunciation as an offering to all beings.  We need to return to such an understanding, and examine our teachers accordingly, if we wish to develop a spiritual culture that offers a true alternative to our society’s unwholesome directions.

There is, of course, a legitimate place for many different kinds of spiritual community in today’s world, with varying levels and kinds of renunciation to meet the needs of people from different backgrounds and at different stages of practice.  What is missing from the contemporary scene, however, is a movement of simple-living pioneers who are visibly pushing the limits of what is collectively recognized as possible , and joyful, alternatives to how we live our daily lives.  Communities of such renunciants have historically appeared  in many cultures, helping to keep their societies in balance by providing a living reminder of our heart’s deepest values, and keeping open the parameters of how each of us might choose to live.  Amidst today’s deeply troubling global crises, there is a great need for the rebirth of such a movement – communities of ahimsa that can help plant the seeds of a more responsible, healthier and happier human culture throughout the world.