It's that time of year again, folks. We have entered the Holiday Season, when our ears rings with the message that the meaning of life is having the car you always wanted.
Of course, there are other commercials selling us jewelry and designer fragrances and this year's must-have overpriced toys. But I think the car commercials are particularly brilliant at selling the life-fulfilling qualities of the right car, especially when it comes with a giant bow on top.
Most people's circumstances don't measure up to what they see on television commercials, of course. But our culture is thoroughly soaked with the message that you should have this stuff, and if you can't afford this stuff there's something wrong with you. A sense of inadequacy is the silent undercurrent of the season.
Humans have a deep urge to "fit in," to adopt a style of living that is similar to how they see other people living. Some will always want the biggest house and the best stuff, of course, while others are perfectly happy being just like everyone else. This urge may be conditioned in us by culture, but it may be instinctual. Forming tribes or other cultural bonds helped our species survive.
However we got it, the "fit in" urge is one that advertising agencies have learned to exploit. So often commercials focus less on a product's qualities than on making people feel inadequate or even ashamed if they don't own it. And I think mass media is conditioning us to think that an affluent lifestyle is the norm, even though the large majority of us don't live that way. No good can come of that.
But even without expectations of a new car with a bow on top, this time of year seems saturated with too much. Platters of cookies spring up in many workplaces like dandelions in summer, for example.
And then there's the glitter. For a time I worked in an office building within view of Rockefeller Center in New York. Between opulent Fifth Avenue shop windows and the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree and other decorations, every December midtown Manhattan looks like Christmas Wonderland. It's pretty, but after a few days, it gets old, a phenomenon I call tinsel dukkha. (More on "dukkha.")
So, what do we do about the too much? We may know in our heads that we are not what we buy, but the real antidote to seasonal bloat is to thoroughly realize that none of this stuff has any intrinsic reality. The too much is a projection of our collective impulses, and not necessarily our more wholesome impulses.
This is not to say that there can't be anything wholesome in the holiday season, even when its not a religious observance. Getting together with family, sharing a meal, exchanging presents (within our means), can be lovely experiences. Just don't get lost in the hype.
Working with renunciation can be helpful. In Buddhism, renunciation is not a form of self-punishment for our sins. And avoiding things we desire out of a sense of religious duty isn't renunciation, either. Genuine renunciation is thoroughly perceiving how grasping and greediness make us unhappy. It's also thoroughly perceiving that all the commercial hype is an illusion and a trap.
At The Buddhist Blog, James Ure has found a handbag for sale this season called the Samsara bag. No, really. The people who named the bag didn't seem to know what "samsara" means. It occurred to me, however, that maybe all the sparkly things dangled in front of our noses these days should be named Samsara -- the samsara diamond jewelry collection; the samsara video game console, the samsara model car.
If you catch yourself being pulled into the commercials, imagine a big "samsara" sign thumbtacked onto the object of desire. Maybe that will help.
I love you, Barbara!
Since being ordained as a monk I have decided not to celebrate American holidays. So for Christmas I’m doing no more than sending my kids each a gift and taking a friend to lunch. My main feature of the winter solstice time is attending the Winter Retreat at the temple, and reading and doing Sadhanas on my days off. And since I gave my radio and tv away this past summer, I am blissfully untouched by the massive Hype-Machine. No nonsensical movie previews, no car ads of power and prestige, no implication that I am somehow less because all of my possessions fit in a van (a borrowed one since I don’t own a vehicle either). Really I feel that with Dharma and simplicity I am happier and better off than the harried, driven materialists who sacrifice most of their time and energy to build a status-y castle of sand that is washed away as soon as the tide of their life comes in. What a tremendous waste. I read an ad for Thailand talking about the King’s philosophy of sustainable sufficiency instead of wealth and status seeking. I haven’t been to Thailand, but that sounds nice. Warmth from friends, Dharma practice, and helping others is more satisfying than a Lexus.
maybe instead of buying a new Lexus we should just take a ride in Mingyur Rinpoche’s dream car
My families (my own and my in-laws) have been conscientiously trimming down the amount of ostentatious giving they’ve been doing during the holiday season. The best gifts I’ve received at Christmastime have been little things — a book I’ve always wanted, or an experience (like a ticket to a good play). The major stuff has almost always turned into something that ended up being given away, or sent to recycling. In life, you don’t need nearly as much as you think.
I’ve become a dedicated reader of your blog and find it very enlightening, no pun intended. Your examination of the word Dukkha is of special interest to me and very relevant to our world today, especially in this holiday season.
I mention this in light of the fact that, the holidays are not happy for everyone. It is well known in the mental health professions that this time of year can be especially difficult for many. The rate of depression and suicide increase as these annual festivities and celebrations approach.
In spite of the often repeated phrase, let there be peace on earth, few actually have peace in themselves. It is of course difficult to imagine one without the other.
It seems obvious then that something is amiss if, in spite of hoping for peace, we continue to strive for those things which in fact offer little. Little wonder then that, 26 centuries later, the words of the Buddha seem more relevant than ever.
We must remember that the original christmas was prior to the birth of christ. That it was a way of dealing with the depressive nature of this time of year in the northern hemisphere. To bring joy into someone else’s life is not anti anything. I agree that the materialism is over the top but I got over that a long time ago but am able to enjoy this time of year with family and make their hearts warm without to much money. The enlightened can and should enjoy the sanga of the family at this time of year. Oh well, thats all folks. (a little buggies here and there doesn’t hurt)
Black Friday should be renamed “Samsara Friday”. And to be told that our nations economy depends on it for our well being is strong indicator of the source of our economic dukkha.
http://abcnews.go.com/Business/wireStory?id=12279569
But perhaps one persons dukkha is another persons awakening to the realization of this constant striving for more stuff.
I wonder about an economy based on a populace whose work was to serve and only purchased what was needed.
Barbara, I really liked what you said about renunciation. It’s not some sort of deprivation, it’s a breeze, or a happy feeling when you can do with as little as what you’re comfortable with. I read in “Bones of the Master” where the Mongolian monk in upstate New York would sleep on some flattened cardboard boxes on the floor. Shabkar, presumably using Tummo, would sleep in the open while he travelled through Tibet. I still use a futon on the floor, but, at some point I think I’ll get a reasonably thick camping mat or a couple of thick rugs. Ah, sweet freedom!
Great piece; though it may not work for some. Here’s an enlightening overview for those who can’t seem to resonate with the Buddhist absolutist approach.
[Link deleted; I don't allow proselytizing here. It's rude. -- Barbara]