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By Root 1046 0

continent did it: “The men of the tribe go off into the bush at dawn,” he said. “When they return at dusk, their hands are laden with lucre, coins cut out of the metal and beaten into shape with primitive tools. The women, who stayed at home to separate grains and care for the children, welcome these money-making males home with drums and chanting. Each family then buries their share of the coins beneath the dirt floor of their hut.” I’ve always remembered that story for its literal straightforward interpretation of “making money.”

Like most religions, classical Buddhism has a certain amount of disdain for money and views it as a potentially corrupting influence. To reinforce this attitude, Buddhist monks in the Southern school vow never to touch money. For centuries, monks in Asia survived because of the generosity of patrons who provided their daily food and supported their monasteries. Within these monasteries, there is the ever-present idea of giving back to society. In Tibet, for example, it is taught that the genuine religious practitioner and the generous patron are inextricably yoked together, with the practitioner pulling the patron along toward nirvana. When you support a practitioner, it’s almost like practicing meditation yourself. Because generous giving, known as dana, is a spiritual practice and a Bodhisattva virtue, the lay person as donor and yogi as practitioner travel the path together.

In Thailand, monks make a point of going with their begging bowls to every door every morning to give everyone—man, woman, and child—the chance to have a relationship with the noble Dharma and a spiritual person. That way even the smallest child, who is typically encouraged to carry the food to the door, is considered an integral part of the spiritual community and its user-friendly, lovingly interconnected life.

Zen communities traditionally tend to be more self-sufficient, stressing the cause and effect connection between labor and its rewards. When the great Zen master Hyaku-jo of ancient China was in his eightieth year, his monk disciples hid his hoe and rake so he would get some rest. Hyaku-jo responded by refusing to eat, saying, “One day no work, one day no eat.” This practical dictum has come down to us today.

Although Buddhism distinguished itself by grappling with the spiritual aspects of work and livelihood at a very early stage of human history, a Buddhist theory of economics has yet to evolve fully. We often hear statements about economics that are in tune with Buddhist principles. For example, E. F. Schumacher’s fine book Small Is Beautiful, like Buddhism, advocates the richness of simplicity —streamlining and downsizing our lives can help us find peace and happiness. Duane Elgin’s Voluntary Simplicity is also a mine of inspiration. So is Simple Abundance by Sarah Ban Breathnach.

Simplicity is certainly central to Dharma values. Meditators intimately come to understand how simplifying and quieting the mind helps simplify and clarify one’s life. But today, it seems like a great challenge to try to live simply. When I was living in a monastery, for years at a time I walked around in the same pair of rubber flip-flops. Here in America I’m constantly amazed by the amount of extra possessions I accumulate. I am hardly Imelda Marcos, yet I find that I have at least a couple of dozen pairs of shoes cluttering up every inch of my extra closet space—jogging shoes, dress shoes, sneakers, walking shoes, summer sandals, rafting sandals, snow boots, work boots, climbing shoes, ski boots, as well as shoes given to me by my father and uncle. Each pair has its own history and its own reason for being there—but are they all really necessary? Can I honestly say that I need to keep them all—or that they make my life easier and more comfortable, rather than more unwieldy and messy? When is enough enough?

A theory of Buddhist economics would be based on and well grounded in an understanding of interdependent origination: Wealth like energy cannot be created or destroyed; it just moves around, according to karmic causality.