The Case For Donation-Based Yoga

Dana is a Sanskrit word that is often translated as giving or generosity. It is typically used in the context of donating to charity, or more specifically, to our teachers and the Buddhist institutions that support the teachings. Traditionally, one is expected to make a gift or offering to the teacher in exchange for the life-changing wisdom they offer you. 

Dana is also the first of Mahayana Buddhism’s 6 paramitas. These are the far-reaching qualities that, when embodied, take us from the realm of suffering to an imperturbable state of happiness, contentment and joy. Does first mean most important? Perhaps. The spiritual path necessitates letting go of attachments. Thus, practicing generosity is a good place to start.

In the teacher-student relationship, is the teacher (who has presumably cultivated this generous state of mind) expected to demonstrate generosity by offering the teachings freely?

Here’s where things get a bit tricky, especially in a world where our mere existence costs money. I’m not alone as a yoga teacher in wanting to make the teachings more accessible. At the same time, however, I live in a culture where one must pay to survive. If, like me, you’re interested in exploring how to balance the two, keep reading.

The Teachings Have Never Been Free

First things first. There’s an underlying assumption that spiritual teachings have always been free. Listing a class or workshop price thus corrupts immediately. Anyone who trades knowledge for coin becomes suspect, their intentions in question. But this premise is not entirely true. 

One could argue there have never been “free” teachings.

My guess is the people who say such things (yoga classes should be free!) picture the Buddha or a monk on a mountain top, teaching (for free) to anyone who wished to come and listen. That’s where their imagination stops. Were they to expand outwards, they would see that such teachings took place in a society and culture that was very different from ours.

(For incredible stories of what some undertook to receive the teachings, see how Naropa met Tilopa, or how Milarepa met Marpa.)

I am by no means a scholar of Buddhist history. Early teachers, however, seem to have had the support of monasteries where they could sleep and take shelter. They relied on food donations from the lay Buddhist community, who understood that to receive the teachings as a layperson, one had to ‘pay.’

In later years, monasteries were supported by wealthy patrons who donated land and more, allowing for self-sustaining communities that didn’t have to wander and beg. With financial (and political) support, the teachings flourished. 

Today, I often hear people say, “Why would you pay for a meditation class? Go to any Buddhist temple and learn it for free.” When I hear this, I hear a few things. (1) This person doesn’t know what they’re talking about because even (or especially) at a temple, offering a donation would be expected. And (2) we indeed live with the unfortunate reality that many people in our culture equate “donation-based” with “free” and take advantage. 

And so yes, perhaps it’s a good idea for a teacher to simply ask for money.

Yoga Has An Accessibility Problem

Asking for money has contributed to a huge accessibility problem. As soon as we put a fixed price on classes, workshops, courses and retreats, we have erected a boundary, separating those who can afford that price from those who cannot. 

I wrestle with this dilemma daily. One way I’ve gone about trying to mitigate it is to minimize the involvement of any fixed costs, such as renting a yoga studio space. Largely, the entities making money in the yoga world are those who already hold the greatest amount of capital; landlords. First-hand experience tells me that of all the revenue from yoga and meditation classes, the majority goes to the owners of commercial spaces and retreat centers, not to your teacher. 

How much to charge for softer costs, such as the time a teacher spends on their own training and certification, study, class preparation, and actual time spent teaching is more challenging to figure out. I’ve simply given up.

Fortunately, I have additional sources of income that (for now) allow me to offer my classes and courses using a donation-based model. It is my hope that the donation-based structure itself is integrated into the teachings by encouraging the practice of generosity. 

Donating As Part Of The Practice

There are many ways a teacher can demonstrate generosity. But we learn yoga and meditation experientially. Thus, the student learns generosity not merely by bringing awareness to what’s been generously given, but by participating in the act of giving. 

This begs the question, should donations be required? I’ve seen the minimum-donation model work well, and I’ve seen it go terribly wrong.

When I first started teaching in the US, there was a popular ‘donation-based’ yoga studio that mandated a minimum $20 donation. The existence of a minimum made the donation-based moniker feel more like a scheme to dodge taxes than a true donation-based model. Further, it doesn’t solve our accessibility problem. Framing the $20 charge as a ‘minimum donation’ may even make the space feel more unwelcoming. The suggestion is that $20 per class is something everyone should be able to afford, while those who can might give more. 

When I first visited Mexico, I regularly saw a chiropractor who worked on a sliding scale. The clients who could afford it paid 500 MXN for each visit. Others were expected to pay what they could. These payments weren’t necessarily cash. Some people brought vegetables from their garden or eggs from their ranch and there was a fridge onsite where they would store such gifts. There were no forms to fill out and no financial statements to declare. Each visitor decided what they could afford, but everyone was expected to give something.

Did people take advantage of such a system? Maybe. But what does that mean? If I can afford a $20 class, but I only donate $10 because my attachments limit my generosity, then I can only afford a $10 class. If I keep showing up and the practice does its magic, not only might that $20 class become affordable, but I might find myself donating more.

The Fluidity of Giving and Receiving 

Here’s where worldview, the understanding of karma, and our ability to experiment with fluidity over attachment come into play. Whatever payment system is in place, and our reaction to it, becomes part of the practice. For this reason, I haven’t yet made it a requirement to donate anything in my donation-based classes.

When I show up to a co-teacher’s class, I have to wrestle with my faith in karma or my lack thereof, how strong my fear and attachments are that day, how wealthy I feel and where that feeling comes from, what seems right or fair to give, as well as all the demons regarding what other people are giving, what they might think of me, what I think of myself, and so on.

In deciding how much money to put in the donation basket, I still learn something, every time.

I want everyone who comes to my classes to have this same experience. And so, I like to leave space for fluidity. The same people will leave different amounts every time, just as I do. Others have gradually become more generous over time. And still others come and go without leaving anything, and that’s ok too. 

I’m blessed to live and teach in a community where it’s never clear who’s doing the giving and who is the one receiving. Teaching within a structure that eliminates the ‘shoulds’ from giving and the expectation of receiving makes it even more fruitful and fun.