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(2003) Schouborg, Gary. “Investing as Spiritual Discipline.” Investing as
Spiritual Discipline Gary
Schouborg Marching off into the wilderness or entering a monastery in
order to free ourselves from our obsessions has its limitations. Admittedly,
withdrawing from our daily concerns simplifies our lives and eliminates many
cares. It also enables us to feel within ourselves the difference between the
peace of abiding in the present and the stress of grasping for future
happiness. But it does so at a cost that may be unnecessarily high. In
contrast, everyday life not only has its own legitimate satisfactions, but involves
risks that may help us appreciate life even more deeply than we can by
withdrawing into solitude. One risk we might take in everyday, practical living is to
invest some hard-earned cash in the stock market. If we can keep from
swearing bitterly when we fail to buy a stock that quickly doubles in value,
if we can keep from becoming greedy as a stock we own keeps rising, if we can
keep from agonizing when it suddenly tanks, then we may well have liberated
ourselves from our compulsions about money. Suppose, however, that we do
swear bitterly, yearn greedily, and agonize over our stock trades. If we
refrain from investing altogether, we can avoid that particular form of
suffering. But if we learn how to manage our emotions while involved in the
market, we may liberate ourselves even more deeply. Being a slow learner, I have taken almost 20 years to
discover how to base my investment decisions more on probabilities than on
mere hope for gain and fear of loss. Of course, I "knew" from the
start that's what I should do. But in my unawakened
muddle, hope and fear were too often the deciding factors. Yes, I studied
intensely and analyzed the situation thoroughly before buying or selling. But
what really brought forth my final decision was fear and greed, not a calm
estimate of probabilities. In short, instead of rationally responding to the
market, I was governed by attachment. I was overly focused on what I might
win or lose. If I was sufficiently hopeful or greedy, I bought or held. If I
was sufficiently afraid, I sold or failed to buy. Instead of acting on
probabilities inherent in market processes, I was compelled by my attachment
to desired outcomes. Some devotees of spirituality may object that the desire
for gain that is inherent in investing is incompatible with spirituality.
They may contend that seeking spiritual progress through the discipline of
investing is self-defeating. I have two answers to their concern, one
theoretical and the other experiential. The theoretical answer is that
life involves gain and loss, and spirituality is about dealing with that fact
with equanimity. I am not referring to a stoic equanimity that feels nothing,
but to a wise and courageous equanimity that derives deep satisfaction from
facing life as the constantly changing process that it really is. True, if we
lived life as simply as clams, we'd be as happy as clams. But it is a mistake
to identify spirituality with that option. The experiential answer is
that it is possible to wrap ourselves in the security blanket of a simple
lifestyle and suppose that we have liberated ourselves from clinging. But if
we risk anything — whether money, life, liberty, or love — we are
likely to discover depths of clinging that our simple lifestyle has only
obscured, not resolved. Consider the following examples. I recently purchased some shares of Sanfilippo
& Sons (JBSS). It had sound fundamentals and technical characteristics, a
promising stock. The very day after my purchase, JBSS was subpoenaed in a
Federal investigation of its industry. The stock tanked 13% that day, even
though there were no allegations of JBSS wrongdoing. It declined more than
30% in the next few weeks. My disappointment was all the more painful because
I had considered buying Brightpoint (CELL) instead
of JBSS. And while JBSS tanked, CELL shares tripled. To understand how
investing can be a spiritual discipline, contrast unawakened
and awakened responses to these two events. Assume that I had $1,000 to invest. Begin with the simpler
case of CELL, where I timidly failed to buy at the opportune moment only to
see the price quickly triple. The unawakened might
respond in several ways to this situation: 1) denial = "I can't believe it!"
(Repeated obsessively for several days, perhaps erupting occasionally in the
ensuing weeks.) 2) shock = I climb in bed, pull the covers
over my head, and hope I'll feel better about it when I wake up. 3) repression = I bury myself in busy work.
(The more active personality's alternative to # 2.) 4) regret = "Look at that %#@*& keep climbing!"
(Repeated bitterly, as in # 1.) 5) desperation = I chase after the stock
impulsively, hoping that it will keep climbing. 6) compensation = I buy almost any other
stock, hoping to make up for (deny) the missed opportunity. All six responses are variations of denial, of refusing to
accept that I missed out on a golden opportunity. They are instances of
clinging or attachment in which my decision primarily follows my hopes
and fears. In contrast, the awakened investor accepts reality: 1) I feel but accept the disappointment that
naturally arises from missing out on a good thing. 2) I turn my attention to the $1,000 I still
have and I look to see what investment opportunities remain. 3) I do not dwell excessively on the amount of
money I might gain or lose. I focus instead on the probabilities inherent in
each prospective stock, based on its fundamentals and technical
characteristics. Of course, how much I'm likely to gain or lose is part of my
risk-reward analysis, but I am clinging when my hopes and fears distract me
from addressing the relevant investment issues on their merits. The second case, where I eventually sold JBSS for a 15%
loss, faces me with a more complex situation. Investors commonly react to
such a situation with several forms of clinging: 1) denial = "Why did I buy that?"
(Repeated obsessively, looking in vain for a good answer that will take away
the pain. In this particular instance, the question isn't a rational inquiry
to identify mistakes I may have made in my original decision. I had good
reasons to buy, but they didn't work out. Repeating the question here merely
expresses the wish that I hadn't bought the stock.) 2) self-punishment = "What a fool I am to
have bought that stock!" 3) shock = I climb in bed, pull the covers
over my head, and hope I'll awaken to find that it was all just a bad dream. 4) repression = I bury myself in busy work.
(The more active personality's alternative to # 3.) 5) obsession = I dwell obsessively on the
$1,000 that I used to own. 6) gambling = I refuse to sell until the stock
gets back to my purchase price, thereby refusing to accept that I have really
lost anything. I hope beyond hope that I'll get a big bounce back tomorrow.
Or I fear that as soon as I sell, the stock will rebound. 7) reaction formation = I impulsively sell the
stock, distancing myself from the experience as quickly as possible. All seven responses are variations of clinging, of refusing
to accept my loss. In contrast, the awakened investor accepts reality: 1) I feel but accept the disappointment that
naturally arises from any loss, particularly one so unexpected and unfair. 2) I turn my attention to the present. The
fact that I used to have $1,000 is irretrievably history and irrelevant to my
present decision. I now own a stock worth $850. What investment opportunities
does this fresh situation present for me? 3) I let go of any impulse to recoup my
losses. Such an impulse is irrelevant. As the advaita
teacher Poonja says, the enlightened individual is
one without history. All that matters are the probabilities inherent in my
present situation. 4) I address my situation afresh. What are the
opportunities for gain or loss by holding this stock? Do they suggest I hold
or sell? 5) Are there better opportunities elsewhere?
Perhaps I should sell JBSS to pursue better opportunities. 6) I study my original investment to see where
I might have gone wrong, so I can make better decisions in the future. The
focus here is on better understanding the market processes themselves, not on
dwelling obsessively over past mistakes. 7) In all these considerations, I do not dwell
on what I might gain or lose. I focus instead on the probabilities inherent
in the situation. That is, I don't decide based on the hope that I could
double my money or the fear that I could lose everything. Instead, I
decide based on the likelihood that the stock will resume its upward
trend or break down further. Of course, how much I'm likely to gain or lose
is part of my risk-reward analysis, but clinging operates when my decision primarily
follows my desires, my hopes and fears. Discerning within ourselves between an impulse to act on
our hopes and fears and an impulse to address a situation on its merits is an
investment challenge. It is a spiritual one as well. The Buddhist notion of
impersonality is useful here. It teaches us to go beyond ego in the sense of
seeing things as they are, unrelated to our concerns. Western philosophy of
science makes a similar point in distinguishing between common sense as
understanding things in relation to ourselves and science as understanding
things in relation to one another. The more general spiritual or
developmental issue is how to appreciate life independently of our individual
concerns, how to appreciate The Process of which each of us is only a minor
participant, as opposed to valuing all of reality only as it relates to
ourselves. There are two options, pastoral and urban, for developing such
appreciation. The pastoral option is to simplify our lives by reducing
as much as possible everyday activities that strongly affect us. The urban
option is to involve ourselves in contemporary everyday activities, but to emotionally
relate to them more in their larger relationship to reality than just to
ourselves. It is a critical misunderstanding of spirituality to
suppose that the pastoral option is somehow more spiritual than the urban.
They are really just opposite ends of a continuum, differing only in degree.
For spirituality is in large measure the inner peace we experience when we
address any situation on its merits, since we are then acting in harmony with
our environment. Faithful attention to our circumstances promotes creative
and fulfilling participation in our world, the individual challenge being how
large a world we can cope with in a deeply gratifying way. In the pastoral
option we simplify our world, reducing it to a size that we can handle. In
the urban option, we expand our world as we develop our ability to relate to
it gratifyingly. Investing is an urban option. It is not only compatible
with spirituality, but it challenges us in ways that can promote our
spiritual growth. What is incompatible with spirituality is clinging:
insisting on what we want, letting our hopes and fears distort our perception
of the market. Refusing to accept our situation, we falsify it, creating the
stress that robs us of inner peace. Not only is clinging stressful, it is also
unprofitable. Yet, although we know that is true, we continue to cling. There
are two reasons why we do so: cognitive and emotional. Cognitively, the monetary gain we hope for, or
the loss we fear, is relatively simple. My loss of $150 on JBSS is something
my mind can easily fix upon. On the other hand, probabilities are slippery.
For one thing, they vary according to the time period. What is likely to be a
profitable purchase if we plan to hold a stock for five years is different
from what is likely to be profitable if we plan to hold it for five weeks.
Furthermore, within each time frame there are limitless strategies we might
choose depending on how much profit we seek and how much risk we're willing
to take. Emotionally, we tend to focus more on profit and
loss than on probabilities because profit and loss have a more immediate and
obvious impact on our lives. My loss of $150 on JBSS can be quite tangible.
That $150 may have intense emotional meaning for me, because of personal
goals that I have associated with it. I may think that losing it shows I have
poor investment judgment, which threatens my hopes for early retirement. Or I
may believe that the loss badly reflects on me personally, to the degree that
my sense of worth is built on my success in achieving my goals.
Probabilities, on the other hand, are less affecting because they aren't
directly related to me. They have to do with the relationships inherent in
the market itself independently of my wishes. The investment challenge here is a specific instance of the
more general, spiritual one: to move our attention beyond a self-interested
concern for profit and loss to a more disinterested focus on things in
relation to one another. How do we do that when we feel our self-interest so
tangibly, compared to which a disinterested perspective seems so relatively
pallid? Perhaps some investors can ignore the effect of profit and loss on
themselves and, by pure force of will, concentrate dispassionately on
probabilities. However, such individuals are rare. More importantly, living
by force of will, even where successful, seems emotionally depleted and
therefore an unlikely source of much happiness. It is much more feasible to
learn how to enjoy the somatic process of working with probabilities,
which reduces the pleasure gap between self-interested and disinterested
activities. For anything we do, whether self-interested or disinterested,
tangible or abstract, involves our body. And the exercise of our body is
inherently satisfying if we awaken to our somatic process — our constantly
changing inner experience. I have argued elsewhere that soma, the state of awakening
to somatic process, is the essence of enlightenment. Anything we do, whether
self-interested or disinterested, involves a somatic process that is
inherently satisfying if we but awaken to it. It is this somatic satisfaction
inherent in anything we do that provides the pleasure of enlightenment. That
pleasure is unconditioned because it is inherent in the abiding flow of our
inner experience. All other human satisfactions are secondary in being
specific moments within that flow. For example, the pleasures of sweets or
good company, as well as the pains of illness or failure, come and go as
moments within the abiding satisfaction derived from our openly greeting the
constant flow of our inner experience. Far from finding inner peace in an
eternity outside time, we discover it by fully immersing ourselves in time. If we awaken to investing as a series of moments in our
constant flow of inner experience, we experience its associated pleasures and
pains as secondary to the abiding satisfaction that is inherent in the flow
of inner experience itself. We therefore experience the pleasures and pains
associated with profits and probabilities as secondary to the abiding
satisfaction of being open to our investing experience. This perspective
reduces the heightened value we would otherwise give to profits, making the
contrast between profits and probabilities less emotionally stark, so that we
can more easily train our attention on one or the other as appropriate. By
challenging us to thus awaken to the abiding inner flow of our experience —
to our somatic process — investment provides us with a discipline as rigorous
as any that a pastoral spiritual strategy could hope for. |
