dangers of the teacher-training machine
Helena Almeida, Polyptych (4 elements): “Le Secret” (1976)
In 2019, after I had been leading sound baths for a while, I decided to enroll in a “Meditation Teacher Training” program at one of the studios where I gave events. It was a three-month, 100-hour certification program, offered to people who had had a meditation practice for at least a year and wanted to study more deeply and/or offer instruction to others.
After more than 20 years as a musician, with many of those in spiritual and contemplative settings, I was completely confident crafting and leading sound baths, but the 5-minute guided intros and conclusions were still tricky for me. As a Zen enthusiast, my primary practice was sitting in silence, so I didn’t have a lot of experience in guided meditative exercises. I enrolled in the teacher training to get a better handle on that, and also to have the credibility of a certification if people asked. After seeing hundreds and thousands of “certification” programs out there, I was already skeptical of this piece of paper that claimed to verify any instruction or leadership skills, let alone truthful insight or the moral responsibilities of teaching. But if people asked, I would have it.
The program was a mix of excellent insights and misplaced nonsense. Not surprising for a studio that claimed to be modern and no-frills, yet offered numerology workshops and included a crystal-chakra-healing session in the certification curriculum. (FYI: There aren’t seven chakras, they’re not rainbow-colored, and crystals don’t do anything except remind you of the meanings you ascribe them.) I had already thought a lot about whether to break up with this venue for the same reasons, but unfortunately I needed the good money that came from giving events there, and I specifically dispelled as much mythology as possible when I led my sessions. Despite my mixed feelings about the program and its host, the experience was indeed helpful in teaching me what I had come to learn: guided meditation in English for an American audience.
On the last day of the program, as we went around the big circle to share our gains and insights, I was blown away. So many people described their newfound confidence, joy, deeper love! Was this the result of being trained as a teacher, or simply the homework of meditating 30 minutes each day for three months? I suspected I knew. What so many of these students needed was an immersion: the accountability and (financial) commitment of saying, “I will do this for three months”, and the incredible changes that come with daily practice. The unfortunate reality was that many of us wouldn’t have done it without the final piece of paper to prove that we had, and that we could confidently start charging money for other people to gain from our achievement.
It was an introduction to meditation more than anything else, followed by several weeks of how to design a guided meditation class. To me it seemed like the program should have been split in two along that divide, for the benefit of all involved to study more deeply what really had brought them there. I lamented often to my partner and my brother, another meditator, that it only skimmed the surface of such a potentially-rich discussion, and that while the guidance given in the mechanics of instruction (words to use and avoid, when to introduce certain techniques) was useful, I left feeling unsatisfied, even with my certificate in hand.
So when I saw this week that the next session of the program was available to people with little meditation experience (“you don’t need to be a pro, we just ask that you’ve given it a try a couple times” reads the website), I was confused, shocked-but-not-shocked, and angry. Do they really believe that someone who’s only been meditating for three months will have the experience of the practice to convey what it really is? the moral and ethical responsibility of the mental health of others? the integrity to own the psychological and emotional consequences of their instruction? (We’ve seen the results of unqualified people telling others how to manage emotions and thoughts: ESP/NXIVM, Scientology, and many other dangerous cults and religions.)
No doubt one can memorize a lot of information in three months’ time, but that’s not what a teacher is.
The same is already a huge problem in Westernized yoga. First, the Western commodification: teaching yoga as a workout, social event, flexibility competition, or anything other than the spiritual practice it is. Second, the establishment of certifying and accrediting organizations that validate this co-opted version. Third, the millions of teacher training programs that churn out “certified” teachers after 30-90 days who are responsible – literally – for the physical health and injury of other people.
It’s a complicated web of issues. Maybe if we cared more about our bodies and what yoga really is, we would be more hesitant to give money to any random person working at any local gym. If we cared more about our minds and our education, we would seek out people who take things seriously and can offer much more than a drop-in class. If we cared more about our community, we wouldn't patronize businesses that perpetuate the teacher training hamster wheel because it’s a big money-maker, and instead find organizations that treat their students, and their students’ future students, with more respect.
The allure of the teacher training program is powerful. How many of us have dreamt of leaving our oppressive day job and making a living leading retreats in a tropical paradise, all while helping people feel good? It’s a common fantasy in our capitalist dystopia. As a result, thousands flock to teacher trainings each year, hoping that this next certificate will make them skilled and respectable enough to eke out a living doing something that’s not quite so soul-crushing. And while we could address that fundamental malaise through any number of intensive contemplative study programs, it’s another unfortunate byproduct of capitalist oppression: we won’t do something unless we can make some money on it.
That’s why teacher training programs are always the most lucrative courses offered by such businesses, and why they keep cycling through them endlessly, recruiting new people each time. The endless expansion, the mindless customer acquisition, and in the case of my regrettable alma mater, the resultant cheapening of the product: No experience necessary! Shorter time commitment! Bonus content! Special pricing!
It’s simple to run someone through a 90-day course for a couple thousand dollars and give them their trophy at the end. It’s much more difficult, and much more important, to create a quality product. And if you’re in the business of training teachers, your product is not the training; it’s the teachers. Your customer is not the people who enroll in the course; it’s the people who will turn to those teachers in moments of deep confusion and longing and say, “Lead me.” Do you think your product will hold up?
A few years ago I worked briefly with a young musician who was having a hard time of things. She had left her college because the teacher was cruel and useless, and the student was just starting to take lessons again. Her mother eagerly told me about her two new teachers, both of whom performed with a handful of orchestras and had mile-long lists of gigs, yet the student described all the ways in which they didn’t get along, and how she wasn’t growing in the areas where she needed help. Lesson to learn: a “teacher’s” “credentials” may list all the information they’ve learned in some place at some point, but they don’t mean shit if they can’t teach.
The old apprenticeship model has a lot to offer. The apprentice remains an apprentice until both he and the master decide he’s ready to go out on his own. Assignments and reflections, attempts and corrections; no time limit, no curriculum, no credentials except for the mastery that comes with having done the work. How many years would I have been in training at a Zen monastery before I gave my first dharma talk? To reverse the hypothetical, how much would I have gained from an apprenticeship with a “master” who’d just begun this practice three months ago?
Everyone loses in the teacher training machine. As seekers, we’re conditioned into approaching every learning opportunity with the inevitable question: Can I learn to teach this too? Our demand for teacher training has led to their dominance in the market of intensive study programs, corrupting the true goals and benefits of deep contemplative work. Do we really want to become teachers, or are we simply seeking a sense of purpose? Do we think we and others would benefit from putting ourselves in this position, or would we settle for being deeply gratified with the life we already have, learning a bit more along the way?
I worry about the 30/60/90-day career changers because I’m often swayed by the message as well. The Facebook algorithm has my number, and every day I see the same promise: This is the thing that could set you free. If only you add this other technique to your menu, then you’ll finally make enough money to sustain the dream life. It’s not always this way, though it often is, and perhaps desperation is not the best place from which to decide, “I’m going to be in charge of other people.” (Couples who have children to try and save their failing marriages come to mind.)
I guess it comes down to this: I would be fine with a “teacher” who just learned the thing three months ago, if I wanted to sit in a room while someone reads a script. But that’s not what a teacher is.
If you’re just looking for a voice to keep you sitting in one place for fifteen minutes, then you might not be looking for meditation, and it doesn’t really matter which teacher you have. Tap “random” on your free app, and you’re ready to go.
But if you’re looking for meditation — honesty, self-inquiry, confrontation, emotion, trust — then it matters very much who is guiding you. And if you’re positioning yourself as that guide, then ask what you really have to give.
