From Liberation to Wish Fulfilment — What Has the Market Changed in Ancient Teachings?

When a Practice Promises a Result

At first glance, the difference may seem unimportant. Someone opens a book, attends a workshop, or listens to a guided exercise because they want a better life. Perhaps they want to suffer less, feel more at peace, improve their relationships, or become more financially secure. There is nothing particularly unusual about people looking for benefits when they learn. But some contemporary spiritual offerings make a much larger shift: instead of asking what binds us to a desired outcome, they put instructions for supposedly attracting or “manifesting” that outcome at the center. The focus is no longer on changing one's relationship to a desire but on a promise to fulfil it.

On the official The Secret website, manifestation is presented as a process linked to the law of attraction and explained through the sequence “ask, believe, receive.” This is a verified account of how the provider describes its own offering, not evidence of a universal natural mechanism by which thoughts reliably turn into external events. Nor is it evidence that all contemporary spiritual practices make the same promise. Yet the formula is clear enough to ask what vision of human beings and their desires it is selling. [9][10]

Set that beside another well-known statement. In Bhagavadgītā 2.47, Krishna speaks to Arjuna about action and the importance of not becoming attached to its fruits. Translations differ in how they render the wording about one's entitlement in relation to action. The text is not a manual for abandoning work altogether: Arjuna must still make a decision and act. Within their dialogue, what matters is that a person does not confuse their duty with complete control over the result. Different translations and commentaries emphasize different dimensions of the teaching, but comparing it with a selected advertising promise of control over outcomes reveals a fundamental difference of emphasis. [1][18]

The point is not that one statement is “ancient and therefore true” while the other is “new and therefore false.” That would be an easy way of substituting a calendar for an argument. The difference lies in the kind of promise being made. One teaches action without attachment; the other sells a method supposedly capable of bringing a desired future within reach. Words such as consciousness, energy, intention, and inner power may appear in both settings, but shared vocabulary does not guarantee a shared purpose. With every offering, then, the first question should be: what exactly is being promised as the thing that will change — a person's relationship to the outcome, or the outcome itself?

Liberation Is Not a Better Wish List

Verse 1.2.2 of the Kaṭha Upaniṣad distinguishes śreyas (the good) from preyas (the pleasant): a discerning person distinguishes between them and gives priority to the good. Here we rely on a historical translation accompanied by Śaṅkara's commentary, not on what we claim to be the only possible interpretation. The text does not require every pleasant experience to be regarded as bad. It does, however, warn that choosing what is pleasant and choosing what is good need not be the same decision. Fulfilling a particular desire does not, by itself, answer whether that desire was a good choice. This is a different kind of promise from a list of steps for obtaining an endless succession of desirable things. [2]

The early Buddhist discourse SN 56.11 discusses, within the framework of the Four Noble Truths, dukkha (often translated as suffering or unsatisfactoriness), its origin in craving, its cessation, and the path leading to cessation. Across translations, the central concepts do not correspond perfectly to everyday English words such as “desire” or “happiness.” The important point is that the goal is not simply to satisfy craving as efficiently as possible. It is to recognize craving's role in the arising of suffering and to orient one's practice differently. Nor does this discourse say that everyone must reject ordinary needs or abandon their responsibilities toward family. [3][4]

In Patañjali's Yogasūtras 2.3, attachment (rāga) is listed among the five kleśas, or afflictions. We summarize this here from a scholarly overview in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, not from a newly verified critical translation of the sūtras. If a modern offering presents every yogic exercise as a tool for greater productivity, a more attractive self-image, or faster achievement of goals, it may become more useful to a particular individual while changing what the original philosophical framework understood to be the problem. No such conclusion can be drawn from every modern yoga class: this is a comparison of selected aims, not a judgment on all teachers. [8]

It would likewise be wrong to equate mokṣa in certain Hindu philosophical traditions, Buddhist nirvāṇa, and kaivalya in classical yoga, reducing all three to a shared goal of “relaxation.” They are concepts belonging to different philosophical, religious, and practical frameworks, with different accounts of the self, liberation, and the nature of suffering. Such diversity protects us from an appealing story about a single ancient “East” that supposedly once offered the world precisely the same teaching. The history of Indian philosophy includes competing interpretations of action, contemplation, duty, and renunciation. [7][18]

The common question we can still ask is narrower: does a practice help someone recognize the limits of their control over external circumstances and their own impulses, or does it promise that the right inner technique will allow them to control those circumstances? This is no trivial stylistic difference. If peace is advertised primarily as a route to greater productivity, attachment to results may once again take center stage — precisely what some of the teachings discussed here call into question. We are not talking about a prohibition on success, but about a shift in emphasis that can deprive a practice of its capacity to examine desire itself critically.

Were Ancient Teachings Really Against Everyday Happiness?

Any critique of commercialization would be unreliable if it assumed that older traditions were utterly indifferent to health, family, possessions, or success. In the early Buddhist discourse AN 5.41, honestly acquired wealth is presented as a means by which a householder can care for themselves, their family, and their co-workers, help others, protect against misfortune, and meet social and religious obligations. This teaching does not celebrate unlimited accumulation. But it clearly does not say that every material possession is in itself a spiritual failure. [5]

AN 5.43 offers an even more direct test. The discourse lists things people understandably want, including long life, happiness, and a good reputation. It then clearly separates their desirability from the means of obtaining them: in Ṭhānissaro Bhikkhu's translation, they cannot be obtained merely through wishes or prayers; the text directs attention to the appropriate course of conduct. The emphasis shifts to appropriate action and a path of practice. This is a religious and philosophical teaching, not an experimental study of manifestation, and it must not be presented as a polemic against a modern book published much later. It does, however, distinguish “wanting something” from “acting in a way that this teaching considers appropriate to the desired goal”; it promises no experimentally guaranteed outcome. [6]

These examples guard against two equally poor conclusions. The first would say that every modern spiritual service betrays tradition because it deals with everyday life. The second would take the fact that some ancient texts acknowledged prosperity as proof that all contemporary promises of wealth directly continue ancient wisdom. A teaching that it is good to provide for one's family does not establish a universal law by which correct thoughts materialize income. Likewise, criticizing craving does not mean that people are forbidden from seeking treatment, safety, or a decent living.

The key distinction is between a legitimate aim in life and a claim to possess a reliable technique for achieving it. Someone who says they meditate to be less irritable at work is not thereby claiming that ancient teachers promised career advancement. But when a company claims that thinking correctly can summon a specific outcome, it is making a definite claim about how the world works. Such a claim calls for a different kind of justification and a different level of responsibility from the provider. The traditions were neither uniformly hostile to life's material goods nor simply early forms of today's advertising. [5][6][7]

How the Purpose of a Practice Becomes a Marketing Promise

A book can help someone reflect without guaranteeing a particular outcome. Marketing, however, is often built around a benefit that is easy to grasp: why choose this particular product? The simplest answer is a result — greater abundance, better health, better relationships, more influence. The original text need not have made those outcomes central to its teaching for them to become selling points; it is enough for some of its language and authority to fit the new promise. That does not mean every adaptation is dishonest, but it does mean we should notice which questions from the original framework disappear.

The promotional catalogue description of Chopra's The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success speaks of well-being, health, fulfilling relationships, and material abundance said to follow from living in accordance with “spiritual laws.” The title itself is revealing: “spiritual laws” become the vehicle for a promise of “success.” The book can be read in different ways, and without a detailed study of its entire text it would be unjustified to reduce every page to a single sales slogan. Yet the publisher's description unmistakably shows which desires its appeal addresses. It proves neither that those claims are true nor that the book can be derived without remainder from any classical Indian philosophical system. [11]

With The Secret, the appeal is even more direct. Its official website teaches the “ask, believe, receive” sequence and presents the law of attraction as the basis for manifesting what one desires; the provider also markets books, films, and digital products. This is the provider's commercial and spiritual description of its method, not independent confirmation that it works. For this inquiry, what matters is what the official provider claims, not how many people actually feel better after using the method. Sales copy cannot establish that. Nor can we automatically assume that all users understood the material in the same way or that their personal experiences fit a single pattern. [9][10]

The word “law” is especially convenient for such an offering. In ordinary language it sounds like something stable, general, and independent of whether we doubt it. If a provider presents a method as an unlimited law, a listener may interpret personal guidance as a promise of an inevitable outcome: do it correctly and the result will follow. But a word in a product title is not evidence of a natural law. The claim that desires influence our choices and attention is likewise not equivalent to claiming that thoughts, through a universal mechanism, guarantee events beyond our control. A thorough assessment of such effects belongs in the subsequent article on evidence. Here, however, we can already identify a change in the kind of promise being made. [9][11]

The commercial shift, then, is not necessarily that someone charged money for spiritual content for the first time. Teaching, supporting teachers, and publishing texts have existed outside today's wellness market as well; payment alone is therefore insufficient evidence of a substantive transformation. The decisive point may come when a demanding practice of confronting attachment is translated into a promise of more effective attachment to a target outcome. At that point a spiritual term no longer necessarily speaks of freeing a person from a particular dependency; it may become a tool that makes their dependence on an outcome more appealing.

R13-E01 — What Changes When the Aim Becomes a Promise?

How to read: This compares emphases, not different religious traditions as though they were identical, and it makes no claim of direct descent from an ancient passage to a modern commercial method. Translations and commentaries differ. The Secret and Chopra entries describe marketing claims, not proven effectiveness. [1][2][3][4][5][6][9][10][11][18]

Where Did the Shift Happen: in Translation, with the Teacher, or with the Buyer?

The easiest story says that a pristine form of wisdom once existed and was then entirely corrupted by the Western market. But that story ignores the history of change, disagreement, and adaptation within the traditions themselves. In research on modern yoga, particularly postural yoga, Andrea R. Jain describes how its forms have developed in relation to consumer culture, counterculture, and entrepreneurial branding. Her work also challenges the simplistic search for one original, authentic yoga by which every later practice could automatically be declared invalid. [12][13][14]

That does not lessen the market's responsibility. On the contrary, it allows for a more precise critique. If we are discussing a particular change in purpose, we need not prove that the history that came before was completely uniform. We can compare a specific historical teaching with a clearly attributed marketing claim and identify their different aims without asserting a direct historical connection between them. In the context of action, Bhagavadgītā 2.47 cautions against attachment to the fruits; a contemporary advertisement may place those very fruits at its center and present a process for obtaining them. That is a verifiable comparison of content, not proof that the advertiser drew directly on this verse. [1][9]

Different actors contribute to the change. A teacher may select the part of a complex tradition they find useful; a publisher may choose a title that quickly translates a promise into a recognizable benefit; and a consumer may choose, from a wide range of offerings, the one most closely suited to their needs. Some participants are active and critical, fully aware that they are engaging with a modern interpretation. Others may take the word “ancient” to imply continuity or authority that the provider has not demonstrated. Without direct research into particular groups, we cannot claim that all buyers think alike. [12][14]

In a chapter on marketing mindfulness, Jeff Wilson describes how providers sell the image of a lifestyle, teachers' expertise, related products, and promised outcomes. We use the publicly accessible abstract of that chapter here, not its complete paywalled text. R13 therefore does not need another review of apps or a repetition of the history of mindfulness. More important is the observation that when the context changes, the standard by which something is valued can change too. “Do you understand the nature of attachment?” may give way to “Has the program improved your performance?” That standard does not travel neutrally: it changes which experience we understand as a success in the first place. [15]

For this reason, contemporary spirituality is neither simply a theft that happened at one historical moment nor an innocent evolution beyond criticism. It is a network of translations, selections, economic incentives, and new needs. With each specific offering, we should examine how it describes its origin, how it limits its claims, and whether it admits that its modern purpose may no longer be the same as that of the tradition it invokes. The right to offer a new interpretation is not the right to sell it as an unchanged original.

When Failure Is Handed Back to the Individual

What happens when success is presented as the result of correct thoughts, intentions, or an inner state, but someone fails to achieve the desired outcome? The logic of a particular absolute promise can offer two answers: either the promise was too broad, or the individual did something wrong. The second answer can preserve the promise intact, although without further evidence we cannot conclude that any given company deliberately uses it for that purpose. The The Secret website expressly states that doubt can “cancel” a manifestation. This provides a concrete example of a provider's explanation of failure, not evidence that all teachers behave this way or that every user is harmed by it. [9]

In their critical discussion of the selling of spirituality, Carrette and King warn of a shift in which religious and spiritual content is shaped around the private individual and their needs. A related question arises in contemporary debates about mindfulness and neoliberalism: are pressures originating in work, social inequality, or other circumstances translated into an individual's task of primarily correcting their attention and attitude? A 2024 narrative and critical review by Chachignon, Le Barbenchon, and Dany discusses this transfer of systemic pressures into individual responsibility as a research and social issue. These works are not experiments proving that every spiritual workshop has the same effect. [16][17]

Consider a hypothetical employee who is promised prosperity if they adopt the right inner attitude. When they subsequently lose their job or face an illness in the family despite their efforts, a sweeping promise may tempt them to search for fault in themselves. But without evidence about such a person, we cannot say what actually happened to them. The example tests the logic of the promise: if a method takes success as confirmation of its validity but always declares, when it fails, that the participant did not believe strongly enough, the claim becomes almost immune to challenge. Its practical appeal is not evidence of its explanatory power.

Personal responsibility is not in itself a problem. By working on habits, attention, or decision-making, people can influence important parts of their lives. The problem begins when the capacity to influence one's own choices turns into an unsupported belief that an individual controls every external event. Such a message can obscure circumstances beyond that person's control: health, social position, other people's actions, and unforeseen events. The right to make a personal effort is not a duty to accept blame for everything one could not prevent.

The old distinction between action and its fruits matters here once more. If people can be responsible for their choices without being assigned total control over the consequences, there is room for effort, compassion, and real limitations. When a sales promise erases that boundary, it can explain every failure as a personal mistake — while continuing to sell another solution. R13 is not making clinical claims about a specific therapy. It shows why providers should be expected to describe the limits of their methods clearly and treat people with respect even when they do not succeed.

What Would a Modern Exchange Look Like Without Turning the Teaching Upside Down?

Criticizing sales promises does not mean that every modern explanation of older teachings must be free of charge or confined to its original historical setting. Good teaching requires time, work, and resources. People living in new circumstances are entitled to look for ways of connecting a philosophical exercise with their everyday concerns. A living tradition is not a museum exhibit. What determines a fair exchange, then, is not the disappearance of money but whether the provider clearly distinguishes the inherited teaching, the modern interpretation, and the promises the provider has added. [12][14]

A provider could, for example, openly explain that they have developed a contemporary exercise for organizing personal goals more effectively and that it was inspired by a particular philosophical tradition. That is different from advertising the same program as a secret, thousand-year-old method guaranteed, if followed correctly, to deliver wealth or love. In the first case, a buyer can evaluate the program's modern purpose. In the second, the authority of tradition may be used as a substitute for evidence that the promised outcome actually occurs. Merely naming an ancient text is not enough: the presentation must also be fair to its contents. [1][9]

It would also be excessive to demand that people abandon self-improvement because they are not seeking liberation in a strict philosophical sense. Many do not attend a course to investigate teachings about liberation but to find help with everyday life. If a program is described as a modern tool with reasonable limits, such practical use is not, in itself, evidence of appropriation or fraud. The difficulty arises when a beneficial experience is turned into an unproven universal formula and a contemporary goal is disguised by calling it “original.” This is not a rejection of usefulness; it is a demand for intellectual honesty.

Readers therefore benefit from several precise questions rather than just one — “Is this really ancient?” Which particular source is being cited? Can I distinguish the original text from the teacher's interpretation? Is the result promised as a possibility, a personal experience, or a guaranteed law? Does the offering acknowledge external circumstances participants cannot control? Can I critically assess the program without every objection being dismissed as evidence that I am thinking the wrong way? The answers reveal more about the offering than the color of its logo, its meditative music, or the number of times the word “energy” appears.

That can be a more demanding but fairer form of contemporary exchange. It does not promise that ancient texts will solve every modern problem, nor does it require their meanings to remain forever in the past. It allows new uses but demands that they be named and accounted for as such. It distinguishes legitimate help with life's goals from the sale of supposedly inevitable wish fulfilment. It leaves open the possibility that someone might change something within themselves through a teaching without having to purchase a promise that the world will become entirely obedient to their will.

Freedom from Desire or More Efficient Wish Fulfilment?

At the outset, the question sounded almost like a choice between two products: one method would teach us acceptance, the other the achievement of goals. But the real distinction is not that every desire must be rejected or that every effort toward success is spiritually suspect. The selected texts offer a more demanding view. It is possible to act without believing that one is entitled to the fruits of one's action; to want a good life without thinking that wishing alone will suffice; and to possess resources without making their acquisition the only measure of a person's worth. [1][5][6]

A modern commercial offering can preserve or erase these distinctions. If it preserves them, tradition can become a source of reflection without being presented as a scientifically validated machine for fulfilling every ambition. If it erases them, the buyer takes center stage, continually expected to refine their inner procedure in order to obtain something more. The market may not be selling them liberation from craving at all, but an opportunity to organize craving into a more appealing and seemingly more reliable route toward the next result. [9][12][16]

The most serious criticism, then, does not attack someone who hopes for a better life. They may have good reasons to hope. It targets the moment when a provider turns desire into a contract with the universe and appoints themselves the interpreter of its supposed rules. Claims about such rules must remain claims until supported by appropriate evidence. Which scientific and health-related promises withstand more demanding scrutiny is a separate question and the subject of the next article in this series.

Perhaps the most telling point is this: freedom from attachment to an outcome and the promise that we can guarantee that outcome may use similar language about inner transformation, yet lead people in different directions. One leaves open the question of what is worth desiring and what might be relinquished. The other may bypass that question and offer only a more efficient way to get what we want. When an ancient teaching becomes a product, price is not the first question. We should ask what its purpose has become — and who promises that it can be delivered.