I offer here a critical analysis of the culture and practices of the London Buddhist Centre and Triratna more broadly. This analysis emerges from my experience of involvement, close relationships within the Sangha, and my ongoing commitment to the Dharma. It is not written out of resentment or a desire to undermine, but out of care—a wish to understand why certain aspects of the community have felt, to myself and many others, increasingly misaligned with the values and aspirations that first drew us to the path. It has been a painful realisation, and I feel deep sadness at stepping away from the Sangha and the support it has offered me over the years. Yet, at present, continued engagement feels in conflict with my values, and I cannot remain in a way that feels false to myself. This realisation did not arise from a single event or disagreement, but from a long process of trying to reconcile my values and aspirations with the structures, culture, and vision of Triratna—and finding that I could not.

Since stepping outside Triratna’s orbit and immersing myself in other contexts—particularly traditional monastic communities and insight-based sanghas—I have encountered ways of practising that feel more expansive, reflexively critical, and genuinely liberating. These spaces have opened up a sense of possibility, inner strength, and freedom that I have not experienced within Triratna’s system of practice. They have also helped me to name something that remained vague while I was within the system: that many of the difficulties I faced were not simply personal, but structural. They were shaped by the design and dynamics of the community itself.

This analysis is an attempt to make sense of those dynamics. It draws on my own experience, but also on the stories and reflections of many others—some of whom remain within the community, others who have quietly left. My intention is not to attack, but to offer a perspective that I hope might serve as a mirror: a way of seeing more clearly the causes and conditions that produce problematic cultures and systems of exclusion, such that they may be changed.

As a queer practitioner, I have long struggled with Triratna’s gender-segregated model and the absence of support for gender-diverse individuals. At the LBC there is currently no study group for gender-diverse practitioners, no clear route to ordination for non-binary people, and little sign of systemic engagement with queer experience. These omissions are not just practical—they shape belonging at a deep level. They communicate who is implicitly recognised and who must contort themselves to fit in.

During my years in the movement, I often felt I was the problem—that my discomfort with the structures, my questions about the system of practice, my unease with certain teachings—reflected personal immaturity or lack of faith. Critical reflections were often deflected, or turned back on the individual. It’s only since stepping away, and encountering others who felt the same, that I’ve begun to understand how normalised these experiences are—and how often they are shared in private, rather than voiced openly.

My perspective is also shaped by my training and experience as a researcher in sociology. In writing this critique, I have tried to be critically reflexive—attending to how a range of factors, including material structures, cultural norms, investments of desire, language, codes, and everyday practices, function together to produce particular kinds of subjectivities and forms of belonging. I approach Triratna not only from within its own terms, but also as a social system—an assemblage of structures and forces that shape what kinds of lives and practices are made possible within it. I see my work in sociology not as separate from my Dharma practice, but as an extension of it, and as will be discussed in the full critique, I have tried to approach this analysis in alignment with Buddhist principles. 

The full analysis can be found here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1nzK0bgbKfIdSJ1SZeQLjDPsmAPw9Q7Q-Nez4...

What follows is a condensed version—a brief overview of the key issues identified—while the full analysis offers a more detailed and substantiated account. I recognise that this critique may feel overly negative or even painful for members of the Sangha to read, particularly those who have found deep meaning and support within Triratna. My intention, however, is not to deny the value many have found, but to examine how certain structural elements can resonate together to produce patterns of exclusion, misalignment, or harm. Triratna is not a fixed or singular entity; like all phenomena, it is empty of inherent nature. Yet it is still a dependently-arising formation, shaped by causes and conditions, and as such, it manifests differently depending on who encounters it and in what context. While some experience connection and flourishing, others encounter subtle or overt forms of alienation. These divergent experiences are not entirely subjective or incidental—they point to underlying structural dynamics that warrant thoughtful examination.

Unless Triratna begins to think systematically about its culture and practice, I believe these problems will continue to haunt the movement. Key points from my analysis include:

• Triratna structurally resembles a cult of personality, with Sangharakshita—and his highly idiosyncratic interpretation of the Dharma—serving as the central organising force of the Sangha. His image, teachings, and interpretations continue to dominate the culture, leaving little room for critical engagement or evolution.
• Sangharakshita broke away from traditional lineages, and in breaking away from traditional structures, he created an independent movement that lacks external accountability. This has contributed to the formation of an insular community, one that struggles to critically self-reflect and assess itself in relation to the wider Buddhist world. 
• Triratna’s system of practice, while presented as a skillful ‘translation’ of Buddhism for the West, in fact departs significantly from other Buddhist traditions. Despite its familiar language and imagery, it is moving in a fundamentally different direction—one that risks cutting itself off from the depth and continuity of the wider Buddhist tradition.
• Key structural elements of the movement—the Order system, gender-segregated practice, and certain embedded cultural tendencies—are not incidental. They are extensions of Sangharakshita’s vision and function to reproduce and reinforce the very dynamics that limit Triratna’s potential for transformation. The hierarchical structure privileges particular interpretations of the Dhamma and of what the Sangha is—interpretations that tend to align with a conservative culture. This, in turn, inhibits critical engagement with structural issues and marginalises voices that challenge or fall outside the dominant frame.
• This system excludes certain individuals and privileges a particular kind of subjectivity—primarily a cisgender, white, middle-class sensibility. This results in a community that sees its dominant culture as “natural,” while quietly marginalising those who do not conform to its implicit norms.
• The movement’s deep dependence on Sangharakshita—a figure who used his authority to sexually exploit others—suggests that the community’s structural DNA reflects aspects of his own unresolved psychological dynamics. That Triratna continues to struggle to fully reckon with this legacy indicates that its structures still serve those most invested in maintaining the status quo.
• Triratna’s system of practice is an ineffective vehicle for liberation. It tends to cultivate rigid, narrow views of spiritual development, discouraging critical inquiry and marginalising alternative approaches to insight. This leaves many practitioners without the guidance or support needed to navigate the deeper terrain of practice.
• Though Triratna presents itself as a radical and reformist movement, one that has broken free from the limitations of traditional Buddhism, my analysis suggests that it has simply created new dogmas, new blind spots, and new forms of institutional inertia. These are not surface issues. They are systemic. And they cannot be addressed through tokenistic reforms or incremental changes.
   

Much of Triratna’s culture and practice is presented as natural and immutable—as though things must remain as they are because this is what Sangharakshita envisioned. This belief is reinforced by a structural reverence for Sangharakshita’s authority, around which the entire system continues to orbit. His word is often treated as final, unchallengeable, or beyond reinterpretation, despite the fact that certain individuals in positions of influence play a significant role in shaping how his teachings are interpreted and mobilised. This creates the illusion of fidelity to a fixed vision, when in reality the community is already selectively shaping his legacy. I do not believe things have to be this way. Other Sanghas are not structured around a single, central figure, and those that are—such as groups widely criticised as cults of personality—are increasingly recognised as problematic. Triratna’s practices and principles must be able to stand on their own merit. And we, as a community, must find the strength to question the foundations, to ask not simply what Sangharakshita taught, but what is most ethical, most effective, and most aligned with the essence of the Dhamma today.

The insular nature of Triratna’s community dynamics contributes significantly to this conservatism. It creates an environment where critique is muted, change is feared, and the preservation of form is mistaken for fidelity to the Dharma. Whatever radical energy Sangharakshita may have offered in his time seems to have gone with him to the grave. What remains is a rigid system that continues to reproduce itself, often through fear—fear that any real change might cause the whole structure to collapse. But authentic practice demands something different. It demands the courage to let go of our attachments—even to the community itself—so that we may see it more clearly and relate to it from a place of clarity, not dependence. Only then can we begin to reimagine and reshape our relationships, our practices, and our shared spiritual life in ways that are open, equitable, and truly liberating.

For genuine transformation to occur, Triratna must be willing to interrogate its very foundations. Only by understanding the structural conditions that shape its culture, and by opening itself to other ways of thinking and practising, can the movement realise its deeper potential: to become not a closed system preserving its own legacy, but a living, evolving Sangha that welcomes difference, supports liberation, and connects courageously to the world.

With metta,

Tommy