When we are young our parents provide for us, tutor us and rescue us. In ideal circumstances, they are our heroes, gurus and saviours.

      As we grow older we realise that our parents are not the gods we imagined them to be. At the same time, we learn to rely more on ourselves, to become more independent.

      If we are to become responsible adults we need to differentiate ourselves from our parents. This requires a degree of self-assertion, a challenging of parental control.

      Where children are unable to assert themselves, either because of their personalities or circumstances, they remain emotionally, if not physically captive to their parents. When this happens, the developmental energy that has been arrested may kick in during mid-life, when the adult finds himself in the midst of a full-blown adolescent rebellion or infatuation. The partner, cast in the role of parent, is often rejected.

      Though we physically separate ourselves from our parents, we often remain emotionally captive to them. Separating from internalised parents is difficult. It requires insight and commitment to reworking parental images. This task is never complete.

      At the time we begin separating from our parents we have little idea of the harsh realities we will encounter once we leave their protection. Children from dysfunctional families, who are desperate to escape parental abuse, often anticipate that the wider world will provide them with a haven.

      If we have come from a relatively functional family, it does not take us long to recognise that life is complex, difficult, unjust and sometimes cruel. As a consequence, we look around for someone on whom we can model ourselves, from whom we can learn life skills and who will protect us.

      Freud argued that "God" was a fictional image, fabricated by our neurotic need for security. This god, he argued, is modelled on [283] our fathers. The father image, resurrected from the unconscious, functions as an omniscient, omnipotent, caring substitute for the father whose tutelage we have outgrown.

      Certainly, parental imagos, images we construct of a parent, define our perception of God. To some degree, they are responsible for producing them. However, it should not necessarily be concluded that God is no more than a "parental imago" embroidered by the theological finery of different religious traditions.

      During much of the twentieth century, the "god" of traditional religion has been out of favour. As a consequence, people have looked for other father substitutes to inspire, teach, and rescue them. We have looked to heroes, gurus and saviours.

Heroes

      Our quest for heroes arises out of our need for someone to admire, for someone on whom to pattern ourselves, for someone who has the sort of competencies we respect.

      We look for those who can teach us specific skills, usually related to our capacities and interests. If we have a yen to be a sculptor we will look for a master sculptor. If we love cooking we will search out someone who cooks with flair. If we want to be a writer we will look for models who inspire us and who can help us with process and style. Women who aspire to be managers, in roles that have traditionally been the preserve of men, will model themselves on other women who have entered the arena before them.

      If our major concern is with life's skills, with developing quality relationships, we will seek out those whose lives evidence these qualities. These will be people of integrity, who have learnt to love deeply, people who share themselves generously with others and people celebrated for their wisdom.

      Some individuals have well-developed technical competencies and life skills. Life skills will enhance technical competency. Technical competency may be the arena within which life-skills are developed. [284]

      This is not to say, however, that there are not some individuals whose life skills are finely honed but who are useless at practical tasks. On the other hand, there are superb artists and technicians whose life skills are sadly deficient. Michael Shelden, in a far from complementary biography of Graham Greene, argues that Green's life did not complement his literary greatness.¹

      It is not necessarily harmful for us to model ourselves on those we regard as heroes; people like Abraham Lincoln, Nelson Mandela or Mother Teresa. However, when patterning ourselves on our heroes, we need to be discriminating. There are several pitfalls we should avoid. We should beware of aping idiosyncrasies that are incidental to greatness. We may draw inspiration from Winston Churchill, but this does not mean that we need to smoke cigars or remain in bed until mid-day.² Furthermore, it could be argued that we honour the memory of those whose greatness we admire, not by making ourselves into their clones, but by living with the passion, honesty and intentionality they exhibited.

      It's important that we do not become too dependent on heroic images. When our development progresses healthily, it is likely that we will be drawn to a succession of heroes, each of which will take us along a different section of the road.

Gurus

      The word "guru" literally means "dispeller of darkness". You attach yourself to a guru if you are seeking enlightenment.³

      Life skills are the most difficult to acquire. To live a life that is deeply spiritual we generally require assistance. Reflecting on the value of such assistance, the Sufi mystic Rumi argued that we should chose a master, because without a guide the journey will be full of dangers and we will be gripped by fear. Without someone to accompany us we could lose our way. We should not travel this path alone.⁴

      An excellent Illustration of the way a "guru" can help with our development is offered by Eugen Herrigel in Zen in the Art of Archery. Herrigel describes the way in which a Zen Master went [285] about introducing a group of disciples to the essence of Zen. He did this by teaching them archery. After giving them a demonstration of how to shoot an arrow, by merging with the process, he suggested they each try to reproduce what he had demonstrated. The initial results were abysmal. After a time, however, the apprentice archers learned, like good dancers, to move from their centre and to be caught up into the inspiration and flow of the moment.⁵ In these circumstances, Herrigal explained, it was hard for him to tell whether he was drawing the bow or the bow was drawing him. It entailed a loss of self-preoccupation. It was a spiritual experience. The final result, as his master explained, was that the bowstring had cut through him.⁶

      Few find their way through life relying solely on themselves. None have done this absolutely, though there have been a few significant pioneers who have explored unchartered territory within themselves. Jung, an outstanding example of an intrepid internal explorer, for some time hovered on the brink of mental illness. Persistence, a strong ego, or superintending intelligence, and the devotion of an intuitive young woman, a former patient, prevented him plummeting into the crevice.⁷

      Too close an attachment to a leader can be dangerous for some people, particularly for those who have insufficiently developed egos. The guru becomes the ego, or takes the place of the ego, which means that any possibility of development is arrested, particularly if the guru is unaware of what is happening. The relationship may also be unhealthy for the guru, particularly if he is preoccupied with his own needs. His narcissism may voraciously devour the egos of his disciples.

      It is important that people check out particular gurus before offering themselves as disciples.

      Many Westerners look askance at the Guru-disciple relationship, considering it limiting and open to abuse. This caution should be heeded. Nevertheless, such relationships, where the maturity of the master is not in question, can be enormously helpful. This is the Eastern experience.

      Sufi mysticism places considerable emphasis on surrender to [286] one's "Master". Vaughan-Lee, explaining this position, contends that those journeying on the Sufi path will seek to be absorbed in the teacher, just as the teacher is absorbed on the One.⁸

      While there is the strong emphasis on surrender, the image of the ideal master is very clear. The ideal teacher is empty and it is the emptiness, not the teacher, which beckons.⁹ Furthermore, in surrendering to the light discerned in the teacher, the wayfarer is surrendering to the light of the Higher Self within her own heart. For this reason, it is important to find a teacher whose ego is surrendered to God and who will not get in the way of the process.¹⁰

      Anandamayi Ma argues that this sort of guru will discourage personal veneration. It is the false guru, the guru still trapped in the ego, who will encourage the development of a personality cult.¹¹

      Sogyal Rinpoche, from a Tibetan Buddhist perspective, argues that disciples will attempt to blend their minds with that of the guru because the guru embodies the crystallization of the enlightenment and blessings of the buddhas and masters who have preceded them. Furthermore, the outer teacher introduces the disciple to the inner teacher, so that the disciple will gradually discover the truth for themselves. Over time, the mind of the disciple and that of the master become one.¹²

      There are some "gurus" that one should avoid.

      We should be wary of those who have highly developed psychic powers, but are not centred in the bodyself. These people are psychologically immature, pre-occupied with themselves.

      There are also what Alan Watts describes as "trickster gurus".¹³

      There are others, again, who do not set out to be "trickster gurus", but who becomes so through personal deterioration.

      Vajra Regent Osel Tendzin, "Radiant Holder of the Teachings" (the former Thomas Rich), in April 1987, assumed the leadership of the Vajradhata community, following the death of the widely respected Tibetan Buddhist teacher, Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche. [287]

      Shortly after he assumed leadership of the community, a perceptive observer noticed that Tendzin had transformed a religious audience into an afternoon of drinking and sex. It was later discovered that he had AIDS, a fact he had been aware of for at least three years. During this period he infected the men and women with whom he had sexual encounters.¹⁴

      Guru Yoga, at its best, is sustained by a community, and a tradition, which not only support it, but which provide checks and balances that guard against abuse.

      One of the difficulties of exporting Eastern meditative traditions to the West is that they are insufficiently supported by the ethos or structures of Western society. Opposite tendencies, deriving from the Western experience, can dissolve safeguards that have been deliberately built into Eastern communities established in the West, communities made up largely of Westerners.

      There are those who argue that we are far better to find our own way than to rely on someone else, particularly an acknowledged guru. They suggest that we should pay attention to Euripides comment that it is fools rather than wise men who believe in oracles. Wise men follow their own guidance.¹⁵

      Anthony Storr, in Feet of Clay: A Study of Gurus, after surveying a range of gurus, from Jim Jones and David Koresh to Jung, Freud and Jesus, developed a profile of the typical guru.¹⁶

      Storr argued that, while gurus differed widely from each other, in that some suffered from severe mental illness while others were characterised by holiness, integrity and lack of personal ambition, those with obvious feet of clay had certain characteristics in common.

      They claimed special insight, which had transformed their lives. The insight usually followed a period of mental distress or physical illness. Their new vision of reality was celebrated as the "Truth". Their worldviews frequently had little connection with scientific reality. Some were clearly paranoid. They were charismatic and their charisma was associated with the strength of their conviction. This "conviction", however, sometimes disguised doubts, which they sought to allay by attracting disciples to [288] reinforce their beliefs. Most were isolated as children and tended to remain so. They were intolerant of criticism and anti-democratic. Some invented a background of mystery. Many were corrupted by power. Some went so far as to insist that they be relieved of financial responsibility. Others considered themselves above conventional sexual mores.

      The core issue fuelling Storr's warning of the dangers of committing oneself to a guru was that the process was a form of idealisation even more dangerous than falling in love.¹⁷

      While cautioning readers against handing control of their minds and lives, unreservedly, to even the most esteemed of gurus, Storr nevertheless conceded that some gurus had made worthy contributions to our self-understanding.

      His purpose, in writing the book, was to suggest that we take charge of our own lives. He also argued that we should be influenced less by those who preach and more by those who do. He further contended that, if we want to associate ourselves with a guru, we should seek out someone like Mother Meera, who so deeply influenced Andrew Harvey, and in whose silent presence we can see reflected the depths of our souls.¹⁸

Saviours

      Heroes, if they are alive, and gurus are sometimes treated as saviours, usually by those who can't manage their own lives. Those who are being looked to as saviours are foolish if they allow themselves to be drawn into this role. As we all like to be admired, and to exercise some degree of power, the temptation is almost irresistible.

      This sort of situation, laden with transference and counter-transference, is unhealthy both for those who want to be saved and those who want to be saviours.

      Those asking to be saved will be disappointed. They will find themselves enmeshed, at an unconscious level, with their saviours. Their development will be arrested and is likely to suffer regression.

      A similar regression will be evident in the saviours. They [289] will be allowing others to pander to their need to be saviours, which can cause them to regress to an immature egoic level of development.

      Both the saved, and their saviours, can be caught in a downward spiral, in which each exaggerates the impact of the process on the other.

      It is much more important that we become our own saviours, with graced assistance. This can occur directly through access to the deeper levels of the self, the Overself, and the Spirit, or indirectly, through the assistance of others, who, while respected as mentors, are treated, not as gods, but as fellow pilgrims. [290]

[LS 283-290]