This article has been a long time a-birthing. The gestation began nearly 40 years ago, when I  put aside my robes as a Zen monk and left the community I had been involved with for nearly five years because I sensed that the teacher, a renowned Zen master and a heavy drinker, was abusing his authority--and his students in the process. I didn’t have psychological terms at the time to help me understand what was happening, but I knew something was seriously amiss. This man demeaned his students publicly, bragged about his accomplishments, had grandiose plans for expanding the community to reflect his importance, and consistently blamed others for his shortcomings. Yet it took me two years to get over the feeling that somehow, I had done something wrong myself and that my departure was a grave error and a betrayal of my commitment to truth.

Fast forward to just last night, at a satsang I gave in a small Spanish town in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. One of the participants, a Dutch woman in her late 30s, described how her narcissistic mother had used the eloquent and evocative pointers of her own spiritual teacher to manipulate and punish this woman as a child, leaving her deeply confused and ambivalent about her own spiritual understanding. “These words pointed me to the truth and broke my heart open,” she recalled, “yet they’re intimately associated with the mother who neglected and shamed me, and instead of loving me for the precious being I was, used me as a source of her own ‘narcissistic supplies.’ This was ‘narcissistic abuse.’”

This phrase is now widely recognized in the field of psychology. People who grow up with narcissistic parents or spend years with narcissistic partners often suffer from shame, self-doubt, lack of self-confidence, confusion about what is really true, and even post-traumatic stress (PTSD). These days just about everyone has heard of “gaslighting,” a tactic often used by narcissists in which one person undermines another’s sense of reality and casts doubt on their sanity, with sometimes debilitating psychological consequences. Through their lack of empathy, exploitative behavior, and fits of rage and blame, narcissists leave a trail of confusion and heartbreak in their wake, but they are generally oblivious and unconcerned about the effect they have on others.

In response to this woman’s heartfelt sharing, the dialogue then turned to teachers who had acted in similar ways, and people started nodding their heads and sharing their own stories of having been “charmed and seduced” by teachers who seemed to be so awake and loving and so validating of the student’s “specialness,” only to turn around later and attack and blame the student and refuse to take responsibility for their own actions and mistakes. The phenomenon seems to be so widespread that we have to wonder about the unique fit between spiritual teachers and narcissism. In other words, why have so many people who have proclaimed themselves (or been designated by others as) spiritual teachers turned out to take advantage of the students who have entrusted them with their vulnerability and their precious longing for truth? I’ve been considering this issue for many years, as I’ve watched teacher after teacher in the spiritual world fall from grace after their egregious, insensitive, self-serving behavior has come to light.

Of course, this is not a new phenomenon among spiritual teachers, as a cursory glance back at the many scandals in Christian parishes over the years would attest. But it’s especially confounding when teachers who proclaim the inherent emptiness of self and the importance of surrendering our apparent control and allowing life to live through us are in fact controlling and manipulated their students and aggrandizing the very illusory self they teach us to relinquish.

Psychologists who study narcissism caution that it occurs along a spectrum, from what they call “healthy” confidence and self-regard, through the normal “neurotic” narcissism that most of us exhibit to a greater or lesser degree, to narcissistic personality disorder (NPD), an Axis II mental illness characterized by the four e’s: an exaggerated sense of self-importance; a sense of entitlement; limited or no empathy; and the exploitation of others. 

From a spiritual perspective, as long as there’s any trace of ego—that is, as long as we take ourselves to be an isolated, separate someone surrounded by a threatening or withholding world out there--we’re going to prioritize our own needs over the needs of others, what psychologists essentially mean by normal narcissism. But people with NPD do more than prioritize their own needs--they actively pursue them at all costs at the expense of the needs of others. In a person with this extreme condition lies a deep, well-hidden sense of their own inadequacy and vulnerability that they aggressively avoid feeling. Hence the tendency to externalize any potential responsibility or blame and foist it on others.

So how do narcissists rise to the top of the spiritual hierarchy and assume the role of authority and teacher? I would suggest that they do so by means of the same qualities and methods that tend to propel them to the top of any organization they’re involved with. 

First, narcissistic leaders tend to attract successors who share their style. In the case of the roshi I mentioned, I watched as several narcissistic men were acknowledged as teachers in his lineage and went on to actively exploit their students for their own gain and aggrandizement. Second, they have an exaggerated sense of their own achievements, in this case spiritual realization; tend to lack the self-doubt that most of us experience; and sincerely believe they have some special wisdom to impart that no one else possesses.  Third, their lack of emotional turmoil can seem like unshakable equanimity, until it becomes apparent that it’s merely the reflection of a limited capacity for empathy and attunement. Narcissists are undisturbed not because they don’t take themselves to be a separate self, but because they really don’t care what others think and feel, at least, that is, until others threaten their sense of self-importance.

Narcissists are also notoriously “charming,” a generally positive word that still carries the original connotation of casting a spell over others, which is what they tend to do. Because they believe themselves to be special, students who are courted by them tend to regard themselves as special too, which feeds the student’s own narcissism and helps to counteract the feelings of inadequacy that so many of us experience. 

Spiritual awakening can also fuel narcissistic tendencies when it’s distorted, misunderstood, and coopted by the ego. In a genuine awakening, “I am enlightened” is clearly seen to be an oxymoron, since enlightenement entails the realization that the separate self that would claim enlightenment for itself does not exist. But seekers can become seduced by the powerful, life-changing recognition that I am consciousness, the source and essence of all, and turn it into an inflated, grandiose belief in their own self-importance. Traditionally called the Zen sickness, this delusion may take years to outgrow.

In spiritual traditions that encourage adherents to defer to the wisdom of others, or even surrender themselves completely to the guidance of the guru, there can be a perfect fit between students longing to give up control and let others lead them and teachers who are more than happy to take control and do the leading. What do they get in return? The adulation and obedience of their students—what psychologists call narcissistic supplies—along with the power, material enrichment, and sexual exploitation that often accompany such a position.

My Advaita teacher, Jean Klein, used to say that a true teacher does not take themselves to be a teacher and does not take the student to be a student. In this non-relationship, where teacher and student are both absent, transmission of the truth takes place as a kind of magic or alchemy. Beware of teachers, he warned, who need students to help them compensate for their own insecurity.

Over the years, as a counselor and psychotherapist, as well as a teacher myself, I’ve heard one story after another of students who gave away their power—along with, in many cases, their money, their career, their romantic relationship, their innocence, and years of their lives—to an unscrupulous teacher and ended up feeling deeply wounded, distrustful, and in many cases cynical about the spiritual path. What can we do, as students of the powerful teachings and practices of the nondual wisdom tradition, to avoid this trap? Here are some suggestions, based on my personal experience and my work with clients and students:

In the wake of a scandal involving a narcissistic, abusive teacher in the Buddhist tradition a number of years ago, the Dalai Lama recommended that students take their time, as long as several years if necessary, to check out a teacher thoroughlybefore committing themselves to be his or her student. In particular, pay attention to how the teacher treats their closest students and family members. Are they charismatic with prospective students but irritable and abrupt with those in their inner circle? Are they given to sudden angry outbursts, like several of the teachers I studied with in my early days as a Buddhist practitioner? Notice any discrepancies between what they teach and how they act; no one is perfect, of course, but do they generally walk their talk? And perhaps most important, do they take responsibility for their mistakes and acknowledge their own humanness, or do they tend to defend themselves and blame others?

Remember that you are the path, and no one else is an expert on you. The teacher’s job may be to offer powerful pointers to your essential nature and to challenge and expand your limited view of reality. But in the end only you can know what’s right for you to study or practice; only you, in the crucible of your heart, can forge a deeper understanding. Develop a keen inner radar, an intuitive, gut knowing that guides your life, and trust it. The true guru is inside you!

In the same vein, never give up your own inner authority and autonomy; surrender to life, not to another person, even if they claim to be an authority on you. For those of us tired of making difficult decisions and navigating our way through this complex world, it can be appealing to consider ceding authority and responsibility to someone else. But each of us expresses the one essential nature we share in our own inimitable way; we have a unique trajectory, purpose, and gifts to offer, and we betray this unique contribution when we give up our autonomy and let someone else tell us how to run our life. You can never say yes wholeheartedly unless you feel you have the right to say no.

Love your messy human expression, and recognize that you have an innate value, just by being you, that doesn’t require you to be good or special or depend on the reflected grandiosity of a narcissistic teacher. If you have underlying feelings of inadequacy, as so many of us do, face them directly, see them for what they are, and release their hold over you. Not easy to do, but essential if you’re going to resist the pull to get validation from teachers. One of the most direct ways to release inadequacy is to wake up to your true nature, which is inherently perfect and pure, beyond good and bad, right and wrong, adequate and inadequate.

Finally, remember that, as both Being itself--limitless, inviolable, and undisturbed--and separate individual beings, with our unique talents, conditioning, and genetic endowment, we’re called upon to navigate a twofold journey: waking up to the deepest truth of our being and becoming mature human beings with the capacity to love and work. If we focus on psychological maturity alone, we may always feel we haven’t plumbed the mystery and realized the happiness and peace that come from discovering the deeper meaning and purpose of life. But if we focus only on realizing the absolute and never grow up to express our potential as human beings, we fail to do the essential work of embodying spirit in the world of form.