During the past thirty years, many of us have been involved with spiritual teachers, communities and practices. Our motivations may come from a desire to be free of pain and suffering, to find greater meaning and purpose, or to fulfill our true potential. In our search for transformation, however, some of us have also discovered the "shadow" side of the spiritual quest.

The most sensational of these "perils on the path," including the tragedies of the Jonestown and Heaven's Gate mass suicides, make headlines and evoke fascination and horror in the public mind. Less violent, but also damaging incidents of sexual abuse, alcoholism, drug addiction, and financial exploitation have also attracted attention. For example, a nationally known physician and new-age pundit was accused of drugging and sexually assaulting patients. The acting head of a Buddhist sect was alleged to have knowingly exposed students to the AIDS virus. Bhagwan Rashneesh's material excesses, including a fleet of eighty Rolls Royce's, are legendary.

However, most "perils" that we encounter are not so blatant, and the effects are often complex and subtle. Teachers, healers or others whom we admire may not live up to our expectations and may show troubling weaknesses that undermine our trust. They can exhibit attitudes and behaviors that seem opposed to their expressed values and teachings. Our idealism can be shattered when we discover the petty politics, favoritism, and rivalries behind the scenes. Interests or commitments that we treasure, such as family relationships, may be judged and discounted by the group. Recognizing or confronting these "perils" within a spiritual community is usually difficult since there is often strong pressure to conform in belief and opinion. An attitude of specialness or superiority may be cultivated, leading to elitism, alienation from those not involved, or simplistic views of right and wrong, good and evil. Efforts by the group to suppress criticism and discourage dissent leave little room for diversity or healthy conflict. If we express our doubts, we may find ourselves ostracized by the community.

Although "perils on the path" have several causes, one source-childhood family dynamics-plays a particularly significant role. Our family of origin is our formative and most powerful experience with groups and authority; it is there that we develop our sense of self, learn about relationships and first experience the inequities and misuse of power. Many American families have major dysfunctional features, including various forms of emotional, physical, sexual, or substance abuse. These conditions disrupt our awareness and encourage patterns of denial and self-deception. Low self-esteem, self-sabotaging behaviors, and difficulty establishing healthy relationships can result. If we remain unaware of these patterns, we continue to be vulnerable to people and situations which replicate our childhood pathology. We often join communities, in part, to fulfill a profound, usually unconscious need for belonging, security, identity, and family. A spiritual group can become a surrogate family and, as with any family, may behave dysfunctionally. If a teacher abuses his or her position of power, community members often revert to the behavioral and thinking patterns they used to survive the abuse in their original families. Members may distort reality and compromise their values in order to preserve the cohesion of the group and their place within it.

For example, when a community discovers that a teacher who has been claiming monogamy or celibacy is having covert sex with students, members usually react with the same defenses as families experiencing incest. Responses may included denial ("My teacher wouldn't do that"), minimization ("What's the big deal?"), or rationalization ("He did it as a teaching"). Others collude with the abuser through maintaining secrecy, planning cover-ups and blaming others. Members who accurately name the situation may be discredited by the community or dismissed for not having "true understanding."

While studying with a spiritual teacher can be invaluable to our growth, it also has the potential to be damaging. We often see our teachers through the distorting lens of our parental authority issues and a deep need for approval and acceptance. We may secretly seek the perfect, idealized parent we never had, in hopes of finding safety, comfort, and protection from the more painful aspects of our lives.

Because of this, many people succumb to "the myth of infallibility," the belief that one's teacher always feels, thinks, or acts from an purely enlightened state and is therefore always right. Often when students perceive misconduct in their teacher, they blame themselves for not being wise enough to comprehend the real meaning of their teacher's actions. This belief gives the teacher nearly unlimited authority, and this power can be both intoxicating and corrupting. Spiritual teachers, no matter how awakened, are not perfect. They make mistakes, are inconsistent in their abilities, and often have their own psychological problems.

There is also an inherent paradox in working with any spiritual authority. Ultimately, we are the one who "authorizes" them. It is only through our limited judgment and discernment-no matter how wise or confused-that we choose a teacher, determine their authenticity and surrender to their teachings.

In reality, these "perils on the path" are not separate from the path itself. These crises become unique opportunities to explore more deeply who we are and what it true for us. As our illusions and blind spots are revealed, we become open to new levels of understanding and growth. The path to transformation is not easy or painless; we must face our deepest fears and challenge our basic assumptions. Through this process we can develop greater awareness of ourselves and others, heal old traumas, change unhealthy patterns, and develop a deeper, more authentic experience of spirituality.

Carla Brennan is a psychotherapist and ecopsychologist in Amherst, MA. Address comments to: cbrennan@crocker.com © Carla Brennan 1998