Power Corrupts...

In my fellowship, as in many spiritual communities, we have a master-disciple relationship going back in chains of lineage to our fellowship's founding members. The teaching of the original 100 are carried on through these lineages, and have reached out to well over two million people across the world.

But as with any society where there is this master-disciple relationship, there are problems.

Master-disciple always implies a power-structure, a relationship based upon a fundamental inequality of power. In spiritual paths, theoretically, it is the duty of the master to raise the disciple up to his or her own station; the goal is to extinguish the power-structure entirely, so that all may be equal. The goods which the master has are to be shared without fearing diminishing returns.

Often as not, however, the master grows accustomed to power; or the disciple becomes accustomed to impotence, so that when the disciple attempts to exert himself or the master attempts to shake loose his needy student, conflict arises.

In the realm of spirituality, this is an incredibly dangerous game. Gurus have used the submission of their students for personal gain; disciples have used gurus as crutches, abject excuses to avoid responsibility for their selves and their lives. The central premise of trying to bring everyone to an equal plane, at least in wisdom, is somehow lost in the shuffle.

In my fellowship, this is often more of a problem than usual, I feel. The central teachings can be transmitted within the space of a few months, weeks, or even days; and once the central teachings are passed along, one is authorized to teach. There is no long period of study; there is no subtle gradation of teaching. One is plunged immediately into the role of teacher while still being... less than perfect, shall we say.

I am an authorized teacher in my fellowship; I have, at least nominally, several students. I know and practice the central teachings, and additionally I have - I think - somewhat extensive knowledge of a variety of teachings from other lineages. I am always seeking to learn more, knowing that the more wisdom I have, the more I can pass on. Maybe some understanding of the Gita will allow me to reach a Hindu better; perhaps I am aware of a Christ-based meditation of Loyola's that will help some Catholic. Although I, personally, considering myself a Sufi of the Bektashi way, I want to be a polyglot of spirituality, able to speak to the need in each person.

In spite of all this, I rarely know what to do. I have knowledge of the basic teachings, and I can pass these along, but there are situations and circumstances that arise in the lives of my students that, quite frankly, I have no experience in handling. I try to listen for some answer within, some knowledge picked by the divinity inside, to give out. Usually, though, I think these are like suggesting band-aids for arterial wounds. Any healing that might come of my suggestions is purely voluntary.

I'm aware of the power dynamic in my relationships, as well. It sits in the background, a temptation ever present, and I fear it. There are times when it seems to take over, when I seem to think that I know what my student really should do. Other times it's easier to acknowledge that at best my answers are pathetic.

I am no guru.

And in fact, I dread and loathe the responsibility. The price of receiving the teachings, I was told, was that I teach them to still others; but now, having the teachings, the last thing I want is to teach. The lives of my students always strike me as being so infinitely and unnecessarily complex, such a mess of misunderstanding and petty feeling, that I don't understand the purpose of the great majority of their thoughts and emotions. I wonder why they willingly make such heavy-going of things.

My problem is that I want a teacher of my own to be able to ask all these questions, someone removed and apart, a person I feel I can trust. I don't trust even my own teacher, though. We've grown apart over time; I feel like there is less to share with him, fewer questions. And I've come to see, more and more, his faults rather than his wisdom. The power dynamic in our own relationship has come to seem more and more burdensome. I distrust the whole system, but am remiss to set it aside lest the teachings themselves, so important, become lost in the struggle for equality and equity.

I try my best to hold to bar that dynamic from entering my own mentor-disciple relationships. I try to stress my humanity and frailty and lack of knowledge; I've learned to accept the fact that I have no power to compel others, and also attempt to stress to my disciples that I hold no real power over them. I want them to know that we walk together, as equals, through this process, and that I am no better than they are.

I fear it is the best I can do, the only thing I can do.