Projection, Pedestals, and the Spiritual Teacher Myth

We often expect our spiritual teachers — actually our leaders in general — to be beyond reproach. We forget their humanness. When we are reminded of their humanness, they can come crashing down off their pedestal, often painfully.

Reading time: 3 minutes

When the new beach yoga student approached me after her third consecutive class, I thought she had a question for me, but actually she had a gift — a spiritual book she had seen in a bookshop and immediately thought of me. I was delighted at first, touched by the thoughtfulness, but then my heart sank. I remembered: this time next year, this student probably won’t still be coming to my class.

This past Christmas season, as I have done every year, I put together some small, thoughtful gifts for my regular clients — the clients who come to class regularly, week in, week out, for the whole year. These small gifts are relevant to the class: incense that I use in the studio, a crystal chosen for them, a cute mug, and some ceremonial cacao. I don’t want or expect anything back, because this is my little thank you for their support throughout the year.

Today I was tidying and cleaning my studio in preparation for the week’s classes. I have a space for my own collection of crystals, oracle cards, books and candles. And I was suddenly struck. I have received so many gifts in class — mala beads, wax melts, room sprays — but not from my regular clients. In fact, not one person who presented me with a gift in class — including the girl on the beach with the book — is still a client. And yet I have lots of regular clients who have been coming to me for years. Perhaps this is not universal of yoga teachers, but it has been my experience. I think I have a theory on why this is: it’s the myth of the spiritual teacher.

When you find a new teacher, it can be a bit like a new relationship. Everything is wonderful and new. They can do no wrong. The student comes to every class. If the teacher is online or creates content, the student binges. What can actually start to happen is that the student projects their expectations and their adhyāsa (superimposition) onto their teacher. Adhyāsa involves projecting something onto another person that isn’t actually there, or mistaking their own mental picture of them for reality.

We know from yoga philosophy that we need to be aware of maya (illusion), and this can often involve mistaking appearance for truth. In this context, this means that we often expect our spiritual teachers — actually our leaders in general — to be beyond reproach. We forget their humanness. When we are reminded of their humanness, they can come crashing down off their pedestal, often painfully.

When a spiritual leader or teacher pretends to be perfect — lies, cheats, abuses — then their downfall is their own doing. But when they are fully aware and communicative of their humanity, yet the student still looks up to them a little more than is healthy, the fall from grace can hurt. When I think about conversations I have had with people over the years, it’s clear to me that often yoga teachers are put into this leader category. I have been told that I shouldn’t curse, have aesthetic procedures, or expect to be paid much — or at all — to teach. I have been assumed to have perfect posture at all, to be perfectly calm and zen at all times, to have no sins to confess, and to not live in the real world where my bills need to be paid.

I myself have been guilty of hero worship — pop stars, actors, rock singers. In recent years, celebrity worship often appears to have replaced religion for public and mass reverence. It must be my own saṃskāra (conditioning/mental imprints), and my distrust of religious patriarchs, that mean I never follow or idolise modern-day gurus. Mystical leaders with millions of social media followers have never interested me. But I have looked at other yoga teachers and thought them special. And therefore, thought of myself, as less than. So, I have experienced both sides of this.

What I understand now is how to encourage healthier teacher–student relationships. Longevity trumps intensity in any relationship. As a teacher, I strive to be professional but remain human. Friendly but with boundaries. As a student I need to not de-human my teachers too. No one needs their teacher to be a robot. It’s OK for us to wobble in a balance pose too. It’s OK for us to say, “Hey, my back is not feeling good, so X student is going to mat-model for me today.” And it’s absolutely OK for us to have struggles, bad hair days, and times when we forget that we are all divine beings in a human experience.