What Is a Guru, Really?

In France, the word guru often brings to mind indoctrination, manipulation and cult-like abuses. Yet in the spiritual tradition, a guru is something quite different: a living master who transmits the means to know for oneself, guides the disciple in sadhana and helps him not to reshape the path according to the preferences of his own mind. So what is a guru, really, and why is he necessary?

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What he transmits, what he is for and why a living master is necessary

In France, the word guru often brings to mind indoctrination, manipulation and cult-like abuses. Yet in the spiritual tradition, a guru is something quite different: a living master who transmits the means to know for oneself, guides the disciple in sadhana and helps him not to reshape the path according to the preferences of his own mind. So what is a guru, really, and why is he necessary?

If satsangs had subtitles, like the chapters of nineteenth-century novels, today’s would be entitled: “On the Usefulness of a Guru”.

In France, the word guru has a bad reputation. In French, it is generally written “gourou”, but here I prefer to keep the Sanskrit form guru, because it refers to a traditional reality very different from what the word “gourou” evokes today in the collective imagination.

For many French people, a gourou is someone who indoctrinates and manipulates people and takes advantage of their weaknesses. This image did not appear by chance. Several scandals, widely covered by the media from the 1980s onwards, permanently associated the word with cults, fraudsters and megalomaniac figures.

Since then, the word has been used for all kinds of things. People even speak of “gurus” in politics, economics or computer science. Yet in the spiritual tradition from which the word comes, a guru is something quite different.

A traditional interpretation of the word guru sees “gu” as the darkness of ignorance and “ru” as that which dispels it. The guru is therefore one who helps dispel the darkness of ignorance through the light of knowledge.

A scholar such as Jean Varenne explained the place of the guru in the traditions of India very well, notably in his Dictionary of Hinduism. But a guru is not necessarily Hindu. This relationship between master and disciple can be found in various traditions of yoga, Buddhism, Jainism, Sikhism and elsewhere.

A guru has mastered a sadhana, that is, a coherent set of practices and recommendations forming a spiritual path. He teaches what is necessary so that others may, in turn, follow that path. He knows the way because he has travelled it.

You can learn a great deal about a path by looking at a map, reading travellers’ accounts or studying its geography. But someone who has travelled it knows where the difficult passages are, where the false trails lie and where one risks getting lost. That is the usefulness of a guru.

There is, however, something important to understand: the guru cannot give truth to the disciple as one might give him an object, or as a teacher might give him a lesson to learn. The truth we are speaking of in spirituality is not a collection of information.

The guru can teach the meditation techniques that will allow the disciple to find within himself this knowledge that is not learned. He can show him where to place his attention and how to practise. Then it is up to the disciple to practise.

No one can meditate in his place, any more than someone else can eat in your place when you are hungry.

True spiritual knowledge is inward, intimate and lived. It does not come from accumulating knowledge, but from direct experience. This is why a spiritual path is first and foremost a practice, and an individual practice.

This does not mean that spiritual books are useless. The Upanishads, the Vedas, the Ramayana, the Bhagavad Gita, the Mahabharata, the Tao Te Ching, the New Testament, the Guru Granth Sahib, the Yoga Sutra, the suttas, the Bhaktimarga and many other texts can deeply inspire a seeker or a disciple. They can point in a direction, encourage, shed light, remind us of what matters and sometimes put into words an experience lived in meditation. But a book does not meditate. It can describe the taste of honey in great detail; it cannot make you taste it.

It can speak of truth, but it cannot replace the experience of that truth. As the practice deepens, some passages that once seemed obscure can become clearer. We then understand from within what we had previously understood only with the intellect.

Lao Tzu said: “To know the eternal law is to be enlightened. Whoever does not submit to it becomes lost in confusion and suffering. Whoever knows the law possesses the knowledge that is not learned, which comes from the Tao.”

He also said: “With little knowledge, one gains the peace of the Tao; with much learning, one becomes lost in confusion.”

Books can show us the moon. But we should not confuse the finger pointing at the moon with the moon itself.

The knowledge we are speaking of here does not consist in knowing more things. One may know the different schools of Vedānta, recite sutras in Sanskrit, have read the main sacred texts and know the teachings of the great masters by heart without having taken a single step towards this inner knowledge.

Conversely, someone may know almost nothing about any of this and still have a profound inner life.

The one whom the Aryas had nicknamed “Krishna”, meaning “the dark one”, also spoke of knowledge as a path. He said: “After receiving the knowledge of the true nature of the soul, the initiate can master the mind, which allows him to detach himself from the fruits of his actions; then he tastes the delights of the harmony of his Grace.”

The guru knows this path through experience. He can therefore transmit the means of following it. But his role does not end with teaching the techniques.

Once the disciple knows the meditation techniques, he still has to live. And that is often where things become interesting.

One has to work, speak with others, make decisions, endure frustrations, act, serve, make mistakes and begin again. One has to learn to make spirituality something more than a special moment spent with one’s eyes closed.

Sadhana is precisely this set of practices and recommendations that allows inner experience to find its place in life. Satsang serves to guide the disciple in this Observance.

The guru reminds the disciple of what is essential. He clarifies certain points of the practice. He responds to misunderstandings. He can also show the disciple that he is going astray when the disciple himself is convinced that he is making progress. And this is probably where the less comfortable part of the relationship with a master begins.

For someone who genuinely wants to follow a path, there is an important difference between a living master and one who has passed away. A master who has passed away can be a great source of inspiration. His words can accompany someone throughout a lifetime. But he can no longer answer you. He cannot tell you: “There, you have misunderstood.”

He cannot point out that you are changing his teaching to make it better fit your preferences. He cannot correct you when you are convinced that you are right. Perhaps this is also why dead masters are often easier to love than living ones. There is something in human beings that does not much like being contradicted.

With a master who has passed away, we can choose the phrases that suit us, interpret the others and gradually build a spirituality to our own measure. A living master can sometimes remind us that it is not the path that must adapt to us. It is we who must walk.

Some people therefore prefer to create their own path. A little yoga taken from here, a meditation found somewhere else, a few Buddhist ideas, some psychology, a quotation from Jesus, two sentences from Lao Tzu, a few notions of Vedānta: everyone then composes a sadhana according to their own tastes.

The problem is not that these elements are bad. The problem is that the one making the choices is also the one who should be called into question by the practice. The mind becomes at once the disciple, the master, the judge and the referee of its own progress. How could it easily choose what truly disturbs it?

An authentic sadhana is not meant to reinforce our old identity. Little by little, it allows us to put that identity back in its proper place. This is what Jesus was expressing when he spoke to Nicodemus about the need to be born again in spirit. To be reborn to what we truly are, the “old man” must gradually cease to govern our existence.

This is difficult for vanity, for that mechanism which “Krishna” called the false ego. If we decide for ourselves everything our practice should be, it is very easy to keep what suits us and abandon what disturbs us.

The guru is also there for this reason: to prevent us from gradually turning the path into a reflection of ourselves.

One question remains: how can we recognise a true guru and distinguish him from someone who merely adopts the appearance of one? Jesus said: “You will recognise the tree by its fruits.” So what are the fruits of a guru?

A true guru is not recognised by his clothes, his title, his origins, his charisma, the number of his disciples or the extraordinary stories told about him. He is recognised first by what he teaches, by the sadhana he transmits and by the fruits that this practice bears in those who observe it.

Does this sadhana make the disciple more conscious? Does it help him inwardly know what texts can only describe? Does it help him gain distance from his false ego, find greater peace, simplicity and willingness to serve? Does the teaching lead inward, or towards the person of the master?

These are more useful questions than whether we like or dislike the word guru.

Some people come to a guru only to receive the essential techniques. Then they leave, and the guru may never hear from them again, rather like a driving instructor who does not regularly hear from everyone he has taught to drive. That is quite a long way from indoctrination.

Others remain disciples because they have understood that receiving the techniques was only the beginning. Meditation allows us to find within ourselves the knowledge that is not learned. Sadhana allows us to live in accordance with it. And satsang helps the disciple keep his direction as he walks.

That, ultimately, is what a guru can be for.

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