The Guru is Dead 👳🏾‍♂️

So some time ago, the great German philosopher Nietzsche said that God is dead. And those who hear that line and have heard it posted on social media, when they see it out of context, it sounds something quite bizarre. Because God cannot die. Because if there is a God—if there is an all-powerful, all-knowing, benevolent God—then by its own nature it cannot die.

So once you kind of delve deeper into the broader philosophical framework, you start to understand what it could mean to you. It means that God as a concept, as you come to understand it—that God in your head—has to die for you to be anywhere near understanding what it really means. Because the word “God” is like a tainted word, with our misconceptions, with our wars, with our blood, with our fear. But God is so much more than that.

So the only way to get closer to God is to remove and destroy your idea in your head of what God is. Because it’s an imagined understanding of what God is, based on man’s word, based on our limited understanding, based on the limited use of our intellect. And God, of course, is far beyond any of that.

So only when you destroy your idea of what God is are you perhaps on the path towards truly understanding and feeling what God is.

And the guru, for me, is the same. You have to kill this idea of what the guru is inside your head. And this is the modern yoga practitioner. We tend to think of the guru as the person that’s going to lead us to the promised land, when in reality a guru—a wise teacher—is just someone who’s recycling something that they’ve heard. They perhaps present it in a more articulate way, in a way we haven’t quite heard before. They put a unique presentation on it, and we start thinking that this person is going to lead us to the path.

When in reality, a guru is someone who shines the light for you to find your own way. And this idea has been lost. And I think only when we destroy the idea of what a guru is are we on our path towards true understanding.

Someone will say to me, “Oh, but I read so-and-so said this, and this person said that, and Sadhguru said this, and Ram Dass said that.” And I’m like, that doesn’t mean that you have to take what these people say as authoritative. It’s supposed to make you think and question, but it’s not meant to dictate how you feel or what direction you’re in.

We put people on a pedestal, especially in the yoga world. Especially when you’re a yoga practitioner. You see anyone from the East with any type of authority, and out of respect, you tend not to question that guru or that teacher. Sadhguru being a prime example—in India, everything he says is gospel to many. Where in reality, he’s just trying to get you to think more through his words rather than saying, “This is my way.”

But then, in fairness, there are also many things which are subservient in Sadhguru’s tradition. This is how you sit. This is how you meditate. You must turn your hands. You must lift your chin. Everything becomes so subservient, and it becomes near impossible for us to move away from that. And we start to think that the guru is the be-all, end-all.

If you have an image of your guru in your studio, if you have a guru ideal in your head, if there is one particular person whose philosophical framework you follow and believe in, I believe the only way you will find true awakening of who you are and how you fit into the world is to destroy that idea of what a guru means.

And only then do you really come to understand that a guru’s one-liners are designed just to help you see the path for yourself.

Always remember, a guru’s and a teacher’s one-liner is just a recycled line from something they’ve read. There’s very little original thought. Everything is just recycled from what someone else said. And in the yoga world, I see everything as just a recycling of the works of the great Swami Vivekananda in 1900.

Summary – The Path Was Never Mine to Lead

There’s a story about Khalil Gibran (author of The Prophet) that has always stayed with me.

At the height of his influence, when his poetry and philosophy began to attract seekers from all over the world, a young admirer/student decided to follow him. He believed Gibran had found something—some great truth—and he wanted to walk the same path. Day after day, the follower trailed him, watching, learning, hoping.

One day, as they walked in silence, Gibran suddenly stopped. He turned around and said, “I owe you an apology. Before I met you, I believed I was on the path. But ever since you began following me, I’ve been trying to impress you, and in doing so, I’ve lost my way.”

To me, that’s the essence of this whole conversation. A true teacher doesn’t walk ahead of you. They walk beside you. And if they’re worthy of the name, they’ll remind you that your own feet are the only ones that can touch your path.

And then there’s a Sufi story of the great Mullah Nasruddin that I remember from my childhood. The philosophical message has only really spoken to me over the past few years.

One day, Mullah is seen outside his house on all fours, frantically searching for something under a streetlamp. A neighbour comes by and asks, “Mullah, what have you lost?”

“My key,” he replies.

So the neighbour joins him in the search. After a long while, the neighbour asks, “Are you sure you lost it here?”

Nasruddin calmly replies, “Oh no, I lost it inside the house.”

“Then why are you looking out here!?” the neighbour exclaims.

“Because the light is better out here,” says Nasruddin.

And that’s what many of us do with gurus. We look for the answers outside, where the light is easier, clearer, more seductive. But the truth—the real key—is always somewhere darker, more uncomfortable. It’s inside. No guru, however clever, can hand it to you. At best, they hold a torch to remind you where not to look.

There’s also a subtler danger here—one worth naming.

When we project authority, holiness, or purity onto a guru, it creates an imbalance. That psychological projection doesn’t just put someone on a pedestal—it gives away our power. And with that comes the risk of disappointment, disillusionment, or even abuse, especially in spiritual or teacher-student circles where questioning is discouraged. I touched on this already in the way modern gurus instruct devotees to sit, breathe, and think in very specific and prescribed ways. That’s where reverence starts becoming submission. It’s not always sinister, but it is something to be aware of. The line between devotion and dependency is a thin one.

The guru isn’t meant to be a lighthouse we cling to. They're just a flare in the night, reminding us to sail.

The rest is up to us.

Zahir Akram - Eternal Seeker

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