Searching for signs of goodness

In Gaslighting for God: A Satirical Guide to Save Yourself from Spiritual Narcissists (January 2026, Lake Drive Books), I explore how, too often, spiritual leaders who touched so many souls proved to be not profound, but predatory. I cite the late Tibetan Buddhist spiritual leader and founder of Shambhala Buddhism Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche. He wrote in his seminal tome Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism, "Walking the spiritual path properly is a very subtle process; it is not something to jump into naively. There are numerous sidetracks which lead to a distorted, ego-centered version of spirituality; we can deceive ourselves into thinking we are developing spirituality when instead we are strengthening our egocentricity through spiritual techniques."

Yet his son, Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche, failed to practice what his father preached. Following Sakyong’s death in 2018, it became known that he had allegedly committed multiple abuses.That said, Chögyam Trungpa’s name still comes up frequently in the works of highly regarded, seemingly enlightened spiritual teachers.Without such praise, Shambhala Buddhism would not have grown into the international movement that it is today, and likely his son's abusive nature would not have spread as far as it did.

If such a spiritual thinker as Chögyam Trungpa can leave behind a legacy rife with abuse, just where do we go to find reliable signs of genuine goodness? Removing their works only serves to create a revisionist history. We cannot learn from past mistakes if they’ve been completely erased from the books (though, trust me, the abuse remains very much in the minds of those impacted). But exalting the work of unreliable guides without acknowledging the harm they’ve done does not serve justice either.

I experienced such a dilemma when looking over my book Jesus Died for This?: A Satirist's Search for the Risen Christ before its republication in early 2025. Even though I possess a very strong biblical B.S. detector, I realized the extent to which I’d been hoodwinked. Throughout the book, I referenced those whom I thought were peers and whose work I once praised. Their initial works about how to build better and more inclusive communities were truly groundbreaking and aligned with my spiritual sensibilities.

Every time I’d show up to one of their gatherings, they’d talk and talk and talk about their mission. I delighted in the possibilities I could see shimmering in their shiny faces of their growing throngs of followers. But over time, most lost their visionary way as they became drunk with the trappings afforded to them by fame. Once they got their shot in the media spotlight, they chose to align with those in power, including those guilty of a range of spiritual abuses. Unfortunately, a few of them used their newfound faith-based fame to commit abuses of their own.

Whenever I would bring up abuses in their midst, their peers and followers would parrot back phrases to me like "Be nice," "Stop acting jealous over their success" and "Why are you ruining the fun?" All their talk about co-creating a new kind of truly inclusive community proved to be a mirage. No amount of wishing can bring back the missional magic that drew me to their work in the first place.

In the same spirit, I’ve given up any hope that those political and spiritual leaders who cannot see beyond their own needs will ever learn how to extend genuine compassion towards others. This awareness allows me to forgive those who harmed me without expecting to regain any connection I thought we once had. Yes, I’d embrace such an authentic change of heart, but I no longer hold out hope for an actual sincere apology, knowing the odds of such a genuine reconciliation are akin to winning the lottery.

In Truth and Repair: How Trauma Survivors Envision Justice, Judith T. Herman brings up how many survivors yearn for a genuine apology:

They want the perpetrators to admit their crimes and take full responsibility, with remorse and without excuses, to recognize the suffering they have caused, and to show that they are willing to do whatever needs to be done to make amends. True apology also offers a promise, implicit or explicit, that the offender has undergone a moral awakening: that he is a changed man and will never repeat his crime. Genuine apologies are personal, they are emotional, and they create the possibility of repairing a relationship.

When the offender humbles himself to beg or pardon, the gesture represents a reversal of the power dynamic between victim and offender. The power to grant or withhold pardon belongs to the victim. Such gestures of humility go a long way to restoring the victim’s dignity and self-respect. They assuage feelings of helpless rage and bitterness that torment the victim, and often they call forth spontaneous feelings of forgiveness. Unfortunately, such full and genuine apologies are rare.

None of this “I’m sorry, but...” followed by whatever excuse, rationale, or reason the perpetrator can concoct to explain away to justify their injurious behavior. This includes shifting blame by saying, “I’m sorry you feel this way,” “Mistakes happen, nobody’s perfect,” or “I wouldn’t have done anything to you if you hadn’t let it happen,” as though the person being abused was somehow responsible for the scenario.

Instead, Herman means an authentic apology: both saying “I’m sorry” and then taking responsibility for what one did, including asking, “Is there anything I can do to make it better?” This is followed by actually making a concerted effort to change one’s behavior while also allowing the survivor to heal at their own pace.

Armed with Herman's wisdom, I think I found the answer to my question of how to address those spiritual leaders who turned from prophet to predator. First I need to address the past, for there was a time when their work proved to be healing and not harmful. They genuinely helped me and others in our spiritual journeys.

Next, I need to acknowledge that moment when our relationship shifted, when I realized they chose money over mission. This admission includes seeking justice when applicable, by bringing to light any wrongs this person may have committed in their quest for power. Along those lines, I am learning how to engage in civil conversations with those who have not had a similar realization and continue to support a given spiritual leader even after they became aware of abuses this person committed. I cannot open their eyes, but I can state the facts as they come to light. What they do with this information, or even our relationship in light of these developments, is beyond my control.

Finally, I confess that while I miss the magic this spiritual leader once inspired, I need to exit those situations that once brought me joy but I see now are infested with narcissistic energies. Should I receive the type of full genuine apology described by Herman, then perhaps we can discuss how to best move forward. But until then, I need to seek out those voices who can express compassion and empathy by curating spaces that truly welcome all. My soul and sanity will thank me.

These reflections were adapted from my forthcoming book Gaslighting for God: A Guide to Save Yourself from Spiritual Narcissists out on January 27, 2026 by Lake Drive Books.