When the Ego Dresses as a Monk

We often believe that the spiritual life protects us from the false ego. Yet it can very well take over the search for God, meditation, humility or awakening, becoming more subtle and more difficult to recognise. When it learns the language of spirituality, the false ego simply changes clothes: it dresses as a monk.

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The Trap of the Spiritual Ego

We often believe that the spiritual life protects us from the false ego. Yet it can very well take over the search for God, meditation, humility or awakening, becoming more subtle and more difficult to recognise. When it learns the language of spirituality, the false ego simply changes clothes: it dresses as a monk.

In other texts, I have spoken about the ego and the false ego. The spiritual ego deserves special attention because it naturally appears in spiritual life as soon as the false ego takes over the search for God, truth, awakening or knowledge.

Before going any further, we need to recall the difference between the ego and the false ego. Many seekers confuse the two and consider the ego an enemy they should get rid of. Yet the ego is not bad in itself.

The ego is a Grace. It is linked to the soul when it incarnates, so that the soul can be conscious of itself, say “I” and have free will. I like to compare this union to that of algae and fungus which, together, form lichen. Thanks to the ego, the incarnated soul can experience itself as an individual. This individualisation has a purpose: to allow the soul to return, in complete freedom and full awareness, to its origin. For this, it needs the ego.

The false ego is something else. Because this concept is little known, it is usually the ego that is blamed for what actually belongs to the false ego: vanity, pretension, selfishness, the excessive importance we give ourselves and identification with what we believe ourselves to be.

The Bhaktimàrga says: “The false ego is the fruit of nescience.” This nescience is not simply a lack of certain information. It is the absence of that knowledge which cannot be learned from books.

When consciousness no longer knows what it is, it identifies with what it perceives most easily: the body, the mind, memories, desires, personality, ideas and concepts.

Then the false ego appears. The individual no longer simply says “I”, which is natural; they believe themselves to be everything that comes after it: “I am this”, “I am that”, “I think this way”, “I am worth this much”, “I own this”, “I know that”.

The more consciousness knows itself and distinguishes what it is from what passes through the mind, the less hold the false ego has. This does not mean that it disappears immediately. It can even become extremely subtle.

Nor does this mean that the false ego is outside the order of Creation. It too has its place in this divine play in which the incarnated soul takes part. It is part of what the soul must go through, discern and overcome in order to return to its origin in full awareness.

This is where the spiritual ego appears. It is not a new kind of ego: it is the false ego that has learned the language of spirituality.

So far, I have spoken of the false ego as if it were a character. This is not entirely accidental. The way it works can give the impression of a cunning intelligence, capable of adapting and changing masks. Traditions have often given a name to this power that leads us astray: the Evil One, the Tempter, Māra, the devil.

Does something corresponding to these figures really exist independently of our mind? I do not know. I have no reason to say that it does, but neither do I have any reason to rule out that possibility completely. In any case, there is no need to settle the question in order to understand what follows.

Whether it is merely a mechanism of obscured, diverted consciousness, or whether there is something more behind it, the way it works is the same: it diverts attention from what could dispel confusion.

As long as someone seeks fulfilment exclusively in external things, possessions, distractions, ambitions and desires, the false ego has little need to become more subtle. Consciousness remains occupied with the surface of things and looks no further. This is a choice of life, and everyone has free will.

Some people are not satisfied with this surface. They seek something deeper. They sense that there is a truth beyond what the senses reveal, they seek God, peace, freedom, or simply an answer to that strange question: why am I alive?

So, if we continue to personify the false ego, we could say that it changes strategy. Since it cannot prevent the spiritual search, it dresses as a monk. It no longer says: “Do not seek God.” It says: “Very well, let us seek God!” It no longer necessarily fights spirituality; it takes it over. It turns the inner search into a new identity.

The individual is no longer simply someone: they become a seeker, yogi, meditator, mystic, initiate, or someone who believes they are on the verge of awakening, or even claims to be awakened.

From that point on, the accessories can multiply: incense, salt lamps, mantras, special clothes, stacked stones, bamboo, indoor fountains, special diets, difficult postures, learned speeches and exotic concepts, along with the appropriate vocabulary. It no longer makes us say “hello”, but “namaste” or “I love us”.

There is obviously nothing wrong with saying “namaste”, “I love us”, using incense, being vegetarian, or owning a bamboo fountain. The problem begins when we confuse these things with spirituality itself, when they become the outward signs of a spiritual character we have created for ourselves, or when they end up replacing full awareness.

The spiritual ego loves signs that allow it to recognise itself. We can become detached from our possessions while remaining deeply attached to the image of someone who has become detached from their possessions.

The false ego turned spiritual is a formidable guide, precisely because it speaks the language the seeker wants to hear. As soon as we mistake the false ego for ourselves, its suggestions are taken to be our own will. It can then influence our thoughts, concepts, choices and even the way we practise.

It can therefore lead the seeker into spiritual dead ends, filled with concepts, theories, invisible hierarchies, powers, subtle worlds, extraordinary experiences and goals so complicated that a whole lifetime can be spent pursuing them.

The more imaginary the goal, the more convenient it is: no one will ever be able to verify that it has been reached.

A spirituality can thus become extremely learned while leading us away from what is essential. We can know all about chakras, subtle bodies, planes of existence, past lives, ascended masters, sacred texts and Sanskrit terms, and still remain completely estranged from ourselves.

The spiritual ego can even use humility as a disguise and distort it. It can say: “I am nothing”, “God is everything”, “I have no ego”, with considerable inner satisfaction. Jesus was already warning against this staging of spiritual practice when, speaking about fasting, he advised people not to look gloomy in order to show others that they were fasting (Matthew 6:16–18).

It can also mistake guilt for humility, self-contempt for detachment, rigidity for discipline, and emotional exaltation for an experience of God.

It would be very comfortable to believe that the spiritual ego concerns only “false spiritualities”. That would already be doing it a favour. It can appear at the very heart of an authentic practice. It can accompany meditation, service, Observance, prayer or any sadhana.

All it takes is for practice to become a means of comparison: “I meditate more than he does”, “I understand better”, “I have been here longer”, “I am more advanced”, “I feel more”, “I am a true disciple”.

At that point, even a right practice can feed something that is not right. We no longer practise only to return within; we also begin to watch ourselves practising. This is one of the most subtle traps: turning our path towards God into a new way of admiring ourselves.

A spirituality does not become true because it is ancient, popular, little known, exotic or surrounded by sacred writings. Nor does it become true because only a few people follow it. The number of followers proves nothing.

There is, however, a much more interesting criterion: what does this spirituality actually produce in those who practise it?

A true spirituality leads inward. It helps us detach from concepts, gradually simplifies the way we see things, and brings greater peace, clarity and harmony. It does not necessarily make life easy; it makes consciousness less confused.

It does not inflate a person with spiritual knowledge. Rather, it allows them to see how many things they thought they knew were only ideas. It helps the old man die, in spirit, so that a new person may appear, simpler, able to enter the Kingdom like a child.

A false spirituality, or a true spirituality that has become lifeless, often does the opposite: it adds layers of beliefs, certainties, interpretations and identities.

Books are not the problem. A book can point in a direction. The problem begins when the written word replaces living experience and when we believe we know a reality simply because we know the words used to speak about it.

There is another difficulty as well: when the person who spoke those words is no longer there, no one can ask them what they really meant. The mind can then interpret, comment on and make the text say almost anything it wants. The living word easily becomes material for concepts.

At that point, the map replaces the territory.

How can we escape the spiritual ego? Certainly not by deciding that we will no longer have one. It would still be the spiritual ego making that decision, and it might soon become very proud of having got rid of itself.

We should instead return again and again to direct experience, to the awareness of what is there before the mind begins commenting. To look at what is happening within without immediately trying to explain it, classify it or use it to create a flattering image of ourselves.

True spirituality does not consist in becoming someone spiritual. It consists, gradually, in no longer needing that character. The spiritual ego loves to talk about light. It likes to know its names, degrees and properties. But darkness does not disappear because it has learned a great deal about light. It disappears when we recognise, within ourselves, that the light is there.

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