Spirituality, ego and Logic: A Reflection

These days, I encounter numerous speakers discussing spirituality, often suggesting that it varies among individuals. However, I believe this is a misconception. Spirituality isn't segmented into Hindu, Muslim, Christian, or Buddhist categories; these are merely experiences framed by teachings from various masters. While the manifestations and interpretations of these experiences may differ, their core remains unified.

Just as the sun shines impartially on all, irrespective of individual perceptions, spirituality embodies a singular, undivided truth. Our minds might attempt to tint it with personal interpretations, but the essence remains unchanged. It's not about seeking something external; rather, it's about recognizing what's always been present. It's less about attainment and more about dissolving—dissolving illusions of separateness, the confines of identity, and the limits of perception. It's not about subscribing to a belief but about directly experiencing that which transcends experience itself.

Spirituality isn't confined to a specific historical period or culture. It is neither about the past nor the future; it resides in the eternal present. It is the silence preceding thought, the awareness observing all without judgment, the constant presence that persists as everything else fades. It can't be taught, only awakened. No amount of reasoning, debate, or study can substitute for its direct realization. Approaching it solely with logic limits the limitless; approaching it solely with faith reduces it to mere belief. It demands neither argument nor blind acceptance but a stillness where all illusions dissipate.

In the deepest sense, spirituality isn't separate from me. It is not something to attain, for I already embody it. It's not a goal, for it is never been absent. It is the very fabric of existence, and beyond even that. It's the truth before birth and after death, the source and the dissolution, the formless beyond the formed. It's not confined to scriptures, though they attempt to describe it. It's not in words, though they may point toward it. It's not in the intellect, though it may strive to comprehend it. To know spirituality isn't to define it but to merge into it.

As I perceive it, spirituality transcends faith, belief, and religious confines. It's not a collection of doctrines or rituals; it's not a personal viewpoint varying among individuals. It surpasses existence itself—beyond form, time, and all that the mind can grasp. It's the eternal truth, untouched by interpretation, beyond the reach of words and scriptures.

Attempting to express spirituality through language quickly reveals its futility. Words, no matter how refined, belong to the finite realm, while spirituality is infinite. Books may hint at it, philosophies may discuss it, but none can encapsulate it. It's not a subject to study; it's a reality to realize.

In my spiritual journey, ego and logic have always intrigued me. I have come to appreciate that what I call the ego isn't merely a mystical construct but can also be viewed scientifically as an emergent property of the brain. Neuroscience indicates that my sense of self arises from complex interactions among various brain networks, each contributing to how I perceive my identity and interact with the world.

Reflecting on the ego, I see it as the aspect of me that seeks identity, recognition, and validation. It defines itself through experiences, achievements, and attachments, shaping my self-perception. In its essence, the ego is neither good nor bad—it is simply a mechanism of self-awareness. However, when unchecked, it creates a rigid boundary between "me" and the rest of existence, fostering separation, pride, and resistance to growth.

Ego and pride, while often used interchangeably, differ in nuance. Ego is a sense of self-importance that, if unchecked, can lead to arrogance, while pride is a sense of satisfaction or accomplishment, often based on genuine achievements, which should lead to humility; otherwise, as the saying goes, pride comes before a fall.

Ego is both a necessity and a limitation. It provides an identity, a way to function in the world, but it also creates separation, division, and ultimately conflict—me versus others, the observer versus the observed. Clinging too tightly to this sense of self reinforces the perception of duality, obscuring the expansive reality beyond personal identity.

Observing the world around me, I find harmony in nature. Forests teem with diverse life forms, all coexisting in delicate balance. There's no struggle for dominance, no insatiable greed. Yet, humanity often disrupts this balance, driven by an excessive desire to own, control, and expand, forgetting that everything we grasp is transient and impermanent.

It is said that the more I have, the more I want, and that power corrupts. At the root of this is fear—the fear of loss, insignificance, and ultimately death. This fear underpins the ego, compelling me to build walls of identity and possession in an attempt to create a sense of permanence in an impermanent world.

Yet, I can't simply discard the ego, as it is part of my existence. In my spiritual journey, I've found that the ego isn't my enemy; it's a veil, a facade arising from the limitations imposed by my transient, time-bound form. If I try to fight it, it only grows stronger. But when I observe it, question it, and release its attachments, it begins to dissolve naturally.

This is where logic comes in—not as an obstacle but as a tool. When I question my existence and its transformations, I begin to see how everything I once considered permanent—relationships, societal roles, mistakes, achievements, and even my sense of fulfillment—has always been in flux. As I peel away these layers, much like an onion shedding its skin, I notice that what I thought was my identity starts dissolving. With each layer removed, I inch closer to an emptiness where nothing remains of what I once held as "me." As I delve deeper, I realize that I am not my name, not this body, and not the sum of my experiences. Everything I observe around me is filtered through my cognitive abilities, which are themselves limited and conditioned by time. The world as I perceive it is not an absolute reality but a shifting construct built on perception. My thoughts, emotions, and memories seem real in the moment, but they are fleeting, subject to change, and ultimately unreliable. The more I question, the more my perceptional identity begins to crumble, much like a house of cards collapsing or a balloon bursting and falling to the ground.

What surrounds me—the cosmos, the people I interact with, the circumstances I find myself in—is all perishable. Nothing holds still. Even the idea of "I" that I once clung to is just a temporary arrangement of thoughts and sensations. As I recognize this impermanence, I no longer find solid ground to stand on. The dissolving of the ego is not a loss but a liberation, a release from the illusion of separateness. And yet, in this dissolution, I do not find a void in the sense of absence but rather a vast, formless presence that remains when all else has been stripped away. It is not something my mind can grasp, nor something that can be named. It simply is.

The method of Neti Neti—"not this, not this"—has always fascinated me. It is an intellectual process, but more than that, it is a lived inquiry. When I ask, “Am I this body?” the answer is no, because the body changes. “Am I these thoughts?” No, because they come and go. “Am I my emotions?” No, because they fluctuate. The deeper I go into this negation, the closer I get to something that remains when everything else is stripped away. Logic takes me up to the edge of realization, but at some point, it leads to surrender. That which remains—the awareness that watches even the negation—is beyond logic. It is not something I grasp; it is something I become.

In the material world, logic is invaluable; it helps me navigate life with reason and efficiency. Logic has been my trusted companion, shaping my thoughts with precision and clarity. It has allowed me to question, explore, and seek coherence in my understanding of existence. However, when it comes to spirituality, I have learned that logic alone is insufficient because it is linear—a process that moves forward like a line with a beginning and an end, leading my mind to seek simple, sequential connections.

Beyond linear logic lies a realm of thought and systems that embrace non-linear, intuitive, and creative approaches, including non-linear thinking, quantum mechanics, and substructural logics like affine logic, which challenge the strict, sequential nature of reasoning. Spirituality transcends the limitations of logic and enters a space where paradoxes coexist—where nothingness and fullness, silence and sound, the finite and the infinite merge into one. Although my mind, bound by logic, often seeks definitive answers, the most profound spiritual truths are experiential, residing beyond the grasp of structured reasoning. The challenge I face is not to abandon logic, but to recognize its limitations and to allow intuition and direct experience to guide me where logic falls short.

In my journey, I have witnessed how ego and logic can both hinder and aid spiritual growth. The ego resists surrender, fearing the loss of individuality, while logic resists faith, demanding proof where none can be given. Yet I have also seen that when my ego is refined into self-awareness and my logic is expanded into higher wisdom, both can serve as powerful tools. When purified, my ego transforms into a conscious self that serves rather than controls; when deepened, my logic leads me to realize that true wisdom is not about having all the answers but about maintaining an openness to the unknown.

I strive to integrate both ego and logic into a balanced spiritual approach. By allowing my ego to become transparent rather than opaque and letting logic serve as a bridge rather than a barrier, I move closer to a state of awareness where I am neither lost in self-importance nor trapped by the limitations of reason. Instead, I find myself in a space where knowledge and surrender coexist, where the mind and soul are not in conflict but harmonize like the varied rhythms of a lush forest, a vibrant garden, a lively ocean, or a starlit sky.

As I continue with my everyday activities, my growing awareness gives rise to wisdom and intuition. I recognize that ego and logic are not contradictions to spirituality; they are essential steps along my journey. The ego can either be a prison or a doorway, and logic can either be a wall or a ladder. The key is to use them wisely, knowing that neither represents the final truth. When the time comes, I will let them go—not as a forced renunciation, but as a natural unfolding. What remains is silence, presence, and being, and in that, I find everything.

As I reflect further, I see that the ego, though often perceived as a hindrance, is also a part of the grand design. My ability to function in the world, to communicate, to engage with others—these are all shaped by the ego. At the same time, logic is what enables me to question my assumptions, to break free from conditioned thinking, and to move toward deeper understanding. Science tells me that my brain constructs my experience of self through intricate neural pathways, constantly reinforcing the illusion of individuality. Yet, the same logic that helps me understand this also reveals the impermanence of these constructs.

The deeper I go into this inquiry, the closer I come to recognizing that everything I have identified with—my roles, my accomplishments, my failures—are mere waves on the surface of an ocean. They rise and fall, but the ocean remains. When I stop clinging to the waves, I sink into the depth of what has always been present. In this stillness, I no longer seek to define myself, because there is nothing to define. There is only awareness, vast and silent.

My journey is not about rejecting the ego or denying the role of logic, but about seeing them for what they are—tools, not masters. When I use them wisely, they guide me. But when I become attached to them, they confine me. As I continue as a part of grand unfolding, I find that surrender is not a giving up, but a letting go. And in that letting go, I find that I was never separate to begin with.

In my spiritual journey, I have realized that dissolving the ego is not about destroying my sense of self but about expanding it beyond individual limitations. The more I let go of my attachment to my own image, the more I align with a deeper truth that is not bound by personal narratives.