I AM and the Mirror of the Self: Navigating Objectivity, Subjectivity, and the Spiritual Ego

Spirituality has always lived at the crossroads of two powerful forces: the objective reality of the Divine and the subjective experience of the seeker. Every tradition, every mystic, every philosopher has wrestled with the tension between what is universally true and what is personally felt. This tension becomes especially vivid when we return to the moment in Exodus 3:14 when the Divine names itself simply as “I AM.” That declaration stands as one of the most profound statements in the history of spiritual thought. It is not a metaphor, not a symbol, not a psychological projection. It is a claim about the nature of Being itself. Yet the moment a human being encounters that truth, it becomes filtered through the lens of the psyche, shaped by memory, culture, trauma, longing, and the developmental stage of the soul. The result is a paradox: the Divine is objective, but our experience of the Divine is always subjective. How we navigate that paradox determines whether our spirituality becomes a path of humility or a performance of superiority.

To understand this tension more clearly, it helps to look at the psychological frameworks that have shaped modern understandings of the self. Freud and Jung, though contemporaries, offered radically different visions of the psyche, and their ideas illuminate the roots of spiritual ego in distinct ways. Freud’s model of the ego is grounded in the mechanics of the mind. For him, the ego is the conscious mediator between instinctual drives, moral constraints, and social expectations. It is the part of the psyche that negotiates reality, manages impulses, and maintains a coherent sense of self. Freud’s ego is not inherently spiritual; it is pragmatic, defensive, and concerned with survival. When spirituality becomes entangled with the Freudian ego, it often manifests as a need to control one’s image, to appear enlightened, to manage how others perceive one’s spiritual progress. Spirituality becomes a kind of psychological armor, a way to avoid vulnerability or uncertainty. In this framework, spiritual ego is essentially a performance, a curated identity designed to protect the self from discomfort or exposure.

Jung, however, shifts the conversation entirely. For Jung, the ego is simply the center of consciousness, not the whole of the self. The real complexity lies in the unconscious, particularly in what he called the shadow—the repository of everything we deny, repress, or refuse to acknowledge about ourselves. The shadow contains not only our wounds and fears but also our unlived potential, our disowned strengths, and the truths we are not yet ready to face. Spiritual ego emerges in Jung’s framework when the ego inflates, mistaking its limited perspective for the whole truth. Instead of recognizing the vastness of the unconscious and the mystery of the Divine, the ego claims authority, superiority, or special access to spiritual insight. It refuses to integrate the shadow because doing so would require humility, self-examination, and the willingness to confront one’s own limitations. Shadow work, therefore, becomes essential to dismantling spiritual ego. It forces the seeker to acknowledge that their subjective experience of the Divine is not the Divine itself. It restores proportion, reminding the ego that it is not the center of the universe but one small point of awareness within a much larger field of Being.

This distinction between the objective and the subjective is not new. Long before Freud and Jung, Plato grappled with the nature of truth, perception, and self-deception. In the Allegory of the Cave, he describes prisoners who mistake shadows on a wall for reality. They believe the flickering images are the whole truth because they have never seen the world beyond the cave. When one prisoner escapes and encounters the light, he realizes how limited his previous understanding was. But when he returns to the cave to share what he has learned, the others reject him. They cling to their shadows because the truth threatens their sense of certainty. This allegory is a perfect metaphor for spiritual ego. When we mistake our personal experiences, insights, or interpretations for universal truth, we are essentially clinging to shadows. We elevate our subjective perceptions to the level of objective reality, forgetting that the Divine is far greater than any single viewpoint. Plato’s warning is clear: the danger is not in having a subjective experience but in believing that our subjective experience is the whole truth.

Plato’s other famous statement, “The unexamined life is not worth living,” reinforces this point. Self-inquiry is not optional on the spiritual path; it is essential. Without examination, the ego becomes rigid, defensive, and self-righteous. It begins to use spirituality as a way to avoid the very work that spirituality demands. The unexamined spiritual life becomes a breeding ground for superiority, judgment, and division. The examined spiritual life, by contrast, cultivates humility, curiosity, and compassion. It recognizes that every seeker is on a unique journey, shaped by their own history, wounds, and timing. It honors the fact that lessons arise when the soul is ready, not when others think they should.

This brings us back to Exodus 3:14. When the Divine says, “I AM,” it is making a statement about the nature of existence that transcends all human categories. It is not a claim that belongs to any one religion, culture, or individual. It is a declaration of pure Being, the ground of all that is. The moment we try to claim ownership of that truth—whether through doctrine, mystical experience, or personal revelation—we fall into spiritual ego. We confuse the objective reality of the Divine with our subjective encounter with it. We begin to believe that our way is the way, that our insight is the insight, that our path is the path. This is the root of spiritual hierarchy, the belief that some people are “more evolved” or “further along” than others. But the Divine does not measure progress the way humans do. The soul unfolds in its own season, guided by forces far deeper than conscious intention. Lessons arrive when the time is right, not when the ego demands them.

Understanding this distinction helps dissolve the need to judge others or ourselves. If the Divine is objective and unchanging, and our experiences are subjective and evolving, then no one can claim superiority. Every seeker is encountering the same truth through a different lens. Some lenses are clear, some are clouded, some are cracked, and some are still being formed. But the light shining through them is the same. The work is not to compare lenses but to keep polishing our own. This is where Freud and Jung converge in an unexpected way. Freud reminds us that the ego is always trying to protect itself, often through illusion or denial. Jung reminds us that the shadow contains the very material we need to grow. Together, they show us that spiritual ego is not a sign of failure but a sign of unfinished work. It is an invitation to deeper honesty, deeper humility, and deeper integration.

Plato’s insights reinforce this invitation. The journey out of the cave is not a one-time event but a lifelong process. We move from shadow to light, from illusion to truth, from ego to essence, again and again. Each time we think we have arrived, we discover another layer of the cave. Each time we believe we have grasped the truth, we realize we have only touched its surface. This is not a flaw in the spiritual path; it is the path. The Divine is infinite, and we are finite. Our understanding will always be partial, provisional, and evolving. The moment we forget this, spiritual ego takes root.

The challenge, then, is to hold objectivism and subjectivism together without collapsing one into the other. Objectivism without subjectivism becomes rigid, dogmatic, and disconnected from lived experience. Subjectivism without objectivism becomes chaotic, self-referential, and unmoored from truth. The balance lies in recognizing that the Divine is objective, but our access to it is subjective. We can honor the universality of “I AM” while also honoring the diversity of human experience. We can affirm that truth exists while acknowledging that no one perceives it perfectly. We can trust that every soul is guided, not by comparison or competition, but by an inner timing that is both mysterious and precise.

This perspective transforms how we relate to others on the spiritual path. Instead of judging someone as “behind” or “ahead,” we begin to see them as simply being where they are. Instead of assuming that our insights apply universally, we recognize that each person’s journey is shaped by their own history, wounds, and readiness. Instead of using spirituality to elevate ourselves, we use it to deepen our compassion. We stop trying to fix, correct, or enlighten others and start trusting the intelligence of their path. We recognize that the Divine is working in them just as surely as in us, even if their process looks different. This humility is not passive; it is reverent. It honors the sovereignty of the soul and the mystery of the Divine.

It also transforms how we relate to ourselves. When we understand that our experiences are subjective, we stop demanding perfection. We stop expecting constant clarity or certainty. We stop interpreting confusion or struggle as failure. Instead, we begin to see our own unfolding as natural, necessary, and guided. We learn to trust the timing of our growth, even when it feels slow or painful. We learn to welcome the shadow as a teacher rather than an enemy. We learn to recognize the ego’s defenses without condemning them. We learn to return, again and again, to the simple truth that we are not the source of our own awakening. We are participants in a process much larger than ourselves.

This is the heart of spiritual maturity: the ability to hold the vastness of the Divine alongside the limitations of the human. It is the capacity to say, “I know something, but I do not know everything. I have seen something, but I have not seen all. I have experienced something real, but it is not the whole of reality.” This humility does not diminish the power of spiritual experience; it protects it. It keeps us grounded, open, and teachable. It keeps us from turning our insights into idols. It keeps us aligned with the truth that the Divine is always more than we can imagine.

In the end, the tension between objectivism and subjectivism is not a problem to be solved but a mystery to be lived. The Divine is objective, eternal, and unchanging. Our encounters with the Divine are subjective, evolving, and incomplete. Spiritual ego arises when we confuse the two. Spiritual wisdom arises when we honor the difference. Exodus 3:14 stands as a reminder that the Divine simply is. Freud reminds us that the ego will always try to protect itself. Jung reminds us that the shadow must be integrated. Plato reminds us that we must examine our lives and question our perceptions. Together, they offer a map for navigating the spiritual path with humility, clarity, and compassion.

When we hold these teachings together, we begin to see that no one is ahead or behind. No one is more enlightened or less worthy. Every soul is unfolding in its own season, guided by forces deeper than conscious intention. Lessons arise when the time is right, not when the ego demands them. The work is not to judge, compare, or control but to witness, honor, and trust. The Divine remains the same. We are the ones who change. And that change, when approached with humility and courage, becomes the very path that leads us back to the truth of “I AM.”