One of the first things many of us do in the morning is look in a mirror. How do I look today? What do I see? Perhaps someone who is tired. Or awake. Or old. Or beautiful. Or fat. Throughout the day, any mirror we pass—shop windows, phone screens, even a puddle—tempts us to steal a quick glance. Maybe adjust something here or there. Surveys suggest we do this, on average, ten times a day.
But what exactly are we seeing? A reflection of reality—or a reflection of our thoughts?
J.K. Rowling makes intriguing use of our reflecting habits with the Mirror of Erised in Harry Potter. Harry, exploring Hogwarts under his cloak of invisibility, stumbles upon an ornate, standing mirror. When he looks into it, he sees his mother and father—the parents he lost as a baby. Dumbledore explains that the mirror shows “the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts.” The word Erised, read backward, is desire. According to Dumbledore, the happiest person in the world would look in the mirror and see only their true self, just as they are.
In the story, Harry and Ron see what they most long for. Dumbledore, when pressed, claims to see only a pair of thick wool socks. Was he hiding his true vision? Or had he moved beyond longing, at peace with himself and the world?
But even Dumbledore’s wisdom would not have convinced eighteenth century German philosopher Immanuel Kant.
The mirror does not show us who we are, only an appearance—a phenomenon, to use Kant’s language. Kant argued that we never perceive reality as it is (noumenon), only as it appears to us through the filter of our senses, cognition, and interpretation. What we see in the mirror, then, is not ourselves, but a projection shaped by our thoughts, emotions, and social conditioning.
This explains why two people can look at the same reflection and see different things. A confident person sees presence; an anxious person sees flaws. A child sees youth; an aging adult sees loss. The image in the glass is not objective—it is colored by expectation, memory, and mood.
Cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) explores this idea in practical terms. Our thoughts shape our emotions, which in turn shape our perceptions. A negative self-image—a belief that we are unworthy, unattractive, or aging badly—filters what we see. The mind is an interpreter, not a neutral observer. A distorted thought can lead to a distorted perception. CBT suggests that by challenging these thoughts, we can shift how we see ourselves. If we change the thought, we change the reflection.
But Kant might push this even further: even the most “accurate” perception remains a perception. The true self—the noumenal self—exists beyond the reflection.
Paul, in the New Testament, uses the mirror as a metaphor: “G*d is Spirit… all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of G*d as reflected in a mirror.” Now, there’s a thought. I wake up, step into the bathroom, look in the mirror—another day older, bags under the eyes, a few more gray hairs. But what if I saw something else? What if, instead of flaws, I saw the glory of G*d?
Could it be?
To see the divine reflected in our own faces may require rethinking G*d—not as something distant, “out there,” but as Spirit within. The Psalmist sang, “The heavens proclaim the glory of G*d, the skies display G*d’s handiwork.”* I once heard that as a hymn to a creator who stood apart, admiring their work. Now, I hear it differently. The Psalmist isn’t pointing to something external but to G*d as Spirit within all that exists. Everything reflects the divine because everything is infused with Spirit—including you and me.
The mirror reveals an image, but not the truth. Our deepest reality is not in the glass, but beyond it.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall…”
Perhaps the truest reflection is not what we see, but how we see.
+Ab. Andy