Under the Digital Spell - A Vedantic Critique of the Internet

We are living in the most connected era in human history—connected, that is, to content. Never before have so many people had access to so much: knowledge, entertainment, opinion, advice, distraction. At any given moment, we can listen to world leaders, watch a tutorial, argue with strangers, or scroll through images from a war zone. And yet, despite this abundance, the human mind has never been so scattered, so restless, so easily led.

To witness modern life is to watch a silent ritual of devotion: heads bowed not in prayer, but in submission to a screen. On subways, in restaurants, even while walking down the street—everywhere, a world of glowing rectangles asking us to buy something or to look at someone. These are the two sacred mantras of the digital age: “Buy.” “Look at me.”

It would be a mistake to see this as simply a technological shift. The internet is not just a tool. It is a psychological mirror, an emotional stimulant, and a spiritual trap. It is samsara, leveled up. A living expression of maya—the cosmic spell of appearance, distraction, and misidentification.

And yet, like all of maya, the internet is not evil. It simply reflects our tendencies—our vasanas, our gunas, our endless longing to be more, have more, be seen more. The tragedy is not that the mirror exists. The tragedy is that we believe what we see in it.

This essay is not a call to reject the internet. It is a call to see it clearly. Using the timeless lens of Vedanta, we will explore how the digital world shapes the mind, strengthens the false self, and keeps us bound—often without our even knowing it.

We’ll look closely at how the internet interacts with the three guṇas, how it thrives on attention as egoic currency, and how it quietly erodes the very clarity required for freedom.

Vedanta says that liberation begins with four things: discrimination, dispassion, discipline, and the desire for freedom. These are the very qualities the internet works hardest to dissolve. But the spell can be broken. And the first step is to notice that we’re under one.

Samsara, Upgraded: The Internet as Maya

In the Vedantic view, samsara is not a place, but a process—the cycle of becoming, driven by ignorance and desire. It’s what happens when we forget who we are and chase meaning in things that never quite satisfy. In that sense, the internet isn’t separate from samsara—it is its fastest and most seductive expression.

Where past generations might have wandered through life’s illusions gradually, today we swipe through them in seconds. The internet offers an ever-refreshing stream of content—each piece promising connection, insight, importance, validation. But like all of maya, it never delivers what it promises. It simply presents another form, another name, another craving.

You can chase knowledge, but never arrive at wisdom. You can connect with thousands, and still feel alone. You can build an identity, refine it, project it—and still not know who you are. The scroll is the new wheel of karma: endless, compulsive, and always turning.

Even the spiritual seeker is not exempt. We tell ourselves we’re learning, growing, researching—but how often is it just scrolling in a different disguise? Even “spiritual content” can become spiritual entertainment: a clever quote here, a guru meme there, a debate that tries to paint the other guy in a corner and award the winner with the most "up" votes. The internet doesn’t oppose samsara—it accelerates it, decorates it, and distracts us from ever questioning it.

The House of Mirrors

If samsara is the scroll, then the internet is the house of mirrors through which we move—looking not for truth, but for a reflection that feels like us.

Every post, every image, every video reflects something back: an opinion to agree with, a body to compare to, a persona to envy or admire. We’re not just consuming information—we’re constantly comparing, judging, and measuring ourselves against what we see. But like a carnival mirror, nothing we see online is quite real. The tragedy is that we still believe it.

This is the deeper trap. We don’t only get lost in the content—we get lost in ourselves as we appear through the content. The ego, the ahamkara, finds endless opportunity online to build its case: Look at me. Approve of me. Fear for me. Argue with me. Desire me.

And the system rewards it. Attention becomes a form of social currency. Influence becomes identity. The more visible we are, the more real we feel. The ego doesn’t need to be liked to survive—it just needs to be seen.

Some of the most prominent public figures of our time—Donald Trump, Elon Musk, Kim Kardashian—are not admired for their substance, but for their visibility. They dominate by generating constant attention. Whether adored or despised, they exist online in bold relief, while others dissolve into the feed.

This dynamic is not limited to celebrities or politicians. It is baked into the architecture of digital life. Even among those who seek truth, there is subtle pressure to be known, to be followed, to speak rather than to listen.

Influencers emerge even in the realm of non-duality—some sincere, some lost in the same spell they claim to reveal. We look at their curated expressions and forget: this is still a mirror. It might be a calm one, a beautiful one, a spiritual one—but it is still a reflection, not the Self.

The mind grows tired trying to maintain its image across platforms, tired keeping up with the projections of others. But instead of turning inward, we double down. More engagement. More commentary. More being seen. And the more we look into the mirror, the less we remember who is doing the looking.

The Gunas Online: A Spiritual Psychology

Vedanta teaches that the mind is shaped by three qualities—sattva, rajas, and tamas. These gunas are not moral categories, but forces in motion. They color perception, influence behavior, and shape the texture of our inner life. The internet doesn’t create these forces—it amplifies them.

And unlike other environments, the internet has been designed to pull the mind outward, to stimulate, to seduce. In other words, it is a space dominated by rajas and tamas.

Sattva is present too—but it’s fragile, fleeting, and often co-opted. What begins as a quiet search for insight can quickly turn into overconsumption, distraction, or identity reinforcement.

Here’s how each guna tends to manifest online:

Rajas – Restlessness and Stimulation

• Entry point: Curiosity, ambition, boredom, fear of missing out

• Behavior: Multitasking, link-hopping, endless checking, obsessive research

• Effect: Agitation, scattered attention, craving for novelty

• Illusion: “I’m learning. I’m keeping up. I’m doing something important.”

• Reality: Motion without depth. The mind becomes fragmented, not focused.

Rajas keeps us moving, but never lets us arrive. It creates a hunger for stimulation and rewards shallow engagement. Most social platforms are optimized for rajasic minds—quick updates, bold colors, dopamine hits, and click-bate. Even outrage becomes addictive.

Tamas – Numbness and Escapism

• Entry point: Fatigue, loneliness, depression, disinterest in the world

• Behavior: Binge-watching, endless scrolling, pornography, conspiracy dives

• Effect: Heaviness, dullness, confusion, emotional fog

• Illusion: “I’m relaxing. I need this. It helps me cope.”

• Reality: The mind is not resting—it’s retreating into inertia.

Tamas pulls us under. It numbs without healing. After hours online in a tamasic state, we don’t feel restored—we feel more disconnected than before. We forget how to be alone without distraction.

Sattva – Clarity and Stillness

• Entry point: Genuine inquiry, beauty, reverence, inner alignment

• Behavior: Listening to teachings, reading contemplative works, engaging calmly

• Effect: Lightness, perspective, inspiration, brief moments of insight

• Illusion: “This is spiritual. I’m growing. This is harmless.”

• Reality: Sattva is a doorway—but it, too, is within prakriti. It must be used, not clung to.

Sattva can be found in a quiet talk, a simple teaching, a beautiful image. But even here, it is easy to fall back into rajas: one video leads to another, one insight becomes a dozen tabs. Or it falls into tamas: we consume passively, without reflection. The same content can express any guna—what matters is the quality of the mind engaging with it.

To observe the gunas at play is already a form of liberation. You don’t need to stop using the internet entirely—but you do need to see what is driving you.

Breaking the Spell: The Four Qualifications

If the internet is a form of maya—a field of appearances that bind the mind—then the first step is not rejection, but recognition. Vedanta doesn’t tell us to run away from the world. It tells us to see it clearly, and in that clarity, let go of false identification.

This clarity begins with four essential qualifications known as the sadhana chatushtaya. They are not religious vows or moral rules. They are inner capacities—mental muscles—that allow the seeker to remain steady even in a world of constant noise.

And it is precisely these capacities that the internet erodes, unless we cultivate them intentionally.

1. Viveka – Discrimination

Viveka is the ability to distinguish between what is lasting and what is fleeting, what is essential and what is noise.

• Online, viveka means noticing: Is this useful? Or am I being pulled?

• It means understanding that more information does not mean more insight, and that clarity often arrives through subtraction, not addition.

• It also means remembering: What I see on this screen is not reality. It is a projection.

Without viveka, we become overwhelmed by the appearances. With viveka, we begin to see through them.

2. Vairagya – Dispassion

Vairagya is not cold detachment. It is freedom from compulsive attraction—a quiet strength that allows us to enjoy what is present without needing to cling to it.

• The internet thrives on addiction—desire for attention, fear of missing out, needing to be seen or affirmed.

• Vairagya allows us to pause before acting. To scroll less. To watch less. To care less about being visible.

• It is not the rejection of pleasure, but the refusal to be enslaved by it.

Vairagya is not “don’t enjoy”—it is “don’t need.”

3. Shatsampatti – The Six Inner Disciplines

This includes:

• Shama (control of the mind)

• Dama (control of the senses)

• Uparati (withdrawal from unhealthy activity)

• Titiksha (forbearance)

• Shraddha (trust in truth)

• Samadhana (focused attention)

Each one is under assault in the digital world. The mind is constantly provoked, the senses constantly tempted, attention scattered, restraint discouraged. The world says: engage more, speak more, watch more, scroll more.

The inner disciplines say: be still. In the age of endless distraction, discipline becomes sacred.

4. Mumukshutva – The Desire for Freedom

None of the above matter if this one is missing. Mumukshutva is the quiet fire within—the sense that something essential has been forgotten, and the longing to return to it.

Most people feel this faintly but override it with activity. The internet is especially good at keeping this desire buried under stimulation and novelty. But for the one who truly seeks freedom, even brief clarity becomes precious. A moment of silence. A glimpse of longing for what does not change. The longing to no longer chase, no longer become, but simply be.

The spell only begins to break when the desire for truth becomes stronger than the desire for stimulation.

A Digital Sadhana: Managing the Gunas

Renunciation isn’t required. What’s needed is clarity. And discipline. Not the kind that says, “never use the internet,” but the kind that says, “use it consciously, and stop when the mind begins to fade.”

The internet isn’t going away. But neither is the Self. And if we are willing to observe the gunas at play, to pause before compulsion takes hold, to anchor the mind in sattva where possible, then even our digital life can become a form of sadhana—a field of inner work.

Here are a few simple but powerful ways to turn internet use into spiritual practice:

1. Begin with Intention

Before opening a browser or app, ask:

• Why am I here?

• What guna is driving this action?

  If you don’t know, wait a moment. Clarity may arise.

2. Respect Inner Cycles

Notice how your mind feels before, during, and after time online.

• Does it feel light, grounded, and inwardly clear?

• Or dull, agitated, and externally fixated?

This awareness will do more to transform your behavior than any rule.

3. Design for Sattva

Structure your digital space to support calm:

• Remove apps you don’t need.

• Use grayscale or minimalist modes.

• Create bookmarks for quality sources instead of feeding algorithms.

Sattva thrives in simplicity. Don’t wait for the platforms to fix themselves—create your own oasis within them.

4. Take Conscious Breaks

Just as we fast from food, we can fast from input. Begin with one hour, one evening, one day. Notice what arises. Boredom? Restlessness? Peace?

The silence left behind often reveals how much was unnecessary.

5. Cultivate Shraddha

Trust that less is more. Trust that your value does not depend on visibility. Trust that the deepest insights come in stillness, not in speed.

Shraddha doesn’t mean rejecting technology—it means remembering that truth is never found in pixels. It is found in the one who sees them.

In a world where attention is currency, withholding your attention can be a sacred act.

The point of sadhana is not to become perfect. It is to remember who you are—and to live in ways that support that remembrance. If the internet is to serve us, it must not become our master. If it is to inform, it must not deform.

Vedanta doesn’t tell us to reject the world. It tells us to see it clearly, use it wisely, and root ourselves in what doesn’t change.

Conclusion – From Screen to Self

The internet is not evil. It is not even the problem. Like the world itself, it reflects what we bring to it. What it does, however—brilliantly, subtly, and relentlessly—is pull the mind outward. It keeps us tangled in form, in opinion, in craving, in the self that must always be seen.

In this way, the internet is not separate from samsara—it is its most polished extension. A realm of names and forms, ever-shifting, ever-promising, never delivering. What makes it dangerous is not its content, but its capacity to nourish the false self without our noticing. To keep us hungry, distracted, and constantly becoming.

But freedom has never depended on the world becoming quiet. It has always depended on the mind becoming clear.

Vedanta doesn’t ask us to live in silence. It asks us to remember who we are in the noise. It asks us to notice when we’re under a spell—and to stop mistaking reflection for reality.

We are not our feed, our thoughts, our impulses. We are not the ones who crave attention, nor the ones scrolling to disappear. We are the witness. The one who sees. The one who knows, without needing to be known. The Self cannot be streamed.

The path begins not with quitting the internet, but with dispassion toward it. Not by fleeing content, but by seeing through it. And in seeing clearly—even just once—the spell begins to break.