Playing the Face Game: From Masks to Wholeness

One of the teachings that has stayed with me deeply is Douglas Harding’s idea of the “Face Game.” At first glance, it sounds like something lighthearted like a child’s pastime. But as I’ve sat with it, I see it as a profound map of how we grow, lose ourselves, and sometimes, if lucky, find our way back.

Harding reminds us that this isn’t a mistake. Learning to play the Face Game, learning to put on the masks, adopt identities, and see ourselves as others see us is an important stage of human development. The trouble comes when we cling to it too tightly, mistaking the mask for the whole of who we are.

The Five Stages of the Face Game

Harding, in conversation with Eric Berne of Games People Play, describes five stages of this journey:

1. The Infant – The newborn lives as “No-thing.” There is no separation. No self-image. Just pure being.

2. The Young Child – Here, glimpses of “I” arise. The child begins to know himself both from the inside (spacious, faceless capacity) and from the outside (a face others recognize).

3. The Social Self – The masks solidify. The inside view is forgotten. The child grows “down” into roles, appearances, and defenses. Life becomes about keeping the masks on, and exhaustion sets in.

4. The Seer – One day, something cracks. Perhaps in meditation, in nature, or in heartbreak, the mask slips. We see again the faceless openness we once knew. But it’s fleeting. A glimpse.

5. The Awake – With practice, the seeing deepens until it becomes natural, unbroken. One lives as both—face for the world, facelessness at home.

My First Glimpse of Facelessness

I remember as a child lying on the rockspaces on summer night at sleeping outdoors at our house on road 5 Banjara hills, Hyderabad, staring into the endless sky. For a moment, I wasn’t “Diyanat” with my face, my name, my little worries about school. I was simply space, holding everything. The stars, the cool breeze, the barking dogs far away. It was simple space of large awareness, but unforgettable.

It was a spontaneous glimpse of being both a child with a face and the vast facelessness beyond. Later, of course, I lost it in the seriousness of growing up, exams, expectations, and “becoming someone.

The Cost of Masks

When I read Harding’s description of Stage 3, it stung:

“Greedy, hating, fearful, closed in, phoney, and tired…”

That tiredness is so familiar. The fatigue of trying to be the “right” person in the eyes of others. The endless reshuffling of masks: the professional, the facilitator, the guide, the friend, th husband, the son. None of these masks are wrong. But when they become the whole story, I shrink from being the Whole into being “this madeup part.”

I think of Mulla Nasruddin here. Once, he was seen running around frantically in the marketplace. Someone asked, “Nasruddin, why are you running?” He replied, “I’m trying to catch myself before I get lost!” That’s Stage 3 in a nutshell. We run in circles, hoping the next mask will save us, forgetting we never lost our true face.

Reflections: Living as the Seer

When I work with teams or sit in circles, I sometimes catch a glimpse of this Seer-state. The moment when the mask drops in a story shared, when someone admits they don’t know, when laughter breaks the tension. Suddenly the faceless openness shines through.

But it’s slippery. Harding is clear: flashes of clarity aren’t enough. Practice is required. Returning again and again to that first-person seeing. What it’s like where I am, not just what I look like from the outside.

For me, that practice is often as simple as pausing and asking:

• What is it like to be here, now, before the story of “me” arises?

• Who am I when I stop holding up the mask?

• Can I meet the other, face-to-face, while resting in my own facelessness?

From Game to Freedom

Harding doesn’t demonize the Face Game. He shows us it’s a necessary part of growing up, of being human. But he also invites us not to get stuck. To keep playing, but with awareness. To wear the face for others, while knowing our deeper home is faceless, boundless, free.

And perhaps that is the real maturity in not giving up the game, but playing it lightly, remembering the child under the stars, spacious and uncontained.

Reflection Prompts

If you’d like to explore your own Face Game, here are some gentle invitations:

1. Recall a glimpse – Can you remember a moment (as a child or adult) when you felt faceless, spacious, or one with everything? How did it feel?

2. Notice your masks – What are the faces you wear in different parts of your life? Which one feels the heaviest to maintain?

3. Experiment in presence – Right now, can you notice what it is like to be here before your story, role, or identity appears? What shifts when you rest here?

4. Play lightly – How might you wear your social faces with more ease, remembering they are masks, not your essence?

5. Meet another – The next time you’re with someone, try seeing them as both their “face” and their deeper facelessness. How does that change the encounter?