When Reality is an Illusion

What is real?

The question is as old as thought itself, and yet, each time we ask, it echoes deeper, as if reality itself recoils from the certainty we seek.

In the ancient Indian tradition, particularly within Jain philosophy, there exists a profound way of looking at existence: Syādvāda — the doctrine of conditional predication. It teaches us that reality is never absolute, never entirely fixed. It whispers that every truth carries the seed of its opposite, that every certainty is wrapped in uncertainty.

"Syād asti — "from a certain perspective, it exists."

"Syād nāsti — "from another perspective, it does not exist."

"Syād asti-nāsti — "from yet another perspective, it both exists and does not exist."

Thus speaks the voice of ancient wisdom: reality is not a rigid edifice, but a dance of possibilities.

When the sages looked at the world, they saw not one solid object but a million layers — each true in its own light, each false in another. To call something real is to acknowledge that it is real in some respect, at some time, to some observer. But outside that frame — is it still real? Perhaps not. And thus, reality itself becomes a shimmering illusion: never fully here, never fully gone.

This is not mere intellectual play. It is a medicine for the suffering heart.

How often do we chain ourselves to pain because we believe it is the only reality? How often do we drown in pride, anger, or grief, clutching at a version of truth that is only partial, only momentary?

The philosophy of Syādvāda invites a radical humility: You see the world — but only a slice of it. You suffer a truth — but only one face of it. You rejoice in a reality — but it is never the whole.

Reality, therefore, is a tapestry woven of infinite threads — some visible, some hidden, some that shimmer only when seen from the right angle.

And so, when we say, "reality is an illusion," it is not to deny the experience of life. It is to recognize that what appears solid is a mirage shaped by our senses, our mind, our karma. It is to know that attachment to "how things seem" is the beginning of bondage, and openness to "how things might also be" is the beginning of liberation.

The seers knew: to claim absolute knowledge is to live in delusion. The wise live with open palms, not clenched fists. They hold every truth gently, knowing that it may shift, knowing that another angle reveals another truth.

Syād asti. Your pain is real — but not eternal.

Syād nāsti. Your pride, your possessions, your status — in another light, they vanish like mist.

Syād asti-nāsti. Your identity, your very "self," exists and yet does not — it is real in experience, illusory in essence.

In this layered view, life itself becomes lighter. Suffering loses its iron grip. Conflict loses its poison. We see that no single view, no single experience, owns the whole of truth.

Reality, then, is not a wall to beat our heads against. It is a mirror, a maze, a song whose meaning shifts with every ear that hears it.

The mystics smile when we speak of certainty. They know what we have yet to learn: that to be free is not to find the final answer — it is to bow to the endless unfolding.

When reality is understood as illusion, the soul does not fall into despair. It rises into compassion. It laughs softly at its former fears. It walks lighter, breathes deeper.

Because now, it knows: We are not here to conquer reality. We are here to witness its dance — and to dance with it, for the brief, beautiful time we are given.