In the last two posts, we looked at the phenomenon called superimposition (adhyāsa) because of which one thing is mistaken for another. A commonly cited example of this is a coiled rope in a semi-lit room which is mistaken for a snake. Why does this error occur? Why is a snake seen instead of the rope? From where does this snake come?
There are several theories that explain why this happens. These theories and the problems associated with them are discussed in detail in Vedanta texts such as the Svārājya-Siddhi (1792). Some of the greatest minds have pondered over this question related to misperception. Here is a brief overview.
Asat-khyāti: “Seeing what is not there”
The Buddhists who hold the Theory of Emptiness (śūnyavāda) believe that nothing really exists. There is no essence, no substance, no nothing. Everything is “empty.” The snake that is mistakenly seen is totally unreal. It is present neither in the rope nor anywhere else. What is seen is a non-existing snake in place of a non-existing rope. The problem with this theory is that, if it is possible to see non-existing things, then it should be possible to see even things like a square circle.
Ātma-khyāti: “Seeing what is in the mind”
According to the Yogācāra school of Buddhism, which subscribes to the Theory of Momentary Consciousness (kṣaṇika-vijñānavāda), the snake is neither in the rope nor anywhere else. Nothing exists anywhere except in the mind. It is the mind that takes the form of every object. The mind changes from moment to moment. It is this constantly changing awareness in the mind that appears as the snake. The problem with this theory is that, if everything is momentary, then the snake would be momentary too, but it doesn’t feel that way. The snake lasts as long as the misperception lasts.
Anyatra-khyāti: “Seeing what is elsewhere”
Those who follow the Nyāya and Vaiśeṣika schools of philosophy believe that the snake is not in the rope but elsewhere (such as in an anthill, for instance). The mistake is to see in front what is really in a different place. The problem with this is that if a snake in a different location is seen as if it were in front, then we would also see other things that exist between that location and us.
Anyathā-khyāti: “Seeing what is different”
The followers of Navya-Nyāya claim that it is because of defective eyes that the rope is not perceived as a rope but as a snake. The problem here is that there is no relation between knowledge (of the snake) and the object perceived (the rope). In other words, you cannot see a rope and derive the knowledge that it is a snake. The awareness, “this is a snake,” can arise only after seeing a snake, real or not.
A-khyāti: “Fusion of seeing and remembering”
According to Sāṁkhya, the mechanism of error is really a fusion of two distinct experiences. One experience is produced by the general awareness (“this”) of the rope and the other by the memory of a snake. Because of insufficient light and the fear in the mind of the perceiver, these two experiences—direct contact with the rope (as “this object”) and the memory of a snake—become fused and result in perception of the snake. All errors created by superimposition, according to Sāṁkhya, occur due to the lack of discernment between such two experiences.
The problem with this theory is that nobody runs away merely by “remembering” a snake; they run when they “see” the snake before them. Moreover, two distinct experiences (perception of “this” and the memory of a snake) cannot occur from a single thought-wave (vṛtti) of the mind.
Anirvacanīya-khyāti: “Seeing the Inexpressible”
According to Vedanta, the partial light in the room hides the rope’s identity partially, revealing only a general characteristic (“there is something here”) but hiding its specific identity (“rope”). The nature of the snake is difficult to pin down. On the one hand, it cannot be denied that the snake is seen; how else to explain the fear it generates in my heart and my impulse to run away? On the other hand, if the snake were real, it cannot vanish and be replaced by a rope when the lights come on. The snake is as if real until its unreality becomes obvious. The snake’s status is best described as neither real (sat) nor unreal (asat), but apparently real (mithyā).
Since we can neither say that the snake is real nor say that it is unreal, or that it is both real and unreal (which is impossible), or that is both not real and not unreal (equally impossible)—we are left with only one option, namely, to admit that the nature of the snake is inexpressible. It shows characteristics of being real (how else did I see the snake?) and, later, of being unreal (by its magical disappearance).
Such is the mysterious nature of Māyā, the ignorance that apparently covers Brahman. Just as the partially dark room hides the rope partially, Māyā’s covering of Brahman is also partial. The general characteristic of the rope is not hidden (“I see something”). What is hidden is its special characteristic (“it’s a rope”). In the same way, the general characteristic of Brahman—namely, existence (sat)—is not hidden. That is how you and I instinctively and effortlessly know, “I exist.” But Brahman’s special characteristics—namely, it is pure consciousness (cit) and infinite (ananta)—are hidden. That is how we don’t feel we are infinite and, while we think we have awareness, we don’t feel we are awareness.
Māyā’s nature is inexpressible. Through its mysterious power, the divine being is mistaken for a human being, the immortal and blissful Ātman is mistaken for a mortal and suffering creature, and Māyā itself is mistaken for an inexorable and unending nightmare. We remain in the throes of Māyā’s powers of covering (āvaraṇa) the truth and projecting (vikṣepa) a falsehood as long as we remain passive.
But Māyā can be conquered by waking up and shaking off our lethargy. The error can be corrected simply by looking deeply with a clear mind, a pure heart, and fearless determination. In the blazing light of awareness, Māyā disappears like the snake in bright light. The mystery is over. The problem is not technically “solved” but, even better, it is dissolved for ever.
Any and every kind of practice that can help get rid of the “snake” is the right practice. That is a better way to think of spiritual practices than dividing them arbitrarily into dualistic and nondualistic pigeonholes.