The Veil and Luminous

What does it mean to be ignorant of something? Is it not knowing—or worse, knowing it wrongly?

In Advaita Vedanta, avidyā is not mere absence of knowledge. It is misrepresented knowledge, a distortion of truth. And perhaps its most dangerous form is the mistaken perception of duality: the split between subject and object, self and other, “I” and “world.” This is the fundamental illusion that materialism clings to—and what Vedanta compassionately dissects.

1. Misidentification and the Dualistic Trap

In everyday life (vyāvahārika), we identify with the body-mind complex—the limited “I.” This “I” experiences the world as a subject surrounded by distinct, objective things. It sees itself as the mirror reflecting reality.

But this “mirror-I” only offers a fractured picture. Like a handheld mirror that reflects only what falls within its narrow arc, the empirical self is limited and veiled. Its reflections are partial, and its knowledge—fragmented.

Thus, ignorance operates on two levels:

• Misidentification: Mistaking the reflection—the body-mind complex—as the Self.
• Lack of Knowledge: Inability to perceive the whole, owing to the mind’s inherent limitations.

Together, they form the fog of avidyā—a veil that seems to obscure the ever-luminous Self.

2. Can the Subject Be an Object?

A classic objection arises: how can Brahman—the ultimate reality—be both the locus of ignorance (where ignorance resides) and the content of ignorance (what one is ignorant of)? Traditionally, subject and object must be distinct. Just as your mind might be ignorant of a star, the star is not “in” the mind.

Advaita’s reply turns to experience: we commonly say, “I know myself” or “I don’t know myself.” Here, the same “I” appears as both subject and object. In vyavahāra, such a loop is not only possible—it’s common.

3. The Cave and the Lamp: What Truly Can Be Veiled?

To understand why Brahman can be the content of ignorance, consider this metaphor:

Imagine entering a dark cave. A dull rock rests in a corner. It’s hidden by shadow, yes—but that concealment is meaningless. The rock is inert, already in darkness. You don’t expect it to shine.

Now picture a lit lamp inside the same cave, but covered with a thick cloth. Its light is faint, diffused, veiled. And that concealment matters—because the lamp is meant to illuminate.

Only what is luminous can be meaningfully veiled. What is inert was never seen to begin with.

Here’s the subtle truth: even the veil that conceals the light borrows its existence from the very light it hides. The cloth around the lamp is visible because the lamp still glows beneath it. If the lamp were extinguished, even the veil would disappear into blackness. In this way, avidyā is inert, and yet it appears real only because of the presence of luminous Brahman. Without Awareness, who would speak of concealment, or recognition, or liberation?

This is why Brahman alone qualifies as the content of avidyā. Unlike inert objects, Brahman is self-revealing—it is the light of Consciousness itself. And just like the lamp in the cave, it can appear covered, even as it continues to shine.

From the standpoint of the Absolute (pāramārthika), the veil never truly existed. It’s not that Brahman was veiled. It only appeared so from the empirical (vyāvahārika) perspective, where the jīva momentarily identifies with the reflection rather than the light.

Just as a dream veil dissolves upon waking, the moment of realisation reveals that there was never anything to uncover—only the illusion that something had been lost.

4. Reconciling the Paradox

So how can the Self be both subject and object? The answer lies in the recognition that Brahman appears as the object of ignorance only within transactional reality (vyāvahārika). But from the absolute perspective (pāramārthika), Brahman is ever the subject, untouched, unobjectifiable, unbroken.

It’s a matter of mistaken standpoint. The fog is on the mirror—but the mirror was never tarnished.

5. The Unveiling: From Fragment to Fullness

The process of spiritual practice leads us to clear vision—most especially through Nididhyāsana, the deep, contemplative assimilation of truth. Here, the mind no longer tries to “grasp” Brahman as an object. Instead, through Akhaṇḍākāra Vṛtti, it mirrors the wholeness of reality by abiding as it.

The fog lifts. The veil dissolves. And what was always shining reveals itself, not as something found—but as something recognised.

Brahman is not attained, it is uncovered.