Damodar: In Scripture and Philosophy / 7

To conquer these hardships is "parishaha-jaya"—that is, transcending both external and internal adversities through calm forbearance. Jain ascetics say: when cold strikes, the body may shiver, but let not the mind tremble; when hunger comes, the stomach may be empty, but let not the spirit grow heavy. This is not suppression, but a form of self-observation—where feeling is not denied, but one learns not to be overwhelmed by it.

Verses 2.15, 2.56, 2.64 of the Gita make clear that even while acknowledging physical distress (cold, hunger) or mental pleasure (joy, satisfaction), the mind must not be disturbed by them—this is equipoise. Just as the eye continues seeing forms, or the stomach continues feeling hunger (vishayendriyaishcharan), let that continue, but let not the mind become attached to or repulsed by that sensation. This philosophy teaches us to keep the mind not as the 'doer' of experience, but as its 'seer' or witness.

Here right conduct serves as the fundamental weapon. For when behavior harmonizes with vision, and vision aligns with knowledge, then external storms cannot shake inner resolve. One then sees suffering but does not define oneself through suffering. Insult comes, but anger does not arise; praise comes, but the mind does not swell with pride. This state of parishaha-jaya is the soul's firmness—where restraint becomes natural, and austerity transforms into serenity.

In the Gita too, when Lord Krishna describes the characteristics of his beloved devotee (the yogi), he particularly emphasizes equanimity toward praise and blame, honor and dishonor—in verses 12.18, 12.19. The Gita teaches that external events (insult, praise) will indeed occur, but spiritual advancement means not allowing the mental reactions to those events (anger, pride) to arise.

Jain acharyas say this forbearance is the soul's very identity. For the soul that is truly awakened cannot be harmed by anyone. Gradually, when every action of body, mind, and speech becomes established in equanimity, no new karmic particles are attracted; old karmic coverings also begin to fall away. The knots of kashaya loosen, for the four poisons—anger, pride, delusion, greed—can no longer toxify the mind. The soul recovers its natural transparency, awakening in a deep, steady peace.

In this awakening there is no ostentation, no claim to miracles. It is silent, subtle, and everyday. Each day, in each small decision—staying silent in moments of anger, maintaining restraint in hunger, remaining steady in humiliation—it is in these tiny moments that the foundation of liberation is built. Parishaha-jaya thus means not suppressing sorrow, but changing one's attitude toward sorrow—where each pain becomes a teacher, and each obstacle makes the soul's radiance a little brighter.

Right conduct is the moving bridge of the Jain path to liberation—the bridge across which the light of vision and the direction of knowledge can descend to the ground of life. Where at each step ahimsa clothes the soul, truth clarifies speech, asteya returns what belongs to others, brahmacharya keeps energy pure, aparigraha lightens the heart. In this continuous practice, behavior gradually transforms into character, character into spiritual discipline, and discipline into the taste of liberation—where the soul realizes there is nothing external to conquer; victory lies within, in the silent radiance of unattached, pure, compassionate equipoise.

Through the unified practice of these three, the Jain soul advances on the path to liberation. Knowledge alone leads to arrogance, and conduct without knowledge becomes mechanical. Therefore right vision gives direction to knowledge, right knowledge brings depth to thought, and right conduct gives form to that contemplation in action.

Establishing balance among these three through the study of knowledge is the real spiritual practice. During the monsoon retreat, ascetics sit in secluded monasteries or caves studying the Agamas, Sutras, and philosophical principles. Agama is the collective name for Jain scriptures, derived from the teachings of Tirthankara Mahavira. Sutras are the fundamental principles of philosophy, conduct, and discipline, while Upangas and Nidanas are their explanations and applications. The goal of studying these texts is not mere memorization; rather, it is purifying one's inner self through each sentence.

During this study of knowledge, several philosophical concepts play central roles: Anekantavada, Nayavada, and Syadvada.

In Jain philosophical discourse, Anekantavada, Nayavada, and Syadvada are like three steps of a single bridge, where the manner of seeing, speaking, and understanding truth gradually becomes humble, expansive, and conditional.

Anekantavada first opens the doors of our consciousness—reality is not one-dimensional but multi-faceted; declaring any single perspective as "ultimate" is actually delusion. In the story of the blind men and the elephant, each person believed what they touched—trunk, ear, tail, or leg—was the whole; but the elephant is a totality of all these parts. Here pride dissolves: the narrowness of "only my truth is truth" gives way to acknowledging that others perceive aspects that escape my eyes; therefore I must listen, see, learn. This acknowledgment is the seed of tolerance, for multi-faceted truth means multiple voices, multiple experiences, multiple proofs—without dialogue with which the whole cannot be grasped.

After accepting this multiplicity, Nayavada shows how to speak. "Naya" means perspective; Nayavada says any statement is true from a particular standpoint, and changing the standpoint will change its form. In the doctor's chamber, the patient speaks of pain as truth from the "experiential" naya; from the laboratory's naya, the blood test reveals another truth; from the ethical naya, "patient autonomy" emphasizes yet another truth. The coexistence of these different nayas is not contradiction; they complement each other. Nayavada teaches us—before making judgments or proposals, declare "from which naya am I speaking"—the naya of personal experience, scientific measurement, moral values, or legal process. Announcing the perspective makes speech humble, reduces possibility of error, and makes dialogue fruitful.

To understand Syadvada, we must first remember—Jain logic does not seek to bind truth in a single rigid line; rather, it brings down plurality (anekanta) and perspective (naya) into "conditional language," making speech modest and responsible. "Syat" means "under appropriate conditions"; thus Syadvada says no statement is unconditionally and absolutely true—the truth of a statement depends on under what conditions, at what time, in what place, in what context, and from what perspective it is being made. Jain acharyas have broken down this conditional speech into seven possible modes—Saptabhangi Nayavada—not as seven separate "claims," but as one reality that can be seen and spoken of from seven different lights.

Conditionally "asti" meaning "is" means we understand this to be true in a specific context. For instance, "the pot exists"—in the context of the shelf in the room, at this moment, from the viewer's perspective—this is true. Change the condition and immediately the statement changes; someone outside the room says "the pot does not exist"—they are saying "nasti," and that too is true—because in the context of the courtyard, the pot is absent. Thus "asti-nasti"—both can be applicable together, if we want to capture two different aspects, times, or nayas in the same statement; like a gold ornament "is" in the form of jewelry, yet "is not" in the form of pure gold—changing the perspective changes the statement.

Sometimes what we want to say cannot be perfectly captured in the present language—even if captured, it might cause confusion; then the statement is "avaktavya"—conditionally, it is appropriate to leave the sentence unspoken. "Avaktavya" does not mean unreal; rather, the subtlety required by language, listener's readiness, context—all together is absent. Three more mixed modes are added to these four—"asti-avaktavya," "nasti-avaktavya," and "asti-nasti-avaktavya"—where truth, untruth, and the unexpressed—all three possibilities find space together at different levels of conditions.

Here, understanding each terminology's foundation separately reveals the essence of Syadvada. "Condition" means not just external causes; here time—right now/tomorrow, place—room/courtyard/city, context—practical/theoretical/spiritual, and "naya"—that is, from which perspective we are judging—all are involved.

"Avaktavya" does not mean practicing silence; it is honesty of understanding: at this moment, speaking 'correctly' would cause misunderstanding—therefore staying silent or postponing speech until conditions ripen is more responsible. The simultaneous application of "asti-nasti" is not self-contradiction; it is the coexistence of multi-layered reality. Like yogurt "is" the result of milk-dependent transformation, yet "is not" milk—because those specific qualities no longer exist; yet from a theoretical perspective, saying "asti-nasti"—both are true depending on conditions.

Looking at practical examples reveals the breath of Syadvada. In the medical chamber, the patient says, "I have pain"—this is "asti" in the naya of experience; the laboratory report says "no findings"—this is "nasti" in the naya of biological measurement; from the medical ethics naya we can say, "diagnosis cannot be stated right now," which is avaktavya—that is, making firm statements without more information would be misleading. All three are correct, because they stand in three different conditional nayas. If we speak this in Syadvada's language: "Syat—pain exists," "Syat—no findings," "Syat—diagnosis is now avaktavya"—then these statements increase understanding rather than conflict.

This condition-consciousness reduces pride, because we no longer say "my statement is ultimate"; instead we say "my statement is true in this naya, under these conditions"—that is, speech becomes humble. Reasoning also becomes disciplined; instead of declaring 'yes/no' without knowing conditions, we learn to speak in the mode of "it can be said this way." In the laboratory this is the language of hypothesis, in courts it is the balance of evidence, in the realm of relationships it is the grammar of tolerance. Even in introspection Syadvada works—what I judged today from my anger's naya, tomorrow when seen from a peaceful naya, changes the very statement; therefore in self-criticism we note the conditions—"I say this in the situation of fatigue/fear/anger"—then the journey toward truth becomes honest and measured.

Syadvada is not cunning; it is the art of humility toward truth. "Under appropriate conditions"—this small phrase places speech not in suspension but in context; transforms opposition not into enmity but into coexistence; and brings down knowledge's claim not to a crown but to responsibility. This is how Syadvada binds together Anekanta's expansiveness and Nayavada's discipline—thus right vision endures, right knowledge gains sharpness, and right conduct spreads like subtle, peaceful light in everyday language and behavior.

Together these three pillars build the ethics of Jain dialogue. Anekantavada breaks pride—what I see is not everything; Nayavada brings intellect to discipline—from which perspective I speak, that I must know; Syadvada makes speech gentle and conditional—under appropriate conditions this statement is true. What is the practical result? The tendency to 'win' in debates decreases, interest in understanding increases; in policy-making, one-sided pronouncements decrease, multi-dimensional evidence-based decisions advance; in relationships, hasty judgments decrease, contextual empathy increases.

Even within ourselves this trinity works—in self-criticism we see that one day I saw from my "anger's naya," another day from my "fear's naya"; then decisions become softer, forgiveness becomes easier, and approaching truth becomes possible.