Over the course of my life, I’ve spent time studying many belief systems with their origins in both the West and the East. They really do have more in common than different, but one thing that stands out is how they tackle the concept of reality.
First and foremost, we need to ask ourselves: what is reality? What does it mean to even exist? In short, what is “IS” at all?
It’s worth noting that pretty much everyone agrees reality exists; they just don’t agree on what it is.
Philosophy’s Views
The world of philosophy really harkens back to Plato and Aristotle. For Plato, reality was two-tiered: Forms (unchanging, perfect, eternal) comprised true reality, while the physical world exists adjacent as imperfect shadows. Being represents participation in the Forms, with the implication that what you see is not what actually is. Aristotle, on the other hand, saw one world structured by substance. Things exist as composites of form and matter. Truth is found by studying nature (not escaping it), with reality being both intelligible and stable.
So Plato says reality is elsewhere, while Aristotle retorts that it’s right here—if you just pay attention.
Stepping into modern Western philosophy, we have Descartes, who felt reality was known through doubt: “I think, therefore I am.” Kant splits reality into two levels, similarly to Plato, but with a focus on phenomena (what we experience) and noumena (the thing-in-itself, unknowable), with the implication that we never access raw reality directly, as it is filtered by the mind. The existentialists (Sartre, Heidegger) see reality as having no built-in meaning, defined instead by choice and action—truth lived, not discovered. In other words: it is what you make of it.
Philosophy eventually runs into a wall of its own making. Reality is forever beyond our reach, doesn’t exist, is whatever we choose, or has no meaning whatsoever. It’s no wonder so many turn to religion for more answers.
And that’s where things really get interesting…
Abrahamic Religions’ Views
The Abrahamic religions—Judaism, Christianity, and Islam—are ontologically aligned. Reality is created, not self-existent; it is ordered and intelligible, contingent and sustained. God is not a being within reality, but the very ground of being itself. God is, and because of creation, so too is the world—and it continues to exist only by God’s sustaining will. This shared metaphysical framework derives from their common lineage.
They diverge, however, in how God relates to reality and how human beings participate in it.
Judaism is less concerned with metaphysical abstraction and more with the world as it actually exists—the world in which we live and act. God sustains reality but withdraws just enough to allow genuine human responsibility. The world is good and real, yet unfinished; we are called to be co-creators. Meaning emerges through action rather than belief alone, and repair (tikkun) is a sacred obligation.
Where Judaism emphasizes faithfulness within reality, Christianity emphasizes transformation of reality from within. It claims that being itself enters created reality—that reality is not merely sustained, but inhabited. Matter is permanently dignified, history has a hinge point, and truth is not merely propositional, but personal.
Islam strips away ambiguity. God is absolutely one; nothing shares in divinity. Creation is dependent at every moment, and reality consists in alignment with how things truly are. The goal is not repair or redemption, but submission—clear, coherent, uncompromising.
Thus, Judaism resists metaphysical finality, Christianity embraces it, and Islam submits to it.
Eastern Views
Traveling east, we encounter Hinduism and Buddhism, both of which adopt a perspective that is almost Platonic in spirit, though expressed through an Eastern lens. Like Plato, they hold that what we perceive is not what truly is, but a conditioned experience—unstable, contingent, and often misleading. The world is not false, strictly speaking, but neither is it final. This resistance to absolutism is essential: mistake appearance for ultimate reality, and suffering inevitably follows. As such, the central problem lies not in the world itself, but in the self that misapprehends it.
Reality, in these traditions, is neither redeemed nor repaired; it is realized. Liberation comes through disciplined insight, practice, and direct observation rather than belief alone.
This does not mean Hinduism and Buddhism are the same. Hinduism affirms an ultimate reality—Brahman—in which being is singular, eternal, and conscious. Reality is one, and ignorance fractures it into apparent multiplicity. Buddhism, by contrast, affirms no permanent substance and no eternal self; reality is empty of inherent essence. Where Hinduism might say, “You are That,” Buddhism responds, “There is no ‘you’ there to be anything.”
Taoism takes a different tack altogether. It would simply say, “You’re trying too hard.” Rather than correcting perception or uncovering hidden structure, Taoism questions the impulse to impose structure at all. It does not claim that reality is hidden behind illusion, nor does it seek liberation through insight or metaphysical analysis. Reality is immediate and immanent. Problems arise from over-conceptualization; language and categories distort what is otherwise simple. In other words, we make reality far more difficult than it actually is.
Confluence
While anesthetized, I underwent an experience that felt distinctly out of body. This drew together many of these ideas and challenged my own perception of reality—and our place within it. I felt utterly unmoored from reality itself. The very existence of everything seemed to fade away, leaving only a vast emptiness. I was tethered to it—like an astronaut on a spacewalk—by the thinnest, finest strand of faded light. This umbilical felt fragile, as though it might break at any moment, sending me drifting into the void.
As I looked around, I saw other “encapsulations.” Some appeared active; others were dark. Strangely, this resembles how modern films often portray alternate realities or memories—oddly shaped, cloud-like screens, floating vignettes suspended in nothingness.
To say the least, the experience was foreign and terrifying. I was there, but I was not; I had dissociated from reality itself. Rather than resisting the fear, I allowed it to move through me. I chose to observe rather than struggle. I did not attempt to define or categorize—how could I, with no prior frame of reference? Fascination soon replaced fear, and I focused with calm attention. Again: experience, not understanding; observe, not analyze.
The episode itself was brief, though it felt much longer. What proved more unsettling was that I experienced it twice more outside of sedation—once the following morning, and again the day after that. In each instance, I felt myself being pulled out of my body, out of my reality. This time, I was more prepared. I closed my eyes, controlled my breathing, and allowed the sensation to pass as I returned to my anchor.
What enabled me to remain present in that moment was not so much an understanding of what was happening (as I clearly had none), but recognizing how to meet it. Years spent engaging philosophy, theology, and contemplative traditions had quietly shaped my potential responses to such an amalgam. I did not attempt to analyze or explain the experience away, nor did I panic at its unfamiliarity. Instead, I chose to allow it to unfold, observing without grasping. This rendered it a lesson—knowledge gained through experience, not study. Whatever the cause, it revealed something these traditions have long suggested: that how one relates to reality may matter more, in the end, than how confidently one claims to define it.
What Is “IS”?
None of the traditions I’ve studied—philosophical or religious—offers a final map of reality so much as a posture toward it. Reality resists easy capture. Approached through reason, revelation, insight, or direct encounter, the question of “what is” remains larger than any single framework can contain. My own experience did not confirm one view over another, nor did it demand a metaphysical conclusion. Instead, it underscored something both more modest and more demanding: reality is not something we can fully explain, but it is absolutely something we must encounter.
The question of what is real remains—and likely always will. Philosophy refines it, religion frames it, experience disrupts it; none finally exhaust it. What does become clear, however, is that “IS” is not a trivial word. To exist at all is to participate in something that exceeds comprehension. Assign a name to it if you like—God, emptiness, being, reality—but such words ultimately offer no more than a partial, inward glimpse.
The takeaway is simple: reality does not require our certainty, only our presence.
Discover more from Many Lamps, One Flame
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.