Cheti Sake To Cheti #5

In this regard, it will be useful to understand two or three things. First: if thoughts are noble, action inevitably becomes noble. There is no need to remain under the illusion that our ideas were exalted and yet our actions were ignoble. Noble ideas inevitably give birth to noble action. If noble action has not been born, then know that the ideas themselves were mistaken; they were not noble. It is impossible that thought be truer and conduct go toward untruth. It is impossible that knowledge be clear and life lose its way. It is like saying the eye was perfectly fine, and yet we collided with the wall and could not find the door. If we struck the wall, the eye cannot have been fine. If the eye were fine, we would have gone out through the door; there would have been no need to hit the wall.

What is the proof that knowledge is right? The proof is that life changes in accordance with it. If life does not change, then fundamentally the knowledge has been wrong—somewhere or other it has been deluded.

This is the first point: this country is under the illusion that our knowledge is very exalted but our conduct is very low. We seem to think we simply failed to bring knowledge into action, and hence the mistake. But knowledge does enter action, just as a shadow follows a man. It is impossible to prevent knowledge from translating into conduct. Only if the knowledge itself is mistaken can it be otherwise.

In my view, we must change the very foundations of our so‑called knowledge. There were basic errors within it. Let me list a few because of which it could not become the conduct of our society. For example, the entire knowledge of this country is life‑negative. Wherever knowledge is life‑negative, it can never prove transformative of life. Where knowledge hovers around moksha, speculates about the afterlife, strives to be free of life and to escape the cycle of birth and death, such knowledge can never become the foundation of life. Knowledge must be life‑affirmative—granting legitimacy to life, offering acceptance to life, showing the path and direction to attain life’s joy; only then can it descend into conduct and daily living.

The knowledge of this land is suicidal, self‑destructive. If one tries to embody suicidal knowledge, only a few can do so—those who have a basic instinct for suicide; the rest cannot. For whom the other world is more important than this life, for whom the art of dying is more valuable than remaining alive, for whom escape is dearer than living—only a few such sick‑minded, diseased minds can live this knowledge. The entire remaining society will remain unaffected.

Our whole thinking is otherworldly, and therefore it has become meaningless. Knowledge should be for changing this life, beautifying this life, ennobling this life, giving it an artistic form—only then can it transform life. That is the first point.

Second: we are filled with deep condemnation of everything in life that is juicy, enjoyable, worth savoring, beautiful. To put it plainly, we have given birth to a knowledge that is both masochistic and sadistic—one that takes delight in causing suffering to others and also in inflicting suffering upon oneself. We have no conception of joy. If a person torments himself, he becomes a mahatma; the greater his craftsmanship in self‑mortification, the more exalted and worship‑worthy he becomes.

So only if the entire society turns masochistic could our knowledge become conduct; otherwise it cannot. Our knowledge cannot enter the life of anyone who harbors even a small desire for happiness. We simply do not accept happiness. We have never looked with respect upon any inclination toward joy. If a person eats properly, he cannot be honored; if he starves, fasts, he can be honored. If he dresses properly, no honor; if he stands naked, he can be honored. The more a person hurts and harasses himself, the more it is called renunciation—and renunciation is glorified!

It is unfortunate: if any society clings to such a viewpoint, how many people will be willing to hurt themselves? And it is good that they are not willing—otherwise the whole society would become a madhouse. Only a few can do it, and even they do so because fundamentally they are sick and unbalanced. There is some disease in their brain; they are abnormal, not normal.

Where the current of knowledge proves useful to the abnormal and useless to the normal, it cannot become the conduct of the society. Then what happens is that a handful of big names arise for the record, and the rest of society appears their very opposite. The deepest harm is this: the ideals we develop serve only a few extremists, and we develop no ideals that can foster the life of the ordinary person. Consider the result.

If a society makes a rule that only the person who does a headstand is a good person, and the longer he stands on his head the better he is, you will find ten or five in Ahmedabad who will do headstand all day. The rest will not manage it. Those who cannot will be condemned; and since they cannot, they will worship those who can—folding their hands, bowing to these “great men.” But even these headstand‑doers will prove useful for nothing. And if you make the headstand a central ideal, the lives of all others will become ideal‑less—because there is just one ideal: do the headstand and you are accomplished. Those who cannot will feel guilty.

Thus in India everyone is filled with guilt, and what is prescribed as “to be done,” they cannot do. Therefore India’s conduct has not been able to rise.

If we wish to elevate conduct, we must change the entire foundation of our knowledge. We must free knowledge from the afterlife and connect it to this life; free it from suffering and connect it to joy; free it from God and connect it to matter. We must develop a joyous, zestful vision of life. And we must reconsider everything with the normal, simple, natural possibilities of a normal, simple, natural person in mind—then the conduct of this country will change. Otherwise it will keep sinking lower day by day.

So I do not say that your knowledge is correct and only conduct is lacking. Knowledge itself is fundamentally wrong; hence the conduct is absent. And if you try only to correct conduct, we have been trying that for five thousand years. We have sat assuming that knowledge is right and only conduct needs correcting. You have failed for five thousand years; even if you try for fifty thousand more, you will keep failing—and failure will increase, because man will become more intelligent.

This knowledge, which might have achieved a little success in a less intelligent society, is even more certainly doomed to fail in an intelligent one. A total re‑examination of the whole knowledge is needed.

This too needs a little understanding. First of all: without self-realization no one can truly serve. Before self-realization, service is impossible; only self-interest is possible. In fact, self-realization alone reveals that “I” and the “other” are not two. It shows that the so-called other is also me; then his service becomes my own self-interest. As long as there is no self-realization—“I” am separate, “you” are separate—and even if I serve, it will be a superficial show and hypocrisy; inside, some self-interest will be at work.

We know and see “servers” all around. If a server is not someone moving toward self-realization, his service becomes a means to gratify his ego, to gain fame, to feed his ambition. And a server keeps looking for the chance to become a master. In India we have seen over twenty years how badly servants have turned into masters. Those who “served” are taking revenge in such a way that it would be better if people did not serve at all. The servant serves and then exacts such repayment that there is no measure for it. All these servants only await the moment to grab you by the throat.

Service cannot happen prior to self-realization.

So let no one be mistaken that self-realization can be attained through service. From self-realization, service can arise; from self-realization, service can become one’s very life. But self-realization cannot happen through service.

We know many in the world believe otherwise and are engaged in service: Christian missionaries serve across the world. In their imitation are groups like the Ramakrishna Mission, who serve. Slowly, everywhere, there are many who do “service”—the Sarvodaya people, and all kinds of others. If we probe their motivation, their motive, we will be greatly surprised.

Let me tell you a small story.

In China, a great fair is being held. There is a well whose mouth has no parapet, and a man falls into it. He cries out, “Save me!” A Buddhist monk comes by, looks down, and the man shouts, “Monk, please pull me out! I am dying, I don’t even know how to swim; I can’t hold on to this brick much longer!” The monk says, “Even if you come out, what will you do? There is suffering outside too—suffering everywhere. Those outside the well are also in a bigger well. And God—Buddha—has said, suffering is life. Without being free of life, one cannot be free of suffering. So what will you gain by coming out of this well? Try to get out of life.” The man yells, “I will listen to your sermon—first pull me out!” But the monk says, “God has also said one should not interfere in another’s karma. If I save you and you then steal or murder, I too will become responsible. I go my way, you go yours; our streams of karma do not cross.” And the monk walks on.

Behind him comes another monk, a follower of Confucius. He looks down. The drowning man pleads, “Save me!” The Confucian monk says, “I will certainly save you; don’t be afraid. Confucius has written in his book that every well must have a parapet. In any kingdom where there are wells without parapets, the king is unrighteous. Do not worry. We will launch a movement. We will have parapets built on every well. You be quite carefree.” The man says, “How can I be carefree? By the time parapets are built, I’ll be dead!” The monk replies, “This is not about you; it is about society. It concerns everyone. I am engaged in serving all. How can I serve one person at a time? And if I start serving one by one, what will happen to society? You be carefree—I’m going now to start a movement at the fair.” He goes to the fair, climbs the platform, and begins to tell people that every well must have a parapet; whoever builds parapets does great service; any state without parapets is unrighteous.

After him a Christian missionary arrives at the well. He looks down, the man cries out. The missionary takes a rope from his bag, ties it, lowers himself, and pulls the man out. The rescued man falls at his feet and says, “You seem a truly religious man. You have done me great kindness by saving me! But tell me, why did you have a rope in your bag?” The missionary says, “We leave home prepared. Service is our very vocation. We set out ready—someone may fall into a well, somewhere there may be a fire, something may happen—so we carry our preparations. We keep everything with us. For us, service itself is religion. Because God—Jesus—said that only those who serve will find salvation. You fell into the well—thank you; the path to our salvation became clear. Teach your children as well to fall into wells, so that our children may keep pulling them out. For without service there is no salvation.”

If someone is doing service to attain liberation, even then there is self-interest. Or he may be trying to get his name in the newspapers—then it is fame. Or he may be so disturbed by inner diseases, tensions, and anxieties that he wants to do anything at all, to keep himself occupied—then he engages in such work. Or he wants to climb to certain positions and reach them through service.

But service can become true service only when a person has experienced that the distance between “I” and “you” is false—there is only “I.” And that can happen only through self-realization. The other’s joy is also my joy. The day there is no obstacle, no wall, no separation between the other’s joy and mine—when I become joyous in the other’s joy—on that day service can be. Before that there may be the name of service, but behind it there will be self-interest. And then service can become dangerous.

If we were to tally the mischief done by “servers” in the world, we would be alarmed. If we look at the results brought by all those eager to reform the world and serve it, it would seem better to leave man to his own fate—and you servers, please step aside; perhaps the world will set itself right.

Everyone is serving—Islam is serving, Hindus are serving, Christians are serving…the whole world is serving. And what is the result of all this service? Where are these servers taking humanity? Into which pit?

Behind this service the purposes are different. The reasons, the motives are different. And they must be—because until one has attained self-realization, one is not free of motives and self-interest. And if the idea takes hold that “service must be done,” then the difficulty increases.

I heard of an incident. In a school a Christian padre instructs the children that they must do service—at least one act of service a day. “When I return, I will ask you: did you do an act of service?” Seven days later he comes and asks the children. One boy raises his hand, “Yes, I served.” Another, then a third: three out of thirty. The padre says, “Very good. Even three out of thirty is fine.” He asks the first, “What did you do?” The boy says, “I helped an old woman cross the road.” “Very good,” says the padre. “One should always help old women cross the road.” He asks the second, “What did you do?” “I also helped an old woman cross the road.” He grows a little suspicious—two old women? Then he thinks, there are so many old women; no problem. He asks the third, “What did you do?” “I also helped an old woman cross the road.” Now he is surprised. “So you found three old women?” “No,” they say, “not three old women—there was only one. The three of us together got her across.” “Was she so feeble that one of you could not manage?” “She wasn’t feeble; she was quite strong—and she didn’t want to cross at all. With great difficulty we made her cross. But you had said we must do some act of service. You said: help some old person across the road, save someone who is drowning, rescue someone from a fire. To us the simplest seemed: let’s get an old woman across.”

If the idea is planted in the head—“Do service”—and if service becomes the basis for heaven, liberation, or for being a good person, then service is bound to turn into mischief. And it has.

No, I do not accept that service is a path to self-realization. The path to self-realization is entirely different: it is meditation or samadhi. Yes, a person who walks the path of meditation and samadhi—when he gets even a slight glimpse of the Self—service begins to flow as its natural outcome. That service is of a different order. That person does not even know that he has served anyone. He does not feel that by serving he has obliged someone, nor that by serving he has done something special. For him, service becomes spontaneous nature. And the day service becomes nature, that day it is meaningful. Before that, it is not.

Humanity can never be fulfilled within any creed or any doctrine. Wherever there is a creed, an “ism,” a scripture, a doctrine, an ideology—there is a device for dividing man from man. No ideology can truly unite human beings. What splits you and me is thought: I have one idea, you have another; the fracture begins. Islam speaks of humanity—but has anyone else killed humanity as much as Islam has? The word Islam means peace—has anyone spread as much unrest as Islam has? All the religions of the world say they want to unite us, yet none has managed to unite all. Rather, each religion has broken off a small fragment and stood apart. Every new religion becomes a new device for division, not for union. So we must inquire: what is the process of joining and what is the process of breaking?

Whenever I organize a thought, it will begin to organize against someone. Whenever thought is organized, organization stands upon hatred and in opposition. If Islam organizes, then against whom? If Hindus organize, against whom? If Muslims organize, against whom? If communists organize, against whom? An organization always gathers against someone. Organizations are not born of love. Lovers have yet to create an organization. All organizations belong to those who hate. Whatever their names, slogans, or tactics, an organization is built in enmity to the other. And every ideology wants to organize—be it Islam or any other, Christianity, Jainism, Buddhism. There may be differences of degree. But once a doctrine is organized, it becomes a fortress. That fortress starts to generate its own interests—its vested interest. Those outside the fortress become enemies. Then begins the whole enterprise: to fight those enemies, to convert them, to change them, to bring them within one’s fold. And then, in the name of the welfare of humanity, the murder of humanity begins.

In my view, humanity will be one on the day when there is not a single “ism” left on earth to make it one, and each human being stands alone, alone—then humanity will be one. So long as there are organizations, humanity cannot be one. So long as there are nations, humanity cannot be one. So long as there are isms—Islam or any other—humanity cannot be one. Humanity will be one when the basic unit of the single individual remains, and when people stop trying to organize.

Here is the great irony: those who claim to unite are the very ones who divide. Whoever raises the slogan “Unite!”—they are the dangerous ones. Whenever someone says “Come together,” be alert: this person will create conflict. Whatever the pretext of gathering—he may say, let the followers of Islam unite; or, let Indians unite; or, let communists unite—whenever he calls people to unite, he will conjure an enemy.

Adolf Hitler wrote an apt point in his autobiography: if you want people to come together, you must create danger and you must create an enemy. Without creating an enemy and a sense of danger, no one can unite. Whether the enemy is real or fabricated, whether the danger is actual or you just whip up the air that there is danger—“Islam is in danger, Hinduism is in danger.” Who is in danger? Let Islam die, let Hinduism die—what is lost, and to whom? If Islam is in danger, who exactly is endangered? No one is in danger. But do create the atmosphere of danger, do create fear. A frightened person—four frightened people—cluster together, because they say, alone the fear will be greater; let four gather. When those four gather, their four neighbors see four coming together—there must be some trouble, some danger; let us also gather four. And then the turmoil begins. Nations will form, castes will form, religions will form—and all kinds of stupidities will arise.

The slogans of organization should cease in this world. There is no need for any organization. A human being alone is enough. What is organization needed for? For what purpose? If you want to fight, then you need organization. If you do not want to fight, what need is there for organization? So whatever organizations there are, they are all enemies of humanity—whatever their names. And whoever brings about organization are all murderers of humanity—whatever their names. Now we need people who would break all organizations, decentralize them, disorganize them, and stand for valuing the individual. Do not value the organization; value each individual. You are you; I am I. What need is there for you and me to organize? In this world, organization is utterly unnecessary. What need is there for it?

Yes, there can be organizations of a certain kind—the railways, the post office—functional organizations from which no jihad arises, no quarrel arises. The people of the post office, by organizing, do not say, “We are higher than the railway people; we will create a conflict; we will turn all railway people into post-office people.” There is no need for that. Railway people do the railway’s work; post-office people do the post office’s work. Let such organizations exist—functional organizations—but organizations founded on ideology are not needed in the world, whatever their names; it makes no difference. Therefore no organization has advanced humanity; and no organization can advance humanity.

First of all, religion has never been—and can never be—a means of liberation for the poor masses. Yes, opium can be for the poor masses: a trick to remain unconscious in their poverty, a kind of consolation to help them endure it. In the name of religion, the poor masses can be kept anesthetized—and that is exactly what has been done till now. I am not talking about a poor individual, I am talking about the poor masses. There may be a rare poor individual who turns religion into a path of liberation; it can happen. A poor person can be religious. But that will be a great exception—and such a person would have to be extraordinarily intelligent to be religious while poor. Let me explain why.

In my view, the door of possibility opens primarily for the rich to become religious. It is not necessary that a rich person will become religious; it only means the door of possibility opens. Why? Because until the needs of the body are fulfilled, the needs of the soul do not even begin to demand attention. When lower needs are met, higher needs begin to challenge you.

It is nearly impossible for a hungry person to think of learning the sitar. Perhaps one or two may think of it, and even then, it may be just to forget their hunger for a while by playing. But for a hungry person, thoughts of learning the sitar are almost impossible—the natural thought is to fill the belly. When bodily needs are unmet, the subtler, higher needs of mind and soul simply do not arise. That is why a poor society can never be truly religious. A poor society can talk religion, sing bhajans and kirtans, perform temple worship and prayers, organize yajnas, japa, havans—and it does, abundantly—but the motivation is not religious.

Even when a poor person goes to a temple, he goes to ask for bread. He prays so he may get a job. He sits through rituals like the Satyanarayan katha, but his purposes are always tied to the stomach. They cannot be free of it. His “religion” is, in one form or another, an attempt to fulfill bodily demands—and no bodily demand is ever fulfilled through religion. Religion has nothing to do with filling the stomach.

Religion fulfills the deep demands of consciousness. But one must first arrive at the level where such demands can be felt. That level emerges when the ordinary comforts of life are in place and a person is free of bodily anxieties. For the first time he gets what we call leisure—rest. Only in that leisure do higher needs arise. Then a person asks: Food, drink, clothing—done; now what? Religion is the rich person’s final luxury. I am not calling it wrong—only saying it is the ultimate flowering that comes from material ease. In that ultimate ease, those inquiries arise. And a rich person has the opportunity to explore that direction. A poor person does not even have the opportunity to explore.

But the rich want the poor to remain “religious.” Why? Because if the poor cease to be “religious,” it becomes very difficult for the rich to remain rich. As long as the poor are content—on whatever grounds—and not wholly engaged in eradicating their poverty, the rich can go on accumulating wealth.

Around the world, the greatest support for the capitalist system comes from so‑called religion. The rich want the poor to be indoctrinated. That is why the rich build temples. A Birla does not build temples for nothing. Across India, the Birlas have built temples and churches. It is not without reason. Perhaps even they do not fully know why they are doing it, but deep down the capitalist consciousness builds temples, dharmashalas, opens hospitals—devising all arrangements to keep the poor content while remaining poor. And they support sannyasins, preachers, monks to teach the poor that contentment is a great virtue, that tolerance is noble; that you are poor because of sins from your past lives; do good deeds now and you too will be rich in the future. The rich are rich because of merits from past lives. They tie every kind of blindfold over the poor man’s eyes.

It is in the rich man’s interest that the poor be “religious.” It is not at all in the poor man’s interest. And the poor cannot be truly religious; they can only be religious in a false, superficial way.

So when I say what I say, I do not mean I want to reserve religion for a few rich people. I mean wealth must be distributed so that religion becomes possible for all. If wealth is shared, society can be religious. If wealth remains concentrated in a few hands, society cannot be religious. In my view, only a socialist order can give birth, in the true sense, to a religious society.

Someone asked earlier: If the principles are so lofty, why doesn’t society become lofty? Society cannot become lofty because its very structure is wrong. For society to rise, its entire structure must change. How can a poor society be honest? How can it avoid theft? How can it avoid quarrels and conflicts? The mind of a poor society cannot avoid pettiness. It is impossible. All these pettinesses, immoralities, this breakdown of conduct—they are inevitable. And telling people, “Behave ethically, keep your mind pure,” is sheer foolishness. Nothing will come of it. It only installs shock absorbers to protect capitalism from jolts: let blows fall from all sides, but capitalism should not be hurt. For thousands of years, religion, gurus, and priests have been trying to save capitalism. That is why priests are honored by capitalists. Between poor and rich, the priest is the wall, the barrier against revolution. Monks and sannyasins are the greatest walls against revolution.

What I say is this: the whole society should be prosperous. Property should not be centrally concentrated but decentralized and diffused. Each and every person should have enough ease that the small, nagging bodily needs are resolved. Sex, food, and shelter should not torment anyone needlessly. Society must arrange at least this much. Only then can the journey of becoming religious begin.

But we are unwilling to create such arrangements. And now it is astonishing, because earlier it was impossible for everyone to be prosperous. Today it is entirely possible. Two hundred years ago, it was impossible for all to be affluent; blaming those societies would be wrong—the capacity did not exist to produce enough wealth for everyone. But in these two centuries technology has brought us to a point where, if wealth is not being produced, it is because misguided people and interests are preventing it. Otherwise, wealth could now pour down like rain. The very comforts sages imagined in heaven could be available, within fifty years, to every person on earth. There is no need to go to heaven, nor to look for apsaras—celestial nymphs—there, nor to sit beneath kalpavrikshas—wish‑fulfilling trees. Those apsaras and kalpavrikshas can stand here on this earth. Technology has made that level of comfort possible.

But the social structure is utterly wrong. The structure of nations is utterly wrong. As long as nations remain divided, there will be poor nations and rich nations. Earlier the problem was: a poor person and a rich person. Now a new problem has arisen: poor nations and rich nations. This never existed before. Today America has become a rich nation, and we a small, poor nation—reduced to the status of begging. If nations do not dissolve, what is possible in America can never become available to us. If nations dissolve, their possibilities become available to all. Nations must go.

But how will nations go? If classes do not go, how will nations go? Classes must dissolve, caste must dissolve, borders must dissolve. We must begin thinking in a new language: How can we all, together, be as joyous as possible? Until yesterday, each thought only of “How can I be happy?”—and there wasn’t the capacity for all to be happy. One could be happy only at the cost of ten others’ misery. That is over now. Today all eleven can be happy. No one needs to be happy at the cost of ten others’ suffering.

And the truth is: if ten are miserable and one is happy, that one is happy only in illusion. The very process of making ten miserable leaves him so anxious, pained, and disturbed that there is no account of it. This is why people keep saying wealth does not bring happiness. There is no other reason. Wealth can bring a great deal of happiness. It is said wealth does not bring happiness because wealth, as it has been accumulated, creates poverty all around. Until now, wealth has not brought happiness. But in Russia, wealth is bringing happiness. There it is wrong to say wealth brings no happiness. To say that wealth does not bring happiness is foolish. Wealth is a means; it can bring great happiness—though until now it has not.

So what Mahavira and Buddha said—that wealth brings no happiness—is no longer true. It was true in their time. Because the wealth accumulated by Mahavira’s forefathers created such poverty around that a man as intelligent as Mahavira felt: Can happiness come out of this wealth? It is blood—leave it! But even Mahavira did not see that his leaving it changed nothing; a cousin merely became the owner. When Buddha renounces wealth, some relative becomes its owner. What neither Buddha nor Mahavira saw is that the reason wealth brings no happiness is the process of its accumulation: it makes so many people poor, deprives society so deeply, spreads such waves of suffering, that how can one person be happy?

Imagine: my being healthy in Ahmedabad comes with the condition that all of Ahmedabad must fall ill. If my health requires everyone else to be sick, could I remain healthy there? Impossible. And even if I build high walls, mount guards and guns, line up the world’s best doctors, and hide inside trying to remain healthy, the arrangements needed to protect that “health” will cause more suffering than the illness itself. And that is exactly what has happened.

No one has suffered from wealth itself. The process of accumulation has been wrong. In the coming world we must ensure: wealth should be produced but not hoarded. It should be distributed and spread to all. We must think in a language where no one becomes rich or poor—everyone becomes prosperous. Then, for the first time, the world will be in a position to become religious. Before that, it cannot.

Until now, religion has been, for most people, sheer hypocrisy and falsehood. That will no longer do. If this arrangement continues, religion will go; or else the whole arrangement must change—and then religion will arrive in entirely new meanings.

Today, when I say these things, the “religious” feel I am an enemy of religion. But I tell you: in fifty years, what I am saying will prove to be what saves religion. Those trying to save the current form of religion are sitting in a boat that is about to sink; religion should immediately get off that boat and find a new one. That new boat, in some sense, can only be the process of universal prosperity, the distribution of capital within all, the happiness of all, and the simultaneous affluence of all.

So when I say what I say, it does not mean I want only a handful of rich to benefit from religion. I say it so that, if we want religion to benefit everyone, wealth must be distributed so that all can be affluent. Only then does any path open; otherwise, none does.

Perhaps that friend does not even know that destruction and construction are not two different things; they are two sides of the same coin. We think in a language where building is one thing and demolition another, and we imagine that whoever destroys is the enemy of the builder. The truth is: no creation ever happens without destruction. Where there is destruction, there is creation. When something dies, something is born. When something is erased, something is made. And if you become afraid of erasing, afraid of letting things die, afraid of breaking, understand that your capacity to create has ended—you will never be able to create.

Why do I talk about destruction? Because destruction comes first and creation after. Creation cannot come first. What is, has to be broken. Once it breaks, then I will speak of creation. If you become my companions in destruction and things are broken quickly, I will speak of creation as well. Creation is already in my vision; it is for its sake that I speak of destruction. Otherwise destruction is meaningless—what would you do after breaking? But first let things break; let the readiness to break arise; let a wind of breaking begin.

India has not thrown anything away for five thousand years. Without throwing away, the whole country has become a junkyard—everything kept, nothing discarded.

I stayed for some days in a house and was astonished: there was hardly space left for human beings to live. Old trunks, chests, boxes and tins—everything had been gathered there. I said to the owner, “What are you doing? If this goes on, soon we will have to live outside.” Even brooms whose handles were just stubs were kept there. All useless, finished. “Why are you keeping these?” He said, “Things are things; someday they might be useful, so we keep them.” I said, “You will die and these things will remain. A house is a space meant for living. There is no space left to live. Soon you will live outside and the things will live inside. And these are things of no use, with no purpose.”

The entire arrangement of India has become like this: whatever we made in five thousand years, we kept collecting. We never threw anything out. How can we throw away our forefathers’ things? The rishis and sages worked so hard—how can we destroy their creations? So it has all been piled up, one layer upon another.

So much junk has accumulated in the Indian psyche that unless a swift fire catches, unless rapid destruction occurs, we will die and the stuff will survive. We are dying, and the stuff may remain. But what will you do by saving the stuff?

In truth, a living people keeps breaking and throwing away, and makes anew. A dead people is afraid. We are a dead people; that is why there is instant panic—“Don’t talk of destruction. Talk of construction. Keep some constructive programme.” We feel very pleased with constructive programmes. And what is a constructive programme? Four people spinning a charkha—and we call it constructive work. Has the mind gone mad? Or four people go to a village and sweep with a broom—and we call it a constructive programme.

There is a limit to deceiving a nation. These “constructive works” are going on all over the country. And on the strength of such programmes one can easily be counted a saint.

Our mind is so weak that talk of creation appeals to us—because it feels like, “Let’s add a little more.” We are so greedy that only talk of creating registers; talk of destroying does not. Because of greed, the whole country has become greedy: whatever there is, bring it and keep it. Whatever it may be, there should be “creation”—just keep piling up.

No—this greed has to be dropped, and the courage to break has to be gathered. I maintain that the day we gather the courage to break—first break the mind’s assumptions, then break the structure of society—on that very day youthfulness will return to us, freshness will return. And the same courage that breaks is the courage that creates.

Remember, courage is one and the same—whether you use it to break or to build. If the courage to break has come, the courage to build is much easier. That is why I constantly emphasize the courage to destroy. And if that emphasis spreads, we can build tomorrow. Then some construction can happen.

Right now even to speak of construction is dangerous. It should not be spoken of at all. It instantly appeals to the entire framework of the country: “Yes, fine; we agree. A constructive programme—very good. We will do it.”

This five-thousand-year-old greedy mind of society only collects more. I am not in favor of that. But let it be clear: I am not a destructive man; my mind is not that of a destroyer. My mind is creative. But destruction is a necessity—and without speaking of it, we cannot move toward creation.