Jin Sutra #29

We have come to the sutras that lie exactly at the center of the contemplative stream of Jina-Darshan. The current here is very deep. If you skim the surface, you will miss. One has to dive — deeply, with courage, and with great patience — only then can these sutras be understood.
And these are among those sutras that are of the utmost importance; and among them too are those that the Jains have most misunderstood. They were compelled to distort them; because if these sutras are understood correctly, the things the Jains are doing would become impossible.
If these sutras stand true, the Jains are proven false; and if the Jains want to keep themselves appearing right, they must necessarily distort the meaning of these sutras. As we enter the sutras, this will become clear.
All followers have committed indecency with their masters; at times outright rape! Because if the Master is fully true, the disciple finds no way left to be false. The moment the Master departs, the disciple adds and subtracts from his words, changes meanings, installs new meanings, paints new colors. Then the words become usable. Then their danger is over. Their very life is drained out; only lifeless sutras remain.
The first sutra:
दंसणभट्ठा भट्ठा,
— The one corrupted in Darshan alone is corrupt.
दंसणभट्ठस्स नत्थि निव्वाणं।
— And he who is corrupted in Darshan, Nirvana is never possible for him. He will never attain Moksha.
सिज्झंति चरियभट्ठा,
— This is a most unique sutra! Mahavira says: even a man bereft of character but endowed with vision can attain siddhi. ‘सिज्झंति चरियभट्ठा.’ He too will reach who has no character; only vision.
दंसणभट्ठा ण सिज्झंति।
But he who has no vision, even if he tries by the million means, will not reach.
No sutra can be more precious in placing Darshan above character. Understand each word carefully.
‘The one corrupted in Darshan alone is corrupt.’ He who has no eyes is the one astray. You may refine your character as much as you like, discipline it, polish it as much as you like; but if this character is not born of your own seeing, is borrowed, then it will not lead to Moksha. You speak truth because the scripture says, “Speak truth; satyam vada!” — and so you speak truth. But untruth remains gathered in your life-breath. It can happen that you bind your life in such a way that untruth never comes out of the tongue. It is difficult, though not impossible. The tongue, after all, is the tongue; it can be kept under control. And if it does not remain under control, you can fall silent, you can even cut the tongue off. That is why many become silent. But will silence erase untruth? Now you do not speak untruth, but if untruth were tied only to speaking, that would be one thing; untruth sits within your life-breath. If you do not speak, it will not reach others, but you will not be free of it. Speaking only expressed it; it did not create it! Speaking only revealed it; it did not give birth to it! Untruth is seated within. Speaking only informed the other.
So a person who fashions character according to scripture, without his own vision — relations between him and others will become proper, the person will become moral — but, says Mahavira, not religious. Moksha is not for him. The door of supreme bliss will not open for him. He will become a good citizen. He will be a gentleman, but not a saint.
A gentleman means: one by whom no one is harmed. But the gentleman keeps committing suicide upon himself. He does not throw poison on anyone, but keeps drinking it himself. Thus, hair by hair, vein by vein, breath by breath, poison spreads in him. Those whom you call “of good character,” try peeking into their innermost being; you will find them more filled with poison than the so-called dissolute. You will find it so, because the dissolute at least throws some of it out; they keep hoarding it inside. The dissolute has a little catharsis; the “good” have none. The dissolute is like one who breathes: takes in life-giving oxygen, throws out life-negating carbon dioxide.
But the one you call gentleman is like one who keeps collecting carbon dioxide within the lungs, does not throw it out. His lungs begin to rot. The gentleman is in a state of a kind of spiritual cancer.
Hence psychologists have observed a great wonder: that even in the eyes of the most hardened criminals there can sometimes be a childlike innocence; but not in the eyes of your so-called saints. In their eyes there is great complexity, much calculation, heavy bookkeeping! And they hold themselves tight twenty-four hours a day. If they relax even for a moment, that knot of poison gathered over a lifetime might spill.
The saint, even for a moment, does not rest. For the saint — they say — there is no holiday… For the so-called saint! The real saint is at rest twenty-four hours a day. Rest is his way of life. But what you call a saint — and whom according to Mahavira should at best be called a gentleman, and that too as mere courtesy — this so-called saint is not in rest even for a moment; cannot be, because he is afraid. If he lets himself loose, becomes slack, then what he has suppressed — the knot — will open.
Have you seen? If you tell one lie, you cannot relax afterwards! Because if you relax, the lie might slip out! In gossip, in talk, you might forget yourself and say something to someone, so the liar speaks little; he speaks after much calculation. And the one who lies a lot remains alert twenty-four hours a day.
The man you call gentleman has told the greatest lie of life — what is not within him, he has displayed outside. This is the greatest untruth. The result of this great lie is that your gentleman simply cannot rest. He stands with a bayonet on his own chest, guarding himself twenty-four hours a day. Is this the state of a saint? Is this any liberation? This is to be bound, badly bound.
Mahavira says: दंसणभट्ठा भट्ठा! Astray is only the one who has no eyes.
All the emphasis is on vision, on eyes.
The so-called man of character is like a blind man who, by walking the same path again and again, becomes so habituated that he no longer needs eyes; without tapping the ground with a stick, without seeking anyone’s support, without groping or asking, merely by habit from going and coming on the same path, he begins to walk as one with eyes should walk. Seeing him walk, you may be amazed. You may even suspect that perhaps this man has gotten his eyes back. For he walks exactly as the sighted walk. But there is a deep difference. This walking is merely by habit. Through constant going and coming on the same path, it has become a habit. He knows every stone on the path. Every turn is familiar. He can walk the path, but merely walking does not open the eyes. Had the eyes opened, walking could happen; he has deceived.
The one you call man of character is like this: he does not yet see, but having heard others, relying on the ear, he has practiced. So people practice nonviolence. But nonviolence cannot be practiced. Nonviolence has eyes. Love has its own vision. Love has a feeling. Love is a new birth. Your heart begins to see in a different way, then nonviolence bears fruit. Then nonviolence is very alive. Then there is thrill in it, a celebration.
But by listening to others, out of greed to secure the other world, you can fashion your character; you can become nonviolent, step gingerly, lest even an ant be killed… The ant may not die, but you will! You can save everything, but you will not be able to save yourself. And that was the real point.
दंसणभट्ठा भट्ठा,
He who has no eyes is astray: the one corrupted from Samyak Darshan, only he is corrupt. Mahavira’s word is very clear.
दंसणभट्ठस्स नत्थि निव्वाणं।
And he who is corrupt in vision, he has no Nirvana, no Moksha. Up to here a Jain may not be troubled. The next sutra — सिज्झंति चरियभट्ठा, even the one corrupt in character, if endowed with eyes, reaches — here the obstruction arises. So when the Jains translate, when the Jain monks translate, what do they do? They take this simple statement where there are only two words — सिज्झंति चरियभट्ठा — even those who do not know Prakrit can say — सिज्झंति चरियभट्ठा — even the characterless reach siddhi. What do the Jains do in translation? They say: “Those devoid of conduct but with Samyak Darshan — after adopting conduct — attain siddhi.”
“After adopting conduct”? In this way it becomes convenient to distort Mahavira. The Jains are troubled: if it be true that even the one corrupt in character, merely because of having eyes, attains siddhi, then what of the entire arrangement of character we have made? So they add two small words, put them in brackets: “Those devoid of conduct but with right vision (after adopting conduct) attain siddhi.” Mahavira has said this nowhere. Mahavira’s statement is straight and clear. Had he wished to say it, he would have said it himself; he too could have placed brackets.
सिज्झंति चरियभट्ठा, दंसणभट्ठा ण सिज्झंति।
But the one corrupt in Darshan does not attain; the one corrupt in character can attain. Now there are many questions worth pondering here. First: “Characterless but with Samyak Darshan!” This means Mahavira accepts that even without character one can have right vision. This means that the presence or absence of character is not fundamental. Character is like a shadow. It may be, it may not be. Because a shadow does not depend on you. You think your shadow follows you — do not fall into this illusion. The shadow does not depend on you; it depends on other causes. The shadow is not yours, as you think; it depends on the sun. If you stand in shade, the shadow will be lost. When the sun is overhead, the shadow will be short. When the sun is behind, the shadow will fall ahead. When the sun is in front, the shadow will fall behind. You have always thought the shadow is “mine”… and you have thought wrong. What have you to do with the shadow? If there is no sun, there will be no shadow. The shadow does not depend on you; it depends on other causes.
If lights are placed all around you, many shadows will form at once. If there is no light here, no shadow will be cast.
Character is not fundamental; it depends on other causes; it is like a shadow. But Darshan is fundamental. Vision is fundamental. It is yours. It depends on no sun. Even in darkness when the sun is not there, your sight is with you. Because of this very sight you say, “It is very dark!” Even darkness is seen!
Remember, the blind do not even see darkness! People usually think the blind live in darkness. Do not fall into this error. No blind person has ever seen darkness. One who has not seen light, how will he see darkness? The blind is not in darkness. He does not even know there is such a thing as darkness. To see darkness, an eye is needed. For light the eye is needed; for darkness too the eye is needed…
Vision is fundamental; it depends on no one — it is yours. And Mahavira lays great emphasis on this: what is yours is the truth; what is not yours, borrowed, is untruth.
The characterless with right vision attain siddhi. So Mahavira is saying that character is not something essential, it is secondary. If it is, well and good; if it is not, it is still possible that a person attains liberation. But the visionless never attain liberation, because vision is fundamental.
Now such exaltation of vision and such casting of character into the trash — how could the Jains allow Mahavira to do that? For twenty-five centuries, Mahavira’s words have gradually lost value; those brackets have become more valuable. The commentaries made on them have become more valuable. The Jain monks must have been afraid: this is a dangerous statement. It will set people ablaze like fire! People may begin to think that character has no value! For if character has no value, then the Jain monk has no value; because his entire trade rests upon the value of character. So it becomes necessary to add brackets.
This is dishonesty with Mahavira. This is rape upon Mahavira.
“If the characterless with right vision (after adopting conduct) attain siddhi” — if this is what Mahavira meant, what need was there to say it? If what the Jain monk says is exactly Mahavira’s translation — “The characterless with right vision (after adopting conduct) attain siddhi” — if this is what Mahavira wanted to say, what need was there to say it? And if he had to say that, then in the second statement too he should have added a bracket: “But those without right vision cannot attain siddhi” — add a bracket there too: “But those without right vision (after attaining right vision) can attain siddhi.” Then all the life of Mahavira’s meaning is gone! What need is there to say anything? The characterless, by obtaining character, attain siddhi; the visionless, by obtaining vision, will attain siddhi. What need is there to say anything?
The purpose of saying is clear. Mahavira wants to distinguish: the one who has attained Darshan can, even without character, attain liberation; but he who has not attained Darshan cannot attain Moksha even after obtaining character.
This is as straightforward as arithmetic — as clear as two plus two equals four. But deep-seated vested interests are at work!
Mahavira attained Darshan. One who has attained the Atman ceases to worry about the shadow. One who has not found the self worries only about the shadow. The shadow seems to him like the self. One who has seen himself, he is not very eager to look for his image in the mirror! One who has seen his Atman has no concern left to see his face in a mirror. And if the mirror is lost, he does not go crazy: “Now what shall I do, how will I look at my face?” One who has seen the Atman drops the concern for the face.
Character is a shadow. Character is a reflection seen in the mirror. Character is an image beheld in mirrors fashioned by relations with others. It is not the direct experience of the self.
You spoke a lie — one kind of character was formed. You spoke the truth — another kind of character formed. But whether you spoke truth or lie, you spoke to someone — the other was necessary! How will you speak truth or lie in aloneness? Sitting alone on a mountain, how will you be honest, how dishonest? There will be no way left. The other is needed!
And whatever needs the other for its being cannot lead to Moksha; for Moksha means only this much: to be complete in oneself. This is to be dependent on others.
Mahavira says: shame upon dependence on others! This is dependence. Without the mirror, nothing will work. If I must be a saint, I must be among people.
And note the joke — consider it a bit! If you want to be a great saint, then people must remain non-saintly; only then can you be a great saint! If everyone becomes saintly, your saintliness will be lost.
Think for a moment of a world where all are like Ram, the epitome of decorum: who will ask of Dasharatha’s son Ram then? He is asked about because he alone is the “epitome of decorum.” His decorum depends upon your lack of decorum. The saint’s saintliness depends on your non-saintliness.
If you see deeply, the saint will disappear the day the world becomes saintly. So the saint’s vested interest is that the world not become saintly; the world should remain non-saintly.
A leader remains a leader only so long as others have not gotten the idea of becoming leaders. As long as the followers agree to be followers, the leader is a leader. The day the followers declare, “We too have become leaders,” that day the leader is lost. The rich are rich only so long as there are poor. Your great mansion can be great only so long as others live in small huts. Just as it is clear in economics that the rich man’s joy in his wealth is only as long as others are poor…
This is obvious — a simple economic law — that the pleasure of wealth is only as long as others lack it. You have a grand car; the delight is only as long as, in the rains, you splash mud on pedestrians while passing. If everyone has such cars, the matter is finished! All your joy in the car will vanish. The joy was not in the car; it was in the fact that others did not have cars. Life’s web is very intricate!
I had a friend in Calcutta. I would sometimes stay at his house. He was crazy about his house. He had built a splendid house — unmatched in Calcutta. He had outdone the whole city. Twenty-four hours he was filled with thoughts of the house… So whenever I would go, it was house, house… he would show this, show that! He had made a new swimming pool. What all he had done, he would show. Once when I went, he said nothing about the house. And I had come prepared to listen about the house. He said nothing and looked a bit dejected, his enthusiasm seemed slack, a little dull. By evening I asked, “What is the matter? What happened to the house?” He said, “Don’t bring it up!” I said, “There must be something. You look dejected. That usual exuberance and talk about the house, something new you did… what happened?” He took me by the hand, outside to the neighbor’s. “Look!” A man had built a house bigger than his! He said, “Until I beat this one, what is there to talk about? My heart is very saddened. I do not even have the means right now to go that high. I’ve been outdone!”
I said, “Your house is as it is. No one has touched it. Nothing has decreased, nothing gone wrong; everything is beautiful. But in the neighboring sky, a new house has risen! Someone has drawn a longer line beside your line — no one even touched your line — and suddenly you became small.”
So I told him, “Consider this: the joy you were taking in your house was not the joy of your house; it was the joy of the huts around. Your wealth depends on someone’s poverty.”
And the same is true with your saint. If un-saintliness disappears from the world, who will seat your saint on a throne in the temple? Who will place a plate of worship before him? Who will wave the lamp of adoration? He will be lost. So the saint says to you: become saints; but his innermost prayer is: O God, do not make them all saints! His condition is what psychologists call ‘paradoxical intention’ — a contradictory desire.
Like when you go to a physician… have you ever noticed? If your pockets are full, your disease takes longer to heal. In this sense the poor man is fortunate. If you are very rich and fall ill once, then you are caught — you will not be able to get well. Because the physician has a contradictory desire. He lives on your disease while organizing to make you healthy. His whole life depends on you being ill; and all his effort is that you get well. This is a paradox.
I have heard: a doctor’s son returned from college a doctor. The father was tired and had not taken rest for long, so he said, “Let me take a seven-day break, go to the hills. Now that you are home, you handle things.” Seven days later when the father returned, the son greeted him happily at the door and said, “Father, the lady you could not cure in twenty years — I cured her in five days!” The father slapped his head: “Fool! Because of her you could study in college and my hope was that other children would study too! She was never to be cured. What have you done? You have ruined the whole game!”
The physician appears to make efforts to cure you. Perhaps he himself believes he wants to cure you. Perhaps in his conscious mind there is nothing else; he arranges to cure you. But in the unconscious, deep within… if you could open his unconscious, somewhere there will be this: may people remain ill, remain ill — only then can he live.
One night there was great festivity in a tavern. A man had come for the first time with his friends and he threw money liberally, drank and made others drink! The owner of the tavern was amazed. He had never seen such a generous customer! And as they left at midnight after squandering thousands, he said to his wife, “If such customers came every day, in a few days we would be rolling in wealth.” As they were leaving, he said to the customer, “Please come sometimes.” The customer said, “Pray for us that our business runs well, then we will keep coming.” He said, “We will certainly pray, why not! We will pray every day that your business… but tell me, what is your business?” The customer said, “Do not ask, otherwise you will not be able to pray. I sell wood at the cremation ground. If people keep dying and the wood keeps selling, I keep coming. If my business runs…”
Now there are some who sell wood at the cremation ground — their business is that people die.
In a village a new inspector came. He sat all day, dressed in neat clothes, belt and boots; all day he sat. Again and again he jerked his head up; but nothing happened. No theft, no robbery, no murder anywhere, no suicide, no riot, no Hindu-Muslim clash — nothing happened. He started looking a bit dejected. Evening fell and his face went pale.
His clerk said, “Do not worry! I have full faith in human nature. Wait, something or other is bound to happen. Night has fallen. Why are you so dejected?”
Now one who lives by catching thieves, he catches the thief but waits for a theft to happen! The judge who punishes murderers — his whole being depends upon their being there. In partnership with them he is a judge. Understand this irony of life.
The saint keeps telling you, “You who are non-saintly — become saintly! But do not all become, otherwise he will be angry. One saint is not pleased with another saint. One saint is very displeased with another saint. He is happy that you are non-saintly. His saintliness, his high throne, is planted upon your chest. If someday in truth the world becomes religious, neither non-saints will remain, nor saints will remain.
The entire strength of the saint lies in this: that he has character and you do not. He has accomplished something you have not been able to do — though that ‘accomplishment’ is utterly foolish. Foolish like a man standing on his head in the street. There is no virtue in it, yet a crowd will gather. People will even offer money. Because you cannot stand on your head for hours. That’s enough. Someone rides a bicycle for thirty-six hours. He also gets money, his photo is printed in the newspaper. It means nothing. Ride for thirty-six hours or thirty-six births — what’s the essence? But what others cannot do, someone does — enough, he begins to be honored.
You have seen the way you honor your saints!
Someone fasted for three months — and you are filled with reverence! This is not very different from riding a bicycle for thirty-six hours. Someone dried his body into bones — you are impressed! Someone abandoned wife and children, home and household, and stood in the jungle — you go with flowers of worship! Because you cannot do it, you think you are weak, and this man has done it!
In America a psychological study is going on about criminals and those who grapple with criminals. Astonishing results have come. Often you have seen: someone is drowning, or a house is on fire and a child is inside; thousands gather, thousands stand watching; only one or two jump and run into the house, risk their own life, bring the child out. The newspapers report it, he is felicitated, welcomed! People say, very brave! A wonderful man! Saintly character! Compassionate! Kind!
Someone is drowning in the river; someone saves him. Or on the road a man attacks another; many pass by, but one person jumps in between and catches the assailant or hands him to the police or subdues him or catches the murderer — risking his own life. So in America they are studying what sort of people do such acts. And a very surprising result has emerged: they are the same kind of people as those they catch. These are not saintly people.
The one who jumps between two people fighting — he is an angry man too, he too can murder. The very tendency toward murder is what makes him jump in. He does not jump in out of saintliness. He does not jump out of compassion. And one more amusing fact has emerged: he does not care much to save the one being beaten; he is interested in beating the one who is beating. His emphasis is not on saving the victim; he thinks, “This one is a gone case, a weakling!” He wants to demonstrate something to the aggressor; he wants to show him. He is saying, “While I am here, who is beating whom?” The one who jumps into the burning house may not have much to do with the child inside; but it is intolerable to his ego that someone else might jump first. Many times it has happened that two jumped at once; one brought the child, the other returned empty-handed — watch his despair! The child’s being saved is not the point — who saved him! Whose ego got satisfied! Man is very tangled!
So the Jain monk who interprets this way — the interpretation has no concern with Mahavira; it has the desire to save himself and his entire business.
These brackets are dangerous. Mahavira’s statement is straight: ‘सिज्झंति चरियभट्ठा.’ The characterless attain siddhi.
Siddhi has no relation to being corrupt in character or being a man of character. Siddhi relates to the purity of vision; to the clarity of seeing; to the transparency of vision.
Now Mahavira’s statement also says that the characterless can have right vision, and the man of character can be visionless.
It will be auspicious if you are both of character and of vision. That will indeed be good. That will be fragrance added to gold — that you have vision and you have conduct.
And usually, if vision is there, conduct follows; it comes — you do not have to bring it in.
But then why does Mahavira say that even the characterless with right vision can arrive? He is saying that many times what is your conduct may not appear as conduct to others; because others’ notions may not match the conduct that arises from vision. Understand this. One who has eyes — why would he try to go through a wall? He will go through the door. But it may happen that what appears to him to be the door may not appear to you as a door; those watching may not see it.
When Mahavira stood naked, many felt: this is immoral, this is licentiousness. Do not think that today when a man stands naked on the street you think it is licentiousness; in Mahavira’s day too people thought the same. People are the same. When Mahavira was beaten and thrown out of villages, not allowed to stay, forced to spend years in forests — nakedness was disturbing. When someone stands naked in society, all the clothes-wearers are pained. Because that man, by standing naked, in a deep sense makes you naked too. By standing naked, he exposes all that you have hidden in garments. You too are the same, with slight variations. You too are all that he is. Seeing him naked, you too become naked; he has spoiled the whole meaning of your clothes. You were hiding yourself. If you were to find yourself naked somewhere, you would not even recognize yourself without clothes.
Two little children were passing by a nudist club and peeped inside through a water-drain hole in the wall. Small boys returning from school! When one had looked, the other who stood waiting said, “Who is inside?” He replied, “Hard to say. All are without clothes.” The first asked, “Are they women or men?” He said, “How shall I tell? No one is wearing clothes.”
Even our distinction between man and woman is, roughly, in clothing. Small children see only that women and men wear different outfits. The distinction between rich and poor is also in clothes. Look! Put a magistrate and a thief both standing naked — which is the magistrate and which the thief? It will be difficult. The whole distinction is of dress. That is why since old times the magistrate is made to wear a special wig. Clothes are not enough; a wig is put on the head so that humanity disappears; nothing is recognizable. The lawyer stands in a black gown. Universities hold convocations and elders do childish things — wearing gowns, standing in them. But that is the only difference; otherwise who is the chancellor, who the vice-chancellor? It would be difficult to tell. Hence we insist on clothes.
If someone goes on the road wearing a policeman’s uniform, we immediately catch him: “What are you doing?” Because it dissolves the distinction. Have you ever seen a policeman without uniform? The flavor is lost, the glory gone! The same man, when standing in his uniform — then see! A certain pride appears.
Colonel Raj is sitting there, head covered! See him in the garb of a sannyasin — and when he is in the uniform of a major, a colonel — then see! Then the whole thing changes!
A man even walks differently when he wears the colonel’s clothes. The sound of his steps, the creak of his shoes, the crease of his clothes — all change. We tally a man a bit; but our accounts are with clothes.
It is said Ghalib was invited by Bahadur Shah for a meal. He was a poor man and went in his ordinary clothes. Friends warned him that in these clothes they will not let you into the court. But he insisted: the invitation is for me, not my clothes… Stubborn! He went. When he told the gatekeeper to let him in, the gatekeeper pushed him aside: “Beggar, a royal palace invites you! Have you gone mad?” He could not even believe such misbehavior… When he pulled out the invitation from his pocket to show it, the guard snatched that away too. “You must have stolen it! Whose have you taken?”
Poor Ghalib, startled, returned home. Friends said, “We had told you; we knew. We have brought clothes.” They dressed him in a proper long coat, gave new shoes. When he returned, the same guard bowed down: “Please come!” Do not laugh at the guard; you would have done the same. And when he sat to eat, Bahadur Shah — he had great respect for Ghalib. He too was a poet; and as for Ghalib’s poetry — few masters like him! So he seated him near himself. And when Ghalib began to eat, he first picked up sweets and said to his coat, “Here, eat,” then to his cap, “Here, eat!” Bahadur Shah felt: poets are mad, that is alright; but this much he had not thought. He asked, “Forgive me! What are you doing? What is this style of eating?” Ghalib said, “I had come earlier. I was turned away. I did not come in. It is the clothes that came. This food is for them. They were allowed entry; not I. I had returned from the gate. By whose grace I have managed to come — for without me the clothes could not have come, and without the clothes I could not come — so for those by whom I have come like a shadow, let me feed them first.”
When Mahavira stood naked, he made you all naked; he tore away everyone’s garments. People felt it very immoral: this man is dangerous! Who will call him a man of character? What decorum is this? This is dropping decorum; this is licentiousness.
Hence Mahavira says: the one with Samyak Darshan is inevitably a man of conduct, but his conduct may or may not match with society’s so-called notions. Therefore, he says, even if it does not match, it makes no difference.
‘सिज्झंति चरियभट्ठा.’ He whom people think “corrupt in character,” even he, relying only on vision, becomes free, attains siddhi. But without Samyak Darshan one cannot attain siddhi.
Therefore, what is to be attained, what is to be sought, is Darshan — the way of seeing; the clear eye; the pristine state of feeling. Let no thought remain on the eye. Let no hypothesis remain upon the eye. Let no prejudice remain upon the eye. Let the eye be so pure, so transparent, that what is, as it is, begins to be seen — that is enough. Knowledge follows of itself behind that; conduct follows of itself. But this conduct is not necessarily in accord with society’s approved conventions. It will be in accord with your vision. And he who has vision does not care whether his conduct is honored by you or not. He does not consider what you think. Your opinions, your beliefs, your praise and blame are not the foundation of his conduct. The basis of his conduct is his own inner seeing. Even if he is alone and the whole world thinks differently from him, he remains blissful.
‘Arsh’ listens to no one’s word
Perhaps lost in his own ecstasy.
— He is intoxicated in his own joy. He is ecstatic in his own bliss.
‘Arsh’ listens to no one’s word
Perhaps lost in his own ecstasy.
So Mahavira does not care what you call conduct. What appears as conduct to Mahavira, that happens. And only such strong men, such Mahaviras, give new measures, new paradigms of conduct. Only such powerful ones open new skies of conduct. Nakedness too was given conduct. Nakedness, joined with Mahavira, became innocent. People are not as beautiful even inside clothes as Mahavira was in his nakedness. Covered and veiled, people are not as fragrant as Mahavira was in his nakedness. Mahavira’s nakedness became pure, innocent childhood — the nakedness of a small child.
Mahavira is the first proof in this world of the innocence of nakedness. With you even clothes become dirty; with Mahavira even nakedness became sacred. Only such heroic beings give life new paradigms, new motions, new dimensions, new horizons, new skies. Therefore, the religious person is inevitably a rebel — he will be. For your notions are trite and rotten. Keep them for yourselves! He does not mold himself to fit your patterns. He lives in accord with his vision. If you wish, change your notions; but you cannot change the religious man. If you come into the company of a religious man, either you will change, or you will become his enemy — but the religious man does not change. There is no way. Not because he is obstinate; not because he is stubborn — but because his vision shows him the door in a certain place, and he goes there. Where you show a door, he sees a wall. It is no wonder he does not listen to the blind. What stubbornness is in this? If there is a crowd of blind and one man with eyes, and the blind say, “You are walking wrong…”
I have heard H. G. Wells’ story: in Mexico there is a small valley where all are blind. Because in the water and the soil are elements such that children are born — and within a month or two their eyesight is lost. A man with eyes reached that valley. He was astonished. He could not believe that hundreds are blind — not one sighted. He felt great love for them. He began to live among them. He fell in love with a young woman. Until now it was fine that he was a stranger and said strange things — so thought the blind — about seeing, about color, about light, about rainbows, flowers, greenery… And whenever the blind asked him to show them, “What is greenery? Explain!” — what could he explain? “Explain rainbow, what are you speaking of, where is it? We want to touch and see!” They could touch trees, but greenery is not known by touch. They laughed: a madman has come. By democratic view, they were right. Their number was many. He was alone; they all were. Until now it was alright, but when he fell in love with a girl, the people of the valley were a bit disturbed. They said, “Now there is difficulty. If this man wants to marry, he must accept our rules and ways of life. And the first rule is: we do not accept eyes, we consider eyes as false. Then he must give up this false notion. He must give up that he has eyes.” The over-eager among them said, “Let us operate on his eyes. Where he says he has eyes, let us remove them; then he will become just like us.”
The man with eyes was in deep trouble. He had love for the young woman; half his mind was drawn there. And then to lose his eyes — and with the eyes the whole color, the play of the sun, the entire world of moon and stars — the stake was big. One night he fled. The next morning they were to operate upon his eyes. He ran away because the price was too great. Love can happen again; where will he find eyes again? And once blind, blind forever. And having seen this existence once with eyes, then without eyes life will be very insipid; not worth living. Truly, the truth was: he had fallen in love with that woman because of his eyes. Her beauty, her color, her features had charmed him. To lose the very eyes by which he had found her — this he could not understand. He fled.
People like Mahavira fall into the valley of the blind. But they will not agree to have their eyes removed.
Therefore Mahavira says, “Even the characterless with Samyak Darshan attain siddhi; but those without Samyak Darshan cannot attain siddhi.”
Look at yourself a little — what is your condition!
Vaae, deevanagii-e-shauq ki hardam mujhko
Aap jaana udhar aur aap hi hairan hona.
— Alas, this madness of desire — that every moment I myself go there, and myself become bewildered! I myself go there, and I myself create my confusions!
And each time you resolve that you will not repeat the mistake; but that resolve is of no use. Because vision is not with you. Where do mistakes appear as mistakes? You say you will not be angry. You say anger burns. You say anger is poison — but these words are borrowed. Some knower must have said them; but you have not known. Because if you had known, as one burned by fire will not put his hand in again, so too you would never be angry again. But you get angry again.
Vaae, deevanagii-e-shauq ki hardam mujhko
Aap jaana udhar aur aap hi hairan hona.
A strange circle! But if you understand, there is one sutra by which the whole matter becomes clear: you have lived by the ear till now, not by the eye. “Whatever is heard by the ear is all false.” Truth never comes through the ear — it comes through the eye. Hence we have called the search for truth Darshan — the search for the eye. And those who have found, we have called Drashta — the seers: the eye has been found! If truth were to be found by the ear, we would have called it Shravan, not Darshan. If truth were by the ear, those who attain would be called Shrota, not Drashta. Truth relates to direct seeing. The ear can be deceived; the eye cannot. And the eye we speak of is not these outer eyes alone, it is the inner eye. There, a compacted flame of awareness is needed — so condensed that through that condensed awareness seeing happens; it becomes your inner light!
“Nathi jagarato bhayam!” — says Buddha in the Dhammapada: for the awakened, there is no fear. All fear is for the sleeping.
The Rig Veda has a priceless sutra: For bhuti, wakefulness; for abhut, sleep and dream. Wakefulness brings growth; sleep and dream bring decline!
What Mahavira calls Samyak Darshan means: awakened, seeing, with eyes. Begin to see life. This will not happen by reading scriptures; begin to see the scripture of life. Do not form notions about whatever is in life; form recognition. If there is anger, see anger. If there is hate, see hate. If there is love, see love. If there is delusion, see delusion. If there is greed, see greed. Do not be in a hurry.
The pursuer of character is in a great hurry. He does not see greed, he begins practicing non-greed. This is the difference. He does not look into anger; he engages in the desire for non-anger. He does not put his eye into lust; and he takes vows of celibacy. This is what Mahavira is saying.
Such character will not take you. No one ever reached by borrowing. Religion must be cash!
Ek muamma hai samajhne ka, na samjhaane ka
Zindagi kaahé ko hai — ek khwaab hai deewane ka.
— This life that we are calling life while asleep, is nothing more than a dream. The day you awaken, you will find that what you had known as life till now was only a dream; and not a very sweet dream either — a nightmare. Some dream of wealth, some dream of position.
The follower of character says: drop the chase of wealth, drop the chase of position! The follower of vision says: see the chase of position, see the chase of wealth! Take note of this difference. The man of seeing says: do not run! Where will you run? If sleep is within, it will go with you. If dreams are within, they will go with you. Do not run! Awaken! See — where you are, what is. Whatever fact of life is there — sweet or bitter, tasty or poisonous — taste, form recognition! Out of that recognition, knowledge oozes drop by drop. Your cup of honey will one day be full. And then there will be conduct in your life. But that conduct need not be according to the Jains’ approval, or the Hindus’, or the Buddhists’. That conduct will be in accordance with your own nature. Keep this in mind.
The conduct of every awakened person is unique. So do not measure Ram by Krishna. If you measure Ram by Krishna, one of the two will remain right — both cannot be right. And do not measure Buddha by Mahavira. And do not measure Mohammed by Jesus. And do not measure Zarathustra by Lao Tzu. Do not measure at all. For the conduct of each awakened one is the outcome of his own awakening. It is personal, unique, unprecedented.
Such a one has never been before; such a one will never be again.
The conduct of the sleeping lines up, it is like others’, it depends on imitation. Two Mahaviras have never been, nor two Buddhas, nor two Krishnas — nor can there be. Fix this uniqueness deep within. Then you will not be afraid. Then when your vision awakens, your conduct will be your own. And if God is anywhere and asks you, he will not ask: why were you not like Mahavira; he will ask: why were you not like you? Why did you not let your nature bloom? Why did you not become what you were born to become? Why did you not bring your seed to flowers? Drop the anxiety of whether you match someone or not; for Truth is unique. In some deep sense it both matches and differs utterly. If you go very deep into Krishna, into the inner core, you will find Mahavira exactly. But from the outside, Mahavira and Krishna are far apart! You too are going to be distinct.
Religion makes the person a person. Sects turn a person into a crowd. Beware of the crowd!
Religion is a personal, intimate search.
The second sutra: “On one side is the gain of Samyaktva, and on the other the gain of the three worlds; then the gain of Samyak Darshan is superior to the gain of the three worlds.”
If on one side you receive vision, and on the other you receive the treasures of the three worlds, all wealth and empire — even then, Mahavira says, vision is superior to the three worlds’ wealth and empire. For if an empire is in the hands of a blind man, he remains a beggar. And if a man with eyes holds even a beggar’s bowl, it becomes an empire. It is all the play of eyes. Hence this unique happening: Mahavira stood like a beggar on the road. But has anyone ever seen a greater emperor than this? The Buddha left the palace and became a roadside beggar, nothing remained with him; yet who has ever had as much as this man! Life receives the greatest wealth through vision; no other wealth compares.
सम्मत्तस्य य लंभो, तेलोक्कस्स य हवेज्ज जो लंभो।
सम्मदंसणलंभो, वरं खु तेलोक्कलंभादो।।
Do not choose the wealth of the three worlds, nor greed, nor profit! If vision is available, everything is worth sacrificing for it. If by losing all you can gain vision, then save that. And if by saving all, vision is lost, do not make this costly bargain. The blind, the eyeless, only wander; they do not arrive. Whether poor or rich, successful or unsuccessful, happy or unhappy — it makes no difference; death flattens all, and makes all equal.
Paths will come together as one,
in the darkened city of Yama.
That blind man — whatever he does — death will bring all to the same place.
Paths will come together as one,
in the darkened city of Yama.
Only the one with vision is saved. Death catches only the blind. The one with vision — death cannot see him. And those without vision — they see only death, and they are visible to death. Everything depends on our vision.
Have you ever considered that in many senses many things are invisible? For example, an ant might be passing here; many ants may be passing. I am speaking here, but to the ant what I am saying will be utterly inaudible. It lies beyond the ant’s range. The trees stand here: what I say is as if never said… they are present, but their dimension of presence is different.
I read a story: an airplane burned in mid-air and a young woman died. She was going to London. Dying, only one thought was in her mind: Alas, I could not reach London! Her husband would be waiting in eagerness. Only this one obsession — and because of it her spirit went straight to London. But she was astonished: London was absolutely empty! Where had the people gone? Because when your own body is lost, other bodies do not appear. She had not yet realized that her body was gone. Because even if the gross body is lost, the subtle is not; it is just like this one — more beautiful, more delicate, more refined; an exact copy. In truth, this gross body is a copy of that subtle. She had not yet realized her body was gone. But when she reached London, all houses were empty. Light came out of windows, but inside there was silence, no one. She stood upon the Thames bridge. She could not believe that where thousands pass, there is no one. Thousands were passing even then. But losing your gross body breaks the connection with other gross bodies. Then suddenly she saw her husband was also crossing the bridge. When he passed, she saw him. Because there was an attachment with the husband, a condensed desire, love. Because of that love there was a thread. That love bound her not only to the husband’s body, but also to his subtle body. Through that connection she saw him a little — first faint, then a line emerged, then it became clear. And when she saw her husband, she was astonished that as soon as she saw him, other people also began to be seen. Because once one body was seen, other bodies also came into view. Instantly London was full — in a single moment — London had not been empty! Thousands were coming and going, houses were full!
This story is dear to me; whoever wrote it, wrote it with great insight. The story is imaginary, but the insight is deep.
We see only that which corresponds to where we are. Right now we see bodies. Therefore we are destined to be related to death. Death will be seen by us because it is the body that dies. Therefore we are afraid of death. The moment vision awakens and we see: we are not the body — we are outside death! Then death cannot see us either. It, too, can see us only so long as we are in the body, and believe we are the body. As long as we remain tied to the solidity of the body, we are within death’s range. The moment we are free of the body’s solidity, we are outside of death.
In this life, among these three worlds, whatever is obtained is outside. It can never become ours. What is outside remains outside; how will you take it within? You can pile up wealth; the pile will be outside. How will you pile it within? At most keep accounts inside, numbers of wealth; those too not very inside — those too will be in the mind; they will not reach consciousness. Even the numbers will not reach to consciousness; wealth will stay outside, mathematics will reach the mind. Wealth will not even reach the mind; mathematics will not reach consciousness. Your consciousness remains beyond. Until some inner wealth is obtained, no wealth is of use.
“What more need be said? In the past, those noble ones who became siddha, and those who will become siddha in future — all are the outcome of this one Samyaktva. This very Samyaktva is the glory.”
किं बहुणा भणिएणं,
— What more need be said now?
जे सिद्धा णरवरा गए काले।
Those who in times past have become siddha… These words are not limited to Jains. They are pure, addressed to all who became siddha. Included are the seers of the Vedas and the poets of the Upanishads.
किं बहुणा भणिएणं, जे सिद्धा णरवरा गए काले।
All who in the past, in bygone times… Mahavira says it unconditional, no condition attached. Otherwise he would say: the Jains who were siddha in the past. Those who have awakened now… What has awakening to do with Jain? Those who awaken — all are Jina.
सिज्झिहिंति जे वि भविया, तं जाणइ सम्ममाहप्पं।
— They attained only through the glory of Samyaktva. Through this vision, this awakening, this meditation, this Samadhi they attained.
“Just as the lotus leaf by its very nature does not become wet by water, so do the noble ones, by the influence of Samyaktva, not become smeared by passions and sense-objects.”
Then why would Mahavira say, run away from the world! Yes, if for someone — in accordance with his nature — stepping aside from the world fits, let him step aside; that is not escape. When a man’s house catches fire and he runs out, you do not call him a deserter! You do not say: escapee, escapist! If he sits inside the house and burns, you will certainly call him foolish; but if he comes out, you will not call him a deserter! If for someone the worldly life does not harmonize, does not fit his inner music, breaks his rhythm, let him step aside. But he is not a runner. A runner is one who thinks that by leaving the world he will get Moksha. One who makes leaving the world a means to Moksha — he is the escapist. Moksha has nothing to do with escaping the world.
Mahavira says: “Just as the lotus leaf by its nature does not cling to water, so do the noble ones, by the influence of Samyaktva, not cling to passions and objects.” Even while standing amidst passions and objects — as the lotus leaf lies in the pond — they do not cling. Once seeing begins, that vision itself becomes non-attachment.
Duniya ki mahfilon se uktā gayā hoon ya Rab
Kya lutf-e-anjuman ka, jab dil hi bujh gaya ho.
— I am tired of the world’s gatherings, O Lord; what joy of the assembly, when the heart is extinguished.
Once desire goes out, once the lamp of vision is lit in place of desire…
Duniya se kuchh lagāo na, uqba ki aarzoo hai
Tang aa gaye hain is dil-e be-mudda’a se hum.
— Then neither attachment to this world remains, nor any desire for that world. Those in whose minds that world remains a desire — that world is only an extension of this world — they have not yet tired of this world. Those who think they will enjoy in heaven; who think they will make the apsaras dance; who think streams of wine flow in heaven and they will bathe — they have not understood; awakening has not happened.
“The man of Samyak Darshan — whatever use he makes of conscious and unconscious elements through his senses, whatever he experiences — all of it assists in the shedding of karma.”
Mahavira says: not all enjoyment binds; because even to meditate, you will have to eat. For meditation the body is necessary. To go to a prostitute’s house you go with the body; to go to the temple too you walk with the body. If you want to kill someone, energy is needed, which comes from food; if you want to serve someone, energy is needed, which comes from food. The question is not to abandon food; the question is to use food rightly.
So Mahavira says, “Whatever the man of Samyak Darshan experiences through his senses of conscious and unconscious substances — all of it becomes helpful in the shedding of karma.” He lives only so that he may go beyond life. He eats only so that he may attain godliness. He drinks water so that the body becomes content, quiet; then inner-going can happen. His attention remains every moment on the inner truth. For that he makes the whole of life an instrument.
The Shrimad Bhagavat says: Swayam hi tirthani punanti santah! The saints purify the tirthas. No one becomes pure because of tirthas; tirthas become because of saints. Wherever the saint sits becomes a tirtha. Wherever the Tirthankara walks becomes a tirtha.
Do not search for the Ganges. You will never reach the Ganges. Attain vision, Samyaktva — the Ganges will come in search of you. Any river, any stream that passes by you becomes as sacred as the Ganga. The real value, the ultimate value, is of your consciousness.
“Some, while enjoying objects, do not enjoy them.” Hear this statement! If it had been said in the Gita, there would be no trouble; it is Mahavira who has said it.
Listen with great care, with awareness.
“Some, while enjoying sense-objects, do not enjoy them; and some, even not enjoying, do enjoy sense-objects. Just as a man engaged in arranging a wedding and such works, not being the owner of the event, is not the doer.”
In the Gita this is perfectly fine. It is clear in Krishna’s view. But the Jains have smeared Mahavira’s vision such that Mahavira’s own words seem alien.
Mahavira says that there are those who, due to awakening, even while enjoying, do not enjoy; even while eating, they are fasting; standing in the thick of the world, they are outside the world. And there are those who, even while not enjoying, enjoy. They have fasted, but the imagination of food, the desire for food… They have taken a vow of Brahmacharya, but waves of lust… They have gone to sit in the Himalayas, but the call of the world still reaches them.
So the real question is not running away outwardly — it is awakening inwardly.
Then you can be a renunciate while enjoying. And if it does not happen so, you will renounce and still remain a hedonist.
Go main raha raheene-sitamhā-e-rozgār
Lekin tere khayal se ghāfil nahin raha.
— I stayed amidst the world’s endless toils; but I did not become unmindful of You. If only you can say this much, it is enough. Remembrance remained, the thread of awareness remained in hand — then live in the marketplace; like the lotus leaf in a pond, amidst the water you remain untouched.
Mahavira says: just as a man arranges a wedding — if he is a clerk, not the owner — he runs, makes arrangements: bring the band, arrange the plates of food; but since he is not the owner, he is not disturbed. At night he goes home and sleeps well; nothing comes to mind. The work was done. He is not the doer. But the owner, even if not running, sitting on the throne, will not sleep. It is his daughter’s wedding. Worries will seize him. Worries do not seize because of the wedding; worries seize because of “my daughter.” Wherever there is “mine,” mamata, there is worldliness. Where there is no “mine,” no mamata, worldliness is gone. Then, free of the sense of doership, whatever you do has no bondage.
“In the same way, sexual enjoyment neither brings equanimity nor does it disturb it…”
Listen to these words — as if spoken by some great tantrika!
“In the same way, sexual enjoyment neither brings equanimity nor does it cause perversion or disparity. He who holds either aversion or attachment towards it, he becomes perverted by it.”
Hold neither aversion nor attachment. Whatever happens, silently, holding your awareness, let it happen. Whatever the situation, do not lose remembrance, do not lose self-remembering. That much is enough.
So Mahavira is speaking words of great courage. He says: sexual enjoyment neither binds, nor does leaving it liberate. Neither is bondage created by enjoyment, nor is liberation created by enjoyment. Yes — the feeling of aversion and attachment towards enjoyment, that alone creates the rope which binds. So hold no attachment and no aversion.
Now those you call worldly — the householders — their attachment is in enjoyment. Ask your sannyasi: what about him? He has aversion.
If you get hold of a book of nude pictures, you will hide and look; or put a Gita cover on it and look. You will not be able to refrain. But if you open the same book before your monk, he will jump up as if you brought a basket of snakes and scorpions! He will shout at you: what have you done! You have corrupted!
Your attachment; his aversion. Mahavira says: both are dangerous. Either feeling will bind — whether pro or con. Live in the world unattached, as if you have no feeling. Whatever happens is fine. You are not eager to grasp, nor eager to leave.
If someone brings money to Vinoba, he closes his eyes. What fear is in money? What power is in money? And if money has such power that saints must close their eyes, then if worldly people are overwhelmed by money’s power, what wonder! In some one, the eyes grow wide; in another, the eyes close!
I knew a gentleman. If even another’s note came into his hand, he would stroke it so tenderly — I have not seen such an artist since. Many I have seen… but even another’s note he stroked tenderly. Respect must be given. He would turn it over, touch it like a beloved!
On one side are those who drool at the sight of money; on the other are those who close their eyes. But what is the difference? Money affected both. It made both do something.
Mahavira says: there is nothing in money — neither anything to drool over, nor anything to close eyes over. The day neither attachment nor aversion remain — no raga, no viraga — that day Vitaragata is attained.
“Vitaraga” is Mahavira’s priceless word. No attachment, no aversion; no grasping, no rejecting; no choice — neither this nor that; no hatred, no infatuation! To be steady in oneself, to be delighted in oneself, such that whatever happens outside, within you no thought or feeling arises for or against — such a state of Vitaraga is the door to Moksha. Mahavira calls this vision supremely valuable.
Toofan se ulajh gaye lekar Khuda ka naam
Aakhir nijaat paa hi gaye naakhuda se hum
— We tangled with the storm by taking God’s name, and at last we got free even of the boatman! But Mahavira is free even of God. He is certainly free of the boatman; he follows no one, has no ferryman. He has even become free of Khuda. He has expounded the very science of religion: the purity of vision is your guide — that alone is the true Guru.
Let vision rest steady; let no disturbance arise: no agitation of hate, of praise, of success-failure, of enjoyment-renunciation. Then you come close to Nirvana.
“Anudvegaḥ shriyo moolam!” says the Hindu scripture: undisturbance is the root of the highest good, the root of nishreyas. This undisturbed state will make you a lotus in water. Blessed are those who remain among all and yet remain untouched by all!
Enough for today.