Kya Sove Tu Bavri #4
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Read in Original Hindi (मूल हिन्दी)
Questions in this Discourse
Osho, that is what is being taught.
Yes, that is being taught. That very thing is being taught, and it is precisely because of that teaching that such a corrupted world has come into being, and such corrupted human beings have been produced—because of that teaching.
Yes, that is being taught. That very thing is being taught, and it is precisely because of that teaching that such a corrupted world has come into being, and such corrupted human beings have been produced—because of that teaching.
What is the fruit of these five thousand years of such teaching? The people we see all around us—this very world of ours. This world has been born of that “education,” hasn’t it? So where has five thousand years of all this teaching brought you? Day by day you fall lower, and you will go on falling. The mistake is at the very foundation. The mistake is at the very foundation. There is no need for reverence, no need for belief. What is needed is inquiry, what is needed is courage. One must search, one must dare.
All that—reverence, belief—are symptoms of weakness. That is why the more a community leans on faith, the more it falls behind. Look. Any community that has relied on belief has lagged. Because the very question of taking the next step does not arise. If you are sitting in a bullock cart and you are content in it through faith and belief, then where will the question of moving beyond it arise?
A believing mind never develops; it cannot. Look at the world. Communities that believe will fall behind; individuals who believe will fall behind. But belief is convenient—comfortable, I would say. Comfortable, convenient; no hassle. We want nothing to do with searching. Where should we go to search—tend to our shop or go hunting for whether karma exists or not! So we assume. Someone says, “Yes, karma exists,” and we accept it. Father says it, so we accept it; neighbors say it, so we accept it. Who wants to get into hassles? Fine, it must be so. Then, having accepted it, we begin to speculate: “If the doctrine of karma is true, why did that person become poor? Surely he did bad deeds, therefore he is poor.” You accept one thing you do not know, and then on its basis you spread out your entire accounting: “We became rich, so we must have done good deeds.” And so on. First you accept something unknown, and then you begin interpreting everything before your very eyes on its basis. Life begins to run on a strange arithmetic.
Like you just said, “This is a matter of yog, of auspicious alignment.” How did you know that? How did you know destiny exists? You will say, “We saw the facts.” Absolutely false. You first accepted the doctrine of destiny, and then you began interpreting the facts to fit it. You can say, “For so many days Poornima kept telling you she had time, yet you could not go—there was simply no yog.” But the belief in yog was already seated in the mind, so the interpretation was made.
There was a man—there are beliefs all over the world that such-and-such day is bad, such-and-such date is unlucky. He wrote a book declaring the 13th to be the worst date. He said, “I’m not lying; I’m giving evidence.” He went to municipal and corporation offices and collected lists of how many people died on the 13th. He took hospital records of how many were admitted, how many went insane on the 13th. He listed how many suicides occurred on the 13th, how many accidents—he gathered it all. He wrote a big book: “On the 13th, this and that happens.” You would read the book and agree, “It’s perfectly right. It shows—this happens.”
A friend brought the book to me and said, “Look at this! Now do you accept it?” I said, “Investigate the 12th—you will find just as many facts. Or investigate the 11th—you will find just as many.”
Now, what is the difference between an unscientific and a scientific mind? The unscientific mind first accepts some belief, then imposes that belief upon the facts. The scientific mind accepts no belief; it searches for the facts, and lets knowledge arise from the facts—that is the only difference. Nothing else. The superstitious, unscientific mind accepts something first and then interprets the facts. The scientific mind first investigates the facts, then derives the theory. That is the only difference—and it is a very big difference—a very big difference.
If we strive for knowledge and search, the world will become far better. There will be truly alive people in the world, and real discovery. And when there is search, facts will emerge, and life will be experienced.
We are all dead people. I would consider it an insult to myself to believe on someone else’s say-so. Why should I believe? I was born to live my own life—to live, to know, to recognize. Who has the right to impose their belief on me? Otherwise, what need was there for me to be born at all! In the end, only my own experience can give me something. But we are afraid of experience—afraid of experience. Who knows where experience may lead! What might happen, what might not! We fear we might stray from well-trodden paths. And the great irony is: walking those well-trodden paths, where are you reaching anyway? Nowhere. You are already astray.
I am not a partisan of belief. I am certainly a partisan of knowing. Search—and when something is seen, you will know it. Then the question of believing will not arise. And then, surely, you will attain some real wealth in life.
If you keep searching and experiment with courage, then, grain by grain, you will accumulate a treasure. But if you go on believing, fine—keep believing—and you will be finished. No personal wealth, no attainment of lived realization can stand for you.
And the fun of interpretations is immense. Grab any doctrine and you can make interpretations. There is no difficulty in it. Otherwise, could so much foolishness continue in the world? There are eight hundred million Muslims, about a billion Christians, two hundred million Hindus. Two hundred million Hindus believe in rebirth. But these two billion Christians and Mohammedans—this does not so much as stir their ears; because their belief is that there is no rebirth. So the very same facts by which you interpret and “prove” rebirth—the very same facts they use to prove that rebirth is not proven. Could one and a half billion people be fooled for very long? If rebirth existed, how could two billion people continue to believe for so long that it does not? And if rebirth did not exist, how could two hundred million Hindus continue to believe that it does? If there were real facts, the matter would have been settled by now.
You see that in science universal decisions come quickly. There is little trouble. Scientists may argue for a while—“we take this meaning, not that”—but soon a decision comes about what meaning to take, because the emphasis is on facts. But religion has not been able to decide anything to this day, because the emphasis is on belief. With belief, there is no real difficulty; you can believe whatever comes into your mind and interpret the facts accordingly.
As long as facts are interpreted on the basis of belief, a single religion cannot come into being in the world. And until there is one religion, true religion cannot be. That is, a scientific religion cannot arise; it cannot be universal. But it will arise when, as in science, the concern in religion is to generate knowledge through facts. The day that happens, there will remain only one religion in the world; there is no room for two. How could two remain? And then you can imagine what the power of such a religion would be.
Up to now, the “religious” have spent their strength trying to destroy those of other religions. Muslims expend their energy to destroy Hindus; Hindus expend their energy to destroy Muslims. Christians exert their power to swallow everyone else; others exert theirs lest they be swallowed. Their entire effort and strength is spent devouring and being devoured.
If there were a scientific religion in the world, this entire energy could bring astonishing results in the development of humanity. Such brotherhood and such love could be born as cannot be measured. But that will happen only if we do not begin with belief. So it is not at all a small matter to tell children, “Have reverence, have belief.” It is a very dangerous matter. So dangerous that because of it man has been in trouble for five thousand years—and will remain in trouble, if this continues.
A scientific mind must be born in every direction. So I am not partisan, and I do not say, from any belief, that you should begin to think. You do not think at all when you start from belief—the matter is finished right there. You come to me having already decided about me—some judgment that I am very bad or very good. Then you will interpret me in conformity with your own reckoning and go away. If you truly want to know me, then do not come with any belief about me, and allow a direct encounter—direct, without bringing any belief in between.
Never form beliefs in life. And whatever beliefs you have formed—break them.
All that—reverence, belief—are symptoms of weakness. That is why the more a community leans on faith, the more it falls behind. Look. Any community that has relied on belief has lagged. Because the very question of taking the next step does not arise. If you are sitting in a bullock cart and you are content in it through faith and belief, then where will the question of moving beyond it arise?
A believing mind never develops; it cannot. Look at the world. Communities that believe will fall behind; individuals who believe will fall behind. But belief is convenient—comfortable, I would say. Comfortable, convenient; no hassle. We want nothing to do with searching. Where should we go to search—tend to our shop or go hunting for whether karma exists or not! So we assume. Someone says, “Yes, karma exists,” and we accept it. Father says it, so we accept it; neighbors say it, so we accept it. Who wants to get into hassles? Fine, it must be so. Then, having accepted it, we begin to speculate: “If the doctrine of karma is true, why did that person become poor? Surely he did bad deeds, therefore he is poor.” You accept one thing you do not know, and then on its basis you spread out your entire accounting: “We became rich, so we must have done good deeds.” And so on. First you accept something unknown, and then you begin interpreting everything before your very eyes on its basis. Life begins to run on a strange arithmetic.
Like you just said, “This is a matter of yog, of auspicious alignment.” How did you know that? How did you know destiny exists? You will say, “We saw the facts.” Absolutely false. You first accepted the doctrine of destiny, and then you began interpreting the facts to fit it. You can say, “For so many days Poornima kept telling you she had time, yet you could not go—there was simply no yog.” But the belief in yog was already seated in the mind, so the interpretation was made.
There was a man—there are beliefs all over the world that such-and-such day is bad, such-and-such date is unlucky. He wrote a book declaring the 13th to be the worst date. He said, “I’m not lying; I’m giving evidence.” He went to municipal and corporation offices and collected lists of how many people died on the 13th. He took hospital records of how many were admitted, how many went insane on the 13th. He listed how many suicides occurred on the 13th, how many accidents—he gathered it all. He wrote a big book: “On the 13th, this and that happens.” You would read the book and agree, “It’s perfectly right. It shows—this happens.”
A friend brought the book to me and said, “Look at this! Now do you accept it?” I said, “Investigate the 12th—you will find just as many facts. Or investigate the 11th—you will find just as many.”
Now, what is the difference between an unscientific and a scientific mind? The unscientific mind first accepts some belief, then imposes that belief upon the facts. The scientific mind accepts no belief; it searches for the facts, and lets knowledge arise from the facts—that is the only difference. Nothing else. The superstitious, unscientific mind accepts something first and then interprets the facts. The scientific mind first investigates the facts, then derives the theory. That is the only difference—and it is a very big difference—a very big difference.
If we strive for knowledge and search, the world will become far better. There will be truly alive people in the world, and real discovery. And when there is search, facts will emerge, and life will be experienced.
We are all dead people. I would consider it an insult to myself to believe on someone else’s say-so. Why should I believe? I was born to live my own life—to live, to know, to recognize. Who has the right to impose their belief on me? Otherwise, what need was there for me to be born at all! In the end, only my own experience can give me something. But we are afraid of experience—afraid of experience. Who knows where experience may lead! What might happen, what might not! We fear we might stray from well-trodden paths. And the great irony is: walking those well-trodden paths, where are you reaching anyway? Nowhere. You are already astray.
I am not a partisan of belief. I am certainly a partisan of knowing. Search—and when something is seen, you will know it. Then the question of believing will not arise. And then, surely, you will attain some real wealth in life.
If you keep searching and experiment with courage, then, grain by grain, you will accumulate a treasure. But if you go on believing, fine—keep believing—and you will be finished. No personal wealth, no attainment of lived realization can stand for you.
And the fun of interpretations is immense. Grab any doctrine and you can make interpretations. There is no difficulty in it. Otherwise, could so much foolishness continue in the world? There are eight hundred million Muslims, about a billion Christians, two hundred million Hindus. Two hundred million Hindus believe in rebirth. But these two billion Christians and Mohammedans—this does not so much as stir their ears; because their belief is that there is no rebirth. So the very same facts by which you interpret and “prove” rebirth—the very same facts they use to prove that rebirth is not proven. Could one and a half billion people be fooled for very long? If rebirth existed, how could two billion people continue to believe for so long that it does not? And if rebirth did not exist, how could two hundred million Hindus continue to believe that it does? If there were real facts, the matter would have been settled by now.
You see that in science universal decisions come quickly. There is little trouble. Scientists may argue for a while—“we take this meaning, not that”—but soon a decision comes about what meaning to take, because the emphasis is on facts. But religion has not been able to decide anything to this day, because the emphasis is on belief. With belief, there is no real difficulty; you can believe whatever comes into your mind and interpret the facts accordingly.
As long as facts are interpreted on the basis of belief, a single religion cannot come into being in the world. And until there is one religion, true religion cannot be. That is, a scientific religion cannot arise; it cannot be universal. But it will arise when, as in science, the concern in religion is to generate knowledge through facts. The day that happens, there will remain only one religion in the world; there is no room for two. How could two remain? And then you can imagine what the power of such a religion would be.
Up to now, the “religious” have spent their strength trying to destroy those of other religions. Muslims expend their energy to destroy Hindus; Hindus expend their energy to destroy Muslims. Christians exert their power to swallow everyone else; others exert theirs lest they be swallowed. Their entire effort and strength is spent devouring and being devoured.
If there were a scientific religion in the world, this entire energy could bring astonishing results in the development of humanity. Such brotherhood and such love could be born as cannot be measured. But that will happen only if we do not begin with belief. So it is not at all a small matter to tell children, “Have reverence, have belief.” It is a very dangerous matter. So dangerous that because of it man has been in trouble for five thousand years—and will remain in trouble, if this continues.
A scientific mind must be born in every direction. So I am not partisan, and I do not say, from any belief, that you should begin to think. You do not think at all when you start from belief—the matter is finished right there. You come to me having already decided about me—some judgment that I am very bad or very good. Then you will interpret me in conformity with your own reckoning and go away. If you truly want to know me, then do not come with any belief about me, and allow a direct encounter—direct, without bringing any belief in between.
Never form beliefs in life. And whatever beliefs you have formed—break them.
Osho, when you speak of five thousand years, why do you speak specifically of five thousand years?
We know about five thousand years. About those five thousand years we know something; the rest we do not know.
Osho, one should believe in the good and in virtues, shouldn’t one?
If, in this direction, we can drop belief, then that which we call good, that which we call significant, will arise within you. But if you cling to belief, it will never arise. Virtue cannot be born in you without knowing.
And that is why your belief is one thing and your conduct another. You say that stealing is bad—and you steal. Why is there a gap between belief and conduct? Because the belief is false, and it has been fabricated first, without knowing and understanding conduct. Therefore conduct never fits it. It is like a tailor who makes your clothes without taking your measurements, and then tries to fit those clothes onto you. Then the cutting and trimming will have to be done on you, not on the clothes—your hands and feet would have to be cut.
And that is why your belief is one thing and your conduct another. You say that stealing is bad—and you steal. Why is there a gap between belief and conduct? Because the belief is false, and it has been fabricated first, without knowing and understanding conduct. Therefore conduct never fits it. It is like a tailor who makes your clothes without taking your measurements, and then tries to fit those clothes onto you. Then the cutting and trimming will have to be done on you, not on the clothes—your hands and feet would have to be cut.
Osho, why must our hands and feet be cut off?
Because the clothes were made first and you came later. This is how your morality works: the rules are imposed on you beforehand, and now you must adjust yourself to them—as if man were born for the sake of rules! No, man comes first, and rules should arise out of man’s life. Clothes can be tailored later; first the person must be measured.
We make certain assumptions. And when those assumptions don’t fit over us, we start getting troubled: What has happened? We try so hard, yet it doesn’t happen!
In my understanding, whenever you are told that something is bad, don’t believe it—experiment with it. Know, keep your mind open, recognize, and through your own experience come to the conclusion whether it is bad or not. If through your own experience you arrive at the conclusion that it is bad, you will be free of it. Then there will be no gap between your conduct and your knowing. And if through your experience you find that something is good, you will see it begin to flow into your life. The split between your conduct and your thought will disappear.
The divide between conduct and thought exists because of what we are clinging to—what we are clinging to. Life is a great, wondrous opportunity for experiment. But we never get to experiment, because others tell us everything in advance: this is good and that is bad. You need do nothing yourself. We will give you borrowed knowledge; just make do with that.
We make certain assumptions. And when those assumptions don’t fit over us, we start getting troubled: What has happened? We try so hard, yet it doesn’t happen!
In my understanding, whenever you are told that something is bad, don’t believe it—experiment with it. Know, keep your mind open, recognize, and through your own experience come to the conclusion whether it is bad or not. If through your own experience you arrive at the conclusion that it is bad, you will be free of it. Then there will be no gap between your conduct and your knowing. And if through your experience you find that something is good, you will see it begin to flow into your life. The split between your conduct and your thought will disappear.
The divide between conduct and thought exists because of what we are clinging to—what we are clinging to. Life is a great, wondrous opportunity for experiment. But we never get to experiment, because others tell us everything in advance: this is good and that is bad. You need do nothing yourself. We will give you borrowed knowledge; just make do with that.
Osho, about the soul—whether it exists or not—someone first tells us, because having experimented he says that it does.
Why should anyone tell you? You are—is that not evident? This is not a belief; it is a fact. Your being is a fact, isn’t it? It is not a belief. No one told you that you are; you feel, “I am.” “I am”—this I feel; but I do not know who I am. Therefore the search should begin. Where does the question of believing someone arise? The search should always begin from fact, not from belief.
What is the fact? The fact is that I am. I do not know whether there is a soul within or not. That I am is a fact. And the second fact is that I do not know who I am. These are straightforward facts; from these facts the search should begin. Begin from fact, not from belief.
What is the fact? The fact is that I am. I do not know whether there is a soul within or not. That I am is a fact. And the second fact is that I do not know who I am. These are straightforward facts; from these facts the search should begin. Begin from fact, not from belief.
Osho, if someone points to a substance and says, “I have tested it and it is poison,” and we refuse to accept his word and insist on testing it on ourselves, then there is the risk of losing one’s life! Shouldn’t we accept his word in such a case?
If you want to find out whether it is poison or not, you will have to experiment—if inquiry is what you intend to do. But why do you want to inquire? And those who work with poisons will indeed have to experiment. Do you understand what I mean? For what purpose do you need to investigate whether it is poison or not?
(The audio recording of the question is not clear.)
No, no—you have not understood me. If you want to generate knowledge specifically about poison, to gain information about poison itself, then you will have to experiment; there is no other way. Otherwise, such stupidities as have been going on in the world will continue.
Aristotle—such a great thinker and man of knowledge—wrote that women have fewer teeth than men. In fact, woman must always be less than man; this is a matter of rule. That is, it is a principle that has been assumed—a belief. Meaning, under no circumstances can woman be equal to man.
A thinker like Aristotle, the one called the father of logic in the West, wrote in a book that women have fewer teeth than men. He had two wives, not just one; yet it did not occur to him to get up and count their teeth. Not one wife—two! If there were an error with one, the other would have served as a check. It simply never occurred to him!
And you will be amazed: for a thousand years the whole of Europe believed that women have fewer teeth. And it did not occur to any fool that women are always around—just count the teeth. This is belief.
After a thousand years, when a man finally counted the teeth of the first woman, he was alarmed. He said, “There is something wrong with this woman! Because a woman is supposed to have fewer teeth—what is this?”
And when the teeth of many women were counted, it became clear that Aristotle had not counted. This belief was already circulating before him; he merely wrote the belief down. The notion was current that women have fewer teeth—so there seemed no need to count.
(The audio recording of the question is not clear.)
No, no—you have not understood me. If you want to generate knowledge specifically about poison, to gain information about poison itself, then you will have to experiment; there is no other way. Otherwise, such stupidities as have been going on in the world will continue.
Aristotle—such a great thinker and man of knowledge—wrote that women have fewer teeth than men. In fact, woman must always be less than man; this is a matter of rule. That is, it is a principle that has been assumed—a belief. Meaning, under no circumstances can woman be equal to man.
A thinker like Aristotle, the one called the father of logic in the West, wrote in a book that women have fewer teeth than men. He had two wives, not just one; yet it did not occur to him to get up and count their teeth. Not one wife—two! If there were an error with one, the other would have served as a check. It simply never occurred to him!
And you will be amazed: for a thousand years the whole of Europe believed that women have fewer teeth. And it did not occur to any fool that women are always around—just count the teeth. This is belief.
After a thousand years, when a man finally counted the teeth of the first woman, he was alarmed. He said, “There is something wrong with this woman! Because a woman is supposed to have fewer teeth—what is this?”
And when the teeth of many women were counted, it became clear that Aristotle had not counted. This belief was already circulating before him; he merely wrote the belief down. The notion was current that women have fewer teeth—so there seemed no need to count.
Osho, then should I not live by anyone’s experience—or even by yours?
Your experience—not my experience. You cannot live by my experience.
Osho, one should understand another’s experience, shouldn’t one?
Understanding and believing are different. I do not forbid understanding; the whole world is open to understanding. Do not believe.
If you must believe, believe your own experience—because where I have walked and where my foot stands, beyond that only I can take the next step. How will you take a step beyond that? You can lift your foot only from where your foot is.
If we are climbing a staircase and I am standing on the tenth step while you are on the fifth, and I say, “My experience is that after the tenth comes the eleventh; you too put your foot on the eleventh,” you will in fact place your foot on the sixth. Your foot cannot be on the eleventh yet.
What comes after my experience will be mine. You cannot grow on the strength of my experience.
If you must believe, believe your own experience—because where I have walked and where my foot stands, beyond that only I can take the next step. How will you take a step beyond that? You can lift your foot only from where your foot is.
If we are climbing a staircase and I am standing on the tenth step while you are on the fifth, and I say, “My experience is that after the tenth comes the eleventh; you too put your foot on the eleventh,” you will in fact place your foot on the sixth. Your foot cannot be on the eleventh yet.
What comes after my experience will be mine. You cannot grow on the strength of my experience.
Osho, can information about someone else’s work not be useful?
By “use,” I mean this: from another’s work you can have information; it cannot become your own knowing. And it should never become belief. Do you see the difference? My knowing can never become your knowledge; it can at most become your information—information, yes. But it should never turn into belief.
Osho, by accepting someone else’s experience and information one does not go astray; and if we don’t accept them, we’ll just keep wandering!
Who said so? Who told you that parents don’t go astray? If a thief’s son doesn’t steal, the thief will say, “The boy has lost his way!” His yardstick is fixed: my trade must be carried on by the boy. I am a thief, so my son should also steal. If he doesn’t steal and becomes a sannyasin, he will say, “The boy has gone astray! He has left the path altogether.”
It is the children—so we say—who go astray. We have simply taken it for granted that the parents are not the ones who are lost.
It is the children—so we say—who go astray. We have simply taken it for granted that the parents are not the ones who are lost.
Osho, a child should have his own experience, shouldn’t he?
Absolutely, he should. And it is the duty of parents not to bind the child to themselves. Give the child a chance to be free. Always tell the child: This is my experience; I am telling it to you for your information—not for your belief, not as your knowledge. What I have come to know in life, I share only as information. But do not believe it, and do not take it as knowledge. Nor should you take steps on its basis, because you should step forward only on the foundation of that which becomes your own experience. Yet the information about my experience will broaden your mind.
If it turns into belief, it will not broaden it; it will narrow it. If my father says to me, “This is what I have known in my life, from my experience,” he tells me because it is his duty. I had known this through my experience; you too will pass through these experiences of life—then this information will widen your mind. But if we turn it into belief, the mind will not expand; it will contract.
What I am saying is: all the knowledge in the world is information. I am not telling you to discard it; I only want that information should not become your belief. Your mind should remain free. Know Mahavira, know Buddha—know everyone. Keep the mind free; do not bind it. Experience for yourself; that will become your knowledge.
And this will happen only if we start with the fact—as I said, start from the fact, hold to the fact. Do not start from belief. Otherwise such insane notions will go on and on—they have, and they still do, by the thousands. It is not as though that mistake about the teeth—which Aristotle made—is no longer with us; it still persists. Even now, thousands of things go on that are sheer foolishness. But because belief is behind them, and because they have the support of a tradition of thousands of years, they continue; no one forbids them—they keep going.
If it turns into belief, it will not broaden it; it will narrow it. If my father says to me, “This is what I have known in my life, from my experience,” he tells me because it is his duty. I had known this through my experience; you too will pass through these experiences of life—then this information will widen your mind. But if we turn it into belief, the mind will not expand; it will contract.
What I am saying is: all the knowledge in the world is information. I am not telling you to discard it; I only want that information should not become your belief. Your mind should remain free. Know Mahavira, know Buddha—know everyone. Keep the mind free; do not bind it. Experience for yourself; that will become your knowledge.
And this will happen only if we start with the fact—as I said, start from the fact, hold to the fact. Do not start from belief. Otherwise such insane notions will go on and on—they have, and they still do, by the thousands. It is not as though that mistake about the teeth—which Aristotle made—is no longer with us; it still persists. Even now, thousands of things go on that are sheer foolishness. But because belief is behind them, and because they have the support of a tradition of thousands of years, they continue; no one forbids them—they keep going.
Osho, please say something about awareness.
Better still, come to a meditation camp—then something can really happen. If you come and experiment a little, you will get the feel of it. At least do this much: to understand awareness, first understand the state your mind is in right now. It will seem stupefied, unconscious. For example, as you are walking along the road, are you aware of the act of walking, or are other activities running in the mind? Other things are going on in the mind.
Right now I am speaking here. If you are only listening to my speaking, then that is aware listening. And if, along with my speaking, other thoughts are running inside you, that is unconscious listening. The hearing becomes unconscious—because it seems you are listening to me, but inside you are doing something else. Your mind is engaged elsewhere. Then your presence in the act of listening to me cannot be total.
It can also happen that for a moment you go so deep into some thought that you cannot hear me at all. You become absolutely absent. In that condition you appear to be listening—the sound is reaching your ears, everything is happening—but you are not listening at all. This is an unconscious state. And if a situation arises where, when you are listening, only the act of listening is happening in the mind and no other act is going on, then that is awareness. In that moment you are listening in total awareness.
If the whole of life becomes like this—whatever we are doing happens in discernment and awareness—then blessedness dawns. But our whole life is asleep. Opposite to sleep is awareness. All this is sleepwork. If I give you a push and anger arises in you—are you aware of it? It is an entirely sleeping act. As if I pressed a button and the fan began to turn. I push you; anger arises. It is purely mechanical. Not even for a single moment do you consider whether to be angry or not. Not even for a moment does the thought arise, “Is anger arising in me or not?” It simply flares up.
This is unconscious behavior, sleep behavior. We only appear to be awake. Truly awake ones are very few. We all seem to be awake because we got up in the morning and washed our hands and face—so we are fully awake! But truly awake people are very few.
To be awake means that whatever action the mind is doing, twenty-four hours a day, you are fully present in it. Awareness means total presence. Whatever we are doing—if you are sweeping, let the whole mind be present in sweeping; then sweeping becomes meditation. If you are eating and the whole mind is present in eating, then eating becomes meditation.
Just now you were asking: in what manner to be a witness? Let the whole mind be right there, and let us know the act fully: “This is what is happening.”
And its larger consequence will be this: whatever is wrong will stop happening to you. Because for wrong to happen, one condition is necessary: unconsciousness. Otherwise it cannot happen. I just told you: immorality dissolves on its own. If you are aware, you cannot do anything that is wrong.
I have even started defining it like this: that which can be done only in unconsciousness is sin—only in sleep can it be done. And that which remains possible even when you are awake—that is virtue. I see no other meaning in it. This is all I accept as morality and immorality; nothing more.
Whatever a sleeping person does will be immoral. Do you think a murderer, in a state of awareness, can plunge a knife into someone’s chest? Awake, in full consciousness, he cannot. You will be surprised: many murderers, after killing someone, could not remember for two or three days that they had done it. Earlier people thought they were pretending. Now psychologists know they are not deceiving. Such a deep unconsciousness is created, and after the killing that unconsciousness continues so long that for two or three days they cannot even remember that they have killed. When their stupor breaks, they say, “We didn’t do it!”—as if one had done something in a dream.
You too repent later, don’t you? You do something and then you repent; many times it feels as if, in spite of myself, I did it. I didn’t want to do it—then how did it happen? If you didn’t want to, how could it happen? No—you had fallen asleep. The one who knew what was right had gone to sleep. A mistake happened.
Right now I am speaking here. If you are only listening to my speaking, then that is aware listening. And if, along with my speaking, other thoughts are running inside you, that is unconscious listening. The hearing becomes unconscious—because it seems you are listening to me, but inside you are doing something else. Your mind is engaged elsewhere. Then your presence in the act of listening to me cannot be total.
It can also happen that for a moment you go so deep into some thought that you cannot hear me at all. You become absolutely absent. In that condition you appear to be listening—the sound is reaching your ears, everything is happening—but you are not listening at all. This is an unconscious state. And if a situation arises where, when you are listening, only the act of listening is happening in the mind and no other act is going on, then that is awareness. In that moment you are listening in total awareness.
If the whole of life becomes like this—whatever we are doing happens in discernment and awareness—then blessedness dawns. But our whole life is asleep. Opposite to sleep is awareness. All this is sleepwork. If I give you a push and anger arises in you—are you aware of it? It is an entirely sleeping act. As if I pressed a button and the fan began to turn. I push you; anger arises. It is purely mechanical. Not even for a single moment do you consider whether to be angry or not. Not even for a moment does the thought arise, “Is anger arising in me or not?” It simply flares up.
This is unconscious behavior, sleep behavior. We only appear to be awake. Truly awake ones are very few. We all seem to be awake because we got up in the morning and washed our hands and face—so we are fully awake! But truly awake people are very few.
To be awake means that whatever action the mind is doing, twenty-four hours a day, you are fully present in it. Awareness means total presence. Whatever we are doing—if you are sweeping, let the whole mind be present in sweeping; then sweeping becomes meditation. If you are eating and the whole mind is present in eating, then eating becomes meditation.
Just now you were asking: in what manner to be a witness? Let the whole mind be right there, and let us know the act fully: “This is what is happening.”
And its larger consequence will be this: whatever is wrong will stop happening to you. Because for wrong to happen, one condition is necessary: unconsciousness. Otherwise it cannot happen. I just told you: immorality dissolves on its own. If you are aware, you cannot do anything that is wrong.
I have even started defining it like this: that which can be done only in unconsciousness is sin—only in sleep can it be done. And that which remains possible even when you are awake—that is virtue. I see no other meaning in it. This is all I accept as morality and immorality; nothing more.
Whatever a sleeping person does will be immoral. Do you think a murderer, in a state of awareness, can plunge a knife into someone’s chest? Awake, in full consciousness, he cannot. You will be surprised: many murderers, after killing someone, could not remember for two or three days that they had done it. Earlier people thought they were pretending. Now psychologists know they are not deceiving. Such a deep unconsciousness is created, and after the killing that unconsciousness continues so long that for two or three days they cannot even remember that they have killed. When their stupor breaks, they say, “We didn’t do it!”—as if one had done something in a dream.
You too repent later, don’t you? You do something and then you repent; many times it feels as if, in spite of myself, I did it. I didn’t want to do it—then how did it happen? If you didn’t want to, how could it happen? No—you had fallen asleep. The one who knew what was right had gone to sleep. A mistake happened.
Osho, after awakening is there nothing left to know?
There is a great deal left to be known; what disappears is the inner desire to know. The whole world is lying there to be known—vast and immense. Much remains, but the inner tendency to know dissolves. Inquiry dissolves, because now there is no meaning in it, no reason for it.
It’s not as if Mahavira would be thinking about how to make a bicycle, or how to make an electric fan! Don’t imagine that because Mahavira knew himself, if you went to him saying your electric fan has broken, he would tell you how to fix it. He wouldn’t be able to. It has no relevance.
In the world of science, much remains to be known; in the world of the self, nothing remains to be known. What happens is: one who knows himself becomes so full of bliss, so full of light, that all inner darkness is destroyed—so there is no longer any reason to inquire. Children have curiosity about everything—“What is this? What is that?” But as you mature, that curiosity dissolves. A little child has curiosity about the smallest things—“Why is this happening? Why is that happening?” As you grow up, become mature, where does that curiosity go? It dissolves. You see?
Similarly, one who knows himself comes to another kind of maturity, and that curiosity of “why this?” and “why not that?” dissolves. Much remains to be known, but there is no inner longing to know it—no reason left to know it. Do you understand what I mean? There is no reason left.
In fact, the impulse to know everything arises out of suffering—out of suffering. The inner mind is unhappy, and we think, “If only I knew this, perhaps the suffering would end.” All of science’s search is driven by suffering: this is painful, that is painful; illness is painful. So the scientist tries to discover the cause of disease so that disease might end. Heat is painful, so he thinks of a fan. First a man fanned himself by hand. Then he saw that his arm got tired—that too is painful. So he arranged it so that no person is needed and the fan runs by itself.
Suffering drives us into search. One who has known himself—his suffering has dissolved, therefore his search ends. Do you understand? Much remains to be known; the whole world is there. But his suffering has dissolved, so the question of knowing does not arise.
It is because of suffering that we go in pursuit of knowledge. Even if someone like Mahavira or Buddha falls ill, it does not cause suffering. They know themselves, so they experience themselves as other than the body. So there is no suffering: if it’s there, all right—what difference does it make?
Do you get what I mean? Objects remain in abundance, but inwardly the cause, the striving, is gone. That is why it is said, “One who knows himself knows all.” It doesn’t mean he knows everything—chemistry, physics, mathematics. Not at all. Seat a self-knower in a high-school matriculation exam and he will fail! It has nothing to do with that. Self-knowledge is something else.
In that sense it is not so. “One who has known himself has known all” means: now in him no desire to know anything remains—no desire to know anything remains. “Omniscient” also means: in whom no desire to know remains. As long as any desire to know lingers, it means that inwardly there is still ignorance; therefore the desire to know persists. Omniscient means: because there is no ignorance left within, there is no desire left to know. Hence we say, “He who has known himself has known all.”
But the unintelligent are adamant behind every misunderstanding. They took it to mean he literally knows everything. From this, quarrels arose in the world.
Christ wrote that the earth is flat. When scientists discovered that the earth is round, the Church rose up against it. “This will be a mess if it becomes known that Christ didn’t even know this. He was the son of God and didn’t know whether the earth is round or flat? That would prove great ignorance in Christ.”
The Pope summoned the scientists and said, “This is absolutely wrong. It cannot be, because the Omniscient said it—the Son of God, who knew all. He said the earth is flat. The earth must be flat; surely the mistake is yours. The earth cannot be round.” But as fate would have it, the earth was round, and there was no way out. Knowledge kept increasing; it was proven that the earth is round.
The priest was frightened: “What is the danger here? If Christ can be mistaken in this, he could be mistaken in other things too. Otherwise, is this all? The man has made such a big blunder? Is this a small mistake—that the earth has always been round and he said it was flat! If he can err here, perhaps he could be wrong about heaven and hell and God as well.”
Therefore, every follower of every religion insists that their Tirthankara, their Avatar, their Son of God is omniscient. Because if even one mistake could occur, it would cause great trouble—doubt would arise: perhaps there are mistakes in other matters too. So all religions try to insist that their scriptures contain all knowledge, and that their Tirthankara is omniscient. They try hard to prove this.
But these efforts keep turning out to be wrong and prove to be sheer foolishness—utter foolishness. And they are foolish because we took the meaning of “omniscient” wrongly. Omniscient means: one who has known himself—known in totality—and now for him nothing remains to be known. It does not mean he has known everything in this spread-out world. He has not. That has nothing to do with it.
(The audio recording of the question is not clear.)
The real point is this: for you there is always the issue of choice—should I do this or not? Can I or can’t I? For him, there is no issue of choice. So even what he tells you will not be chosen from among your options; he will point out your ignorance, because it is out of ignorance that you present these alternatives.
For example, someone asked me in a village, “Tell me, did God create this world or not?” I asked him, “If it were found that God did create the world, then what would you do?” He said, “What would I do—well, I would have one more piece of information.” I asked, “How long has this effort to get that information been going on?” He said, “Since I was young. Now I’m old. I have searched a lot to know whether God created the world or not.” I told him, “You have wasted your life—on something which, even if you knew it, nothing further would happen. Suppose you know whether God created the world; then what? What will change in your life?” He put alternatives before me—created or not created. But I could see where the alternatives were arising from. So I cannot answer his alternatives. I will say the alternatives arose from ignorance.
It is like this: a man at home has a high fever and, in delirium, he starts shouting that the house is flying away. You are standing there and he asks, “In which direction is the house flying?” Now what will you do? The question is: the man has a fever, his mind is disturbed, and he says his house is flying away, and asks you, “Is it flying north or south?” Will you answer north or south, or set out to investigate whether the house is flying? You will immediately call a doctor—“Lie down quietly; we’ll bring the physician.” You understand?
So if you go to a self-knower and ask, “Is it this way or that?” he will treat you like a physician would—he will not behave like a teacher with you.
There are two kinds of dealings in the world. One is the teacher’s way; the other is the physician’s way. The pundit behaves like a teacher. The knower behaves like a physician. These two are very different—their whole vision differs. That’s why those who get very used to teachers and preachers feel great trouble if they meet a physician, because he seems to talk “wrongly”: what they ask, he does not answer; he talks of something else. In fact, he is concerned with your illness, not with your question—not with your question.
I went to a village recently. People brought a boy to me. He had the delusion that three flies had entered his head. He had gone mad. He believed they were buzzing around inside his head. The villagers were very upset. He came from a good family. They had shown him to many people. Every test had been done. “There are no flies—where would they buzz? Is there any space in there for them to buzz?” All tests showed there were no flies. They told the boy, “It’s a delusion.” He said, “You say so, but how would you know what’s going on in my head? And when I’m experiencing them buzzing, what am I to do?”
A sadhu came to the village; they took the boy to him: “Please explain to him.” Some sensible elder tried too. Everyone told him, “It’s just your delusion.” He said, “You may say so, but I feel it.”
When I came to that village, they brought him to me. He was nervous—he’d been dragged to everyone who came through. He stood there like a culprit. I asked, “What’s the matter?” They said, “He has the delusion that three flies are buzzing in his head.” I asked them, “How did you find out it’s a delusion?” The boy relaxed a little. He thought, “This man is all right.”
I had asked his father, “How did you discover it’s a delusion? If he says they’re buzzing, then they must be buzzing.” The boy said to his father, “You’ve brought me to the right man. They are buzzing, but no one believes me.” He said, “When they are buzzing in my head, no one believes me. Everyone keeps telling me I’m deluded, my mind is bad. Who says my mind is bad?” I told him, “It’s other people’s minds that are bad. Of course they must be buzzing—otherwise how would you notice them? Sit down.” I asked him, “How many flies?” He said, “Three.” “Have you counted properly?” “I can clearly sense there are three.” “Since when?” He told me everything, and I kept talking with him. His father was astonished. When I started saying, “They must be buzzing,” the father became anxious.
He thought, “This is a fresh problem: the boy is already unwell, and now he has found support.” The father took me aside: “Please come out; I need a word.” Outside he said, “What are you doing? We are distressed; we must make him understand there are no flies. If you say they are buzzing, that will make it worse! The doctors say there are no flies—how could they buzz? And the boy is delighted with you; he hasn’t been pleased with anyone so far. This is dangerous—he will go home and say, ‘He also said it’s true,’ and now he’ll have proof.”
I said, “I am not behaving with him as a teacher. I’m behaving as a physician. You go; don’t worry.” I told the boy, “Stay with me tonight. I’ll get a feel for it. If they’re buzzing, I should be able to sense something too.” That night I kept my hand on his head. In the morning I told him, “Definitely three flies—and they do buzz!” He was very happy, reassured; he looked much healthier.
I told his father to have three flies caught and sealed in a bottle. At night, when the boy slept, I placed an empty bottle by him and said, “We’ll try to get them out while you sleep. With luck, by morning they’ll be out.” In the morning we swapped the bottles and placed the one with the three flies by his side. He was overjoyed—and released.
This is what I call the physician’s way. It is not the teacher’s way. And really, there are only these two ways.
When you ask me questions, I have a difficulty. It is not what you are asking; it is why you are asking. Where inside is the disturbance from which this question arises? Where is the trouble from which it is born?
So your question doesn’t seem very important to me; it is only a pointer to where the illness is. Many times it may happen that your question seems to go in one direction and my answer in another. You may feel, “This has become irrelevant.” It will seem so, because our habit is to demand a direct answer to our question: “Is there a God or not? Give a straight answer! Is there a soul or not? Answer! Is there rebirth or not; is there destiny or not? Give a straight answer! Why do you talk of other things?” But I tell you, one must talk of “other” things. The answer itself is not the point. Your whole mind needs healing. And that can happen.
It’s not as if Mahavira would be thinking about how to make a bicycle, or how to make an electric fan! Don’t imagine that because Mahavira knew himself, if you went to him saying your electric fan has broken, he would tell you how to fix it. He wouldn’t be able to. It has no relevance.
In the world of science, much remains to be known; in the world of the self, nothing remains to be known. What happens is: one who knows himself becomes so full of bliss, so full of light, that all inner darkness is destroyed—so there is no longer any reason to inquire. Children have curiosity about everything—“What is this? What is that?” But as you mature, that curiosity dissolves. A little child has curiosity about the smallest things—“Why is this happening? Why is that happening?” As you grow up, become mature, where does that curiosity go? It dissolves. You see?
Similarly, one who knows himself comes to another kind of maturity, and that curiosity of “why this?” and “why not that?” dissolves. Much remains to be known, but there is no inner longing to know it—no reason left to know it. Do you understand what I mean? There is no reason left.
In fact, the impulse to know everything arises out of suffering—out of suffering. The inner mind is unhappy, and we think, “If only I knew this, perhaps the suffering would end.” All of science’s search is driven by suffering: this is painful, that is painful; illness is painful. So the scientist tries to discover the cause of disease so that disease might end. Heat is painful, so he thinks of a fan. First a man fanned himself by hand. Then he saw that his arm got tired—that too is painful. So he arranged it so that no person is needed and the fan runs by itself.
Suffering drives us into search. One who has known himself—his suffering has dissolved, therefore his search ends. Do you understand? Much remains to be known; the whole world is there. But his suffering has dissolved, so the question of knowing does not arise.
It is because of suffering that we go in pursuit of knowledge. Even if someone like Mahavira or Buddha falls ill, it does not cause suffering. They know themselves, so they experience themselves as other than the body. So there is no suffering: if it’s there, all right—what difference does it make?
Do you get what I mean? Objects remain in abundance, but inwardly the cause, the striving, is gone. That is why it is said, “One who knows himself knows all.” It doesn’t mean he knows everything—chemistry, physics, mathematics. Not at all. Seat a self-knower in a high-school matriculation exam and he will fail! It has nothing to do with that. Self-knowledge is something else.
In that sense it is not so. “One who has known himself has known all” means: now in him no desire to know anything remains—no desire to know anything remains. “Omniscient” also means: in whom no desire to know remains. As long as any desire to know lingers, it means that inwardly there is still ignorance; therefore the desire to know persists. Omniscient means: because there is no ignorance left within, there is no desire left to know. Hence we say, “He who has known himself has known all.”
But the unintelligent are adamant behind every misunderstanding. They took it to mean he literally knows everything. From this, quarrels arose in the world.
Christ wrote that the earth is flat. When scientists discovered that the earth is round, the Church rose up against it. “This will be a mess if it becomes known that Christ didn’t even know this. He was the son of God and didn’t know whether the earth is round or flat? That would prove great ignorance in Christ.”
The Pope summoned the scientists and said, “This is absolutely wrong. It cannot be, because the Omniscient said it—the Son of God, who knew all. He said the earth is flat. The earth must be flat; surely the mistake is yours. The earth cannot be round.” But as fate would have it, the earth was round, and there was no way out. Knowledge kept increasing; it was proven that the earth is round.
The priest was frightened: “What is the danger here? If Christ can be mistaken in this, he could be mistaken in other things too. Otherwise, is this all? The man has made such a big blunder? Is this a small mistake—that the earth has always been round and he said it was flat! If he can err here, perhaps he could be wrong about heaven and hell and God as well.”
Therefore, every follower of every religion insists that their Tirthankara, their Avatar, their Son of God is omniscient. Because if even one mistake could occur, it would cause great trouble—doubt would arise: perhaps there are mistakes in other matters too. So all religions try to insist that their scriptures contain all knowledge, and that their Tirthankara is omniscient. They try hard to prove this.
But these efforts keep turning out to be wrong and prove to be sheer foolishness—utter foolishness. And they are foolish because we took the meaning of “omniscient” wrongly. Omniscient means: one who has known himself—known in totality—and now for him nothing remains to be known. It does not mean he has known everything in this spread-out world. He has not. That has nothing to do with it.
(The audio recording of the question is not clear.)
The real point is this: for you there is always the issue of choice—should I do this or not? Can I or can’t I? For him, there is no issue of choice. So even what he tells you will not be chosen from among your options; he will point out your ignorance, because it is out of ignorance that you present these alternatives.
For example, someone asked me in a village, “Tell me, did God create this world or not?” I asked him, “If it were found that God did create the world, then what would you do?” He said, “What would I do—well, I would have one more piece of information.” I asked, “How long has this effort to get that information been going on?” He said, “Since I was young. Now I’m old. I have searched a lot to know whether God created the world or not.” I told him, “You have wasted your life—on something which, even if you knew it, nothing further would happen. Suppose you know whether God created the world; then what? What will change in your life?” He put alternatives before me—created or not created. But I could see where the alternatives were arising from. So I cannot answer his alternatives. I will say the alternatives arose from ignorance.
It is like this: a man at home has a high fever and, in delirium, he starts shouting that the house is flying away. You are standing there and he asks, “In which direction is the house flying?” Now what will you do? The question is: the man has a fever, his mind is disturbed, and he says his house is flying away, and asks you, “Is it flying north or south?” Will you answer north or south, or set out to investigate whether the house is flying? You will immediately call a doctor—“Lie down quietly; we’ll bring the physician.” You understand?
So if you go to a self-knower and ask, “Is it this way or that?” he will treat you like a physician would—he will not behave like a teacher with you.
There are two kinds of dealings in the world. One is the teacher’s way; the other is the physician’s way. The pundit behaves like a teacher. The knower behaves like a physician. These two are very different—their whole vision differs. That’s why those who get very used to teachers and preachers feel great trouble if they meet a physician, because he seems to talk “wrongly”: what they ask, he does not answer; he talks of something else. In fact, he is concerned with your illness, not with your question—not with your question.
I went to a village recently. People brought a boy to me. He had the delusion that three flies had entered his head. He had gone mad. He believed they were buzzing around inside his head. The villagers were very upset. He came from a good family. They had shown him to many people. Every test had been done. “There are no flies—where would they buzz? Is there any space in there for them to buzz?” All tests showed there were no flies. They told the boy, “It’s a delusion.” He said, “You say so, but how would you know what’s going on in my head? And when I’m experiencing them buzzing, what am I to do?”
A sadhu came to the village; they took the boy to him: “Please explain to him.” Some sensible elder tried too. Everyone told him, “It’s just your delusion.” He said, “You may say so, but I feel it.”
When I came to that village, they brought him to me. He was nervous—he’d been dragged to everyone who came through. He stood there like a culprit. I asked, “What’s the matter?” They said, “He has the delusion that three flies are buzzing in his head.” I asked them, “How did you find out it’s a delusion?” The boy relaxed a little. He thought, “This man is all right.”
I had asked his father, “How did you discover it’s a delusion? If he says they’re buzzing, then they must be buzzing.” The boy said to his father, “You’ve brought me to the right man. They are buzzing, but no one believes me.” He said, “When they are buzzing in my head, no one believes me. Everyone keeps telling me I’m deluded, my mind is bad. Who says my mind is bad?” I told him, “It’s other people’s minds that are bad. Of course they must be buzzing—otherwise how would you notice them? Sit down.” I asked him, “How many flies?” He said, “Three.” “Have you counted properly?” “I can clearly sense there are three.” “Since when?” He told me everything, and I kept talking with him. His father was astonished. When I started saying, “They must be buzzing,” the father became anxious.
He thought, “This is a fresh problem: the boy is already unwell, and now he has found support.” The father took me aside: “Please come out; I need a word.” Outside he said, “What are you doing? We are distressed; we must make him understand there are no flies. If you say they are buzzing, that will make it worse! The doctors say there are no flies—how could they buzz? And the boy is delighted with you; he hasn’t been pleased with anyone so far. This is dangerous—he will go home and say, ‘He also said it’s true,’ and now he’ll have proof.”
I said, “I am not behaving with him as a teacher. I’m behaving as a physician. You go; don’t worry.” I told the boy, “Stay with me tonight. I’ll get a feel for it. If they’re buzzing, I should be able to sense something too.” That night I kept my hand on his head. In the morning I told him, “Definitely three flies—and they do buzz!” He was very happy, reassured; he looked much healthier.
I told his father to have three flies caught and sealed in a bottle. At night, when the boy slept, I placed an empty bottle by him and said, “We’ll try to get them out while you sleep. With luck, by morning they’ll be out.” In the morning we swapped the bottles and placed the one with the three flies by his side. He was overjoyed—and released.
This is what I call the physician’s way. It is not the teacher’s way. And really, there are only these two ways.
When you ask me questions, I have a difficulty. It is not what you are asking; it is why you are asking. Where inside is the disturbance from which this question arises? Where is the trouble from which it is born?
So your question doesn’t seem very important to me; it is only a pointer to where the illness is. Many times it may happen that your question seems to go in one direction and my answer in another. You may feel, “This has become irrelevant.” It will seem so, because our habit is to demand a direct answer to our question: “Is there a God or not? Give a straight answer! Is there a soul or not? Answer! Is there rebirth or not; is there destiny or not? Give a straight answer! Why do you talk of other things?” But I tell you, one must talk of “other” things. The answer itself is not the point. Your whole mind needs healing. And that can happen.
Osho, you have said one should not repress. Then there should be sublimation—there should be transformation. Please tell me, what should one do?
Why do you want sublimation?
Questioner:
To change the tendencies—what you had said.
Will you do it just because I said so?
Questioner:
It brings happiness, contentment, bliss.
It does not bring happiness. I have understood what you are saying. The first thing is: why do you want to do sublimation? For example, take sex—why do you want to sublimate it?
(The audio recording of the question is not clear.)
That is, the trouble—the difficulty—is exactly what I have been saying all along. You are saying something like: suppose someone loves me, and other people feel bad about it, therefore I should sublimate this love. How does this love feel to me? Is it pleasant or painful? What have others to do with it? Others may be in the wrong. Your neighbors may be in the wrong; the morality they have made may be foolishness.
Questioner:
To change the tendencies—what you had said.
Will you do it just because I said so?
Questioner:
It brings happiness, contentment, bliss.
It does not bring happiness. I have understood what you are saying. The first thing is: why do you want to do sublimation? For example, take sex—why do you want to sublimate it?
(The audio recording of the question is not clear.)
That is, the trouble—the difficulty—is exactly what I have been saying all along. You are saying something like: suppose someone loves me, and other people feel bad about it, therefore I should sublimate this love. How does this love feel to me? Is it pleasant or painful? What have others to do with it? Others may be in the wrong. Your neighbors may be in the wrong; the morality they have made may be foolishness.
Osho, with the neighbor there is of course a bond of love, and also a relationship of give-and-take—how can we drop that?
No, no, no. That’s not what I am saying. You haven’t understood me. Grasp what I am saying very scientifically.
There is a sexual instinct within us, and we say we must sublimate it. I am asking: why must we? Is sex not giving you pleasure? You say the pleasure of sublimation will be attained! First it is necessary to know whether sex is not giving you pleasure—or is it that others say it doesn’t, and you have believed them? Are you following me? If, from your own experience, it comes to you that there is no joy in it, then sublimation will begin. Do you understand? Sublimation will begin.
From whatever does not give me joy, my hands naturally withdraw. But the difficulty is that others say there is no joy in sex, that joy will be found in sublimation, while I am in fact getting pleasure. Hence the question arises: now how do I sublimate? You get my meaning, don’t you?
The question “How do I sublimate?” arises because others—gurus, teachers, sannyasins—are telling me that sex is a great misery, and that if sex is sublimated, great bliss will come. And my experience is that I am getting pleasure in sex. This is the difficulty. So I ask how to sublimate sex, so perhaps still greater pleasure may come. But sublimation will happen only when it comes into your own experience that sex is not giving joy. It will not happen because someone else says so. You see my point? Sublimation is something that happens every moment to every drive, if there is direct experience.
You will be surprised. People have children, live out their lives, grow old—and they never have the experience of sex. You may wonder what I am saying! Passing through a sexual act is not the experience of sex. The experience of sex is a far bigger thing. It cannot happen to you, because the notions you have accumulated about sex prevent you from awakening lovingly into the experience. You have fixed ideas.
Recently I stayed in a home. A wife asked me: I want to hold great reverence for my husband. I believe the husband is God. Yet quarrels and conflicts keep happening. Something or other goes wrong between us; opposition and struggle arise. All day long, even while knowing I should respect my husband—believing it—still words of disrespect slip out. Why does this happen?
As I said, my view is different. I asked her this… From childhood, to a girl or a boy, we teach—knowingly or unknowingly—that sex is the most disgusting thing. We explain that it is the filthiest thing: don’t talk about it, don’t mention it, never bring it up. As if it is not happening in the world at all. Look at conversations, books, accounts—sex seems nowhere. It is so dirty a thing that it should not be spoken of. Don’t form such a relationship with anyone; it is very bad, very immoral.
For twenty years a girl hears that sex is immoral and dirty; then she marries, and we tell her to regard her husband as God. And this very man will take her into the very act that for twenty years was called the dirtiest. What will be the state of her mind? How can there be reverence for this?
In India no wife can truly respect her husband. It is simply impossible. It is absolutely false talk. In her mind there will be disgust toward the husband. And he cannot love the wife either. He knows that this is the gate to hell. Can anyone love the gate to hell? So he will speak the language of love while knowing inside that it is the gate to hell. And the sexual instinct is natural; there is no getting rid of it. Thus the whole thing goes into a vicious circle; then countless questions will arise, and he will ask questions—without ever asking the real question, where the real knot sits. Do you get my point? And then he will think: how to sublimate? What filth have I fallen into—this and that. And all of this is false talk. The real issue is something else.
What I am saying is that sex is a natural phenomenon. Drop your ill will toward it. To carry any hostility toward it is very dangerous; it will destroy your whole life—and it does. Drop the hostility completely. Know it as a natural energy. Experience it. Experience it with total simplicity. Because if there is hostility, the mind is no longer simple. You have already decided that it is wrong, and yet you are doing it: dragging yourself and doing it; doing it and being miserable. In this way everything will be disturbed.
No—approach it with great naturalness. Just as eyes have been given to me, hands and feet have been given, so sex too has been given. It is just as natural. There is no sin in it; even if the moral codes of the world call it sin, it is natural. Know it fully. And as for the sexual act, look at it with great love, great simplicity, with an innocent mind, and see what rasa is in it, what joy there is. And gradually you will experience that there is no rasa in it and no joy. And then freedom from that act will begin.
There is a sexual instinct within us, and we say we must sublimate it. I am asking: why must we? Is sex not giving you pleasure? You say the pleasure of sublimation will be attained! First it is necessary to know whether sex is not giving you pleasure—or is it that others say it doesn’t, and you have believed them? Are you following me? If, from your own experience, it comes to you that there is no joy in it, then sublimation will begin. Do you understand? Sublimation will begin.
From whatever does not give me joy, my hands naturally withdraw. But the difficulty is that others say there is no joy in sex, that joy will be found in sublimation, while I am in fact getting pleasure. Hence the question arises: now how do I sublimate? You get my meaning, don’t you?
The question “How do I sublimate?” arises because others—gurus, teachers, sannyasins—are telling me that sex is a great misery, and that if sex is sublimated, great bliss will come. And my experience is that I am getting pleasure in sex. This is the difficulty. So I ask how to sublimate sex, so perhaps still greater pleasure may come. But sublimation will happen only when it comes into your own experience that sex is not giving joy. It will not happen because someone else says so. You see my point? Sublimation is something that happens every moment to every drive, if there is direct experience.
You will be surprised. People have children, live out their lives, grow old—and they never have the experience of sex. You may wonder what I am saying! Passing through a sexual act is not the experience of sex. The experience of sex is a far bigger thing. It cannot happen to you, because the notions you have accumulated about sex prevent you from awakening lovingly into the experience. You have fixed ideas.
Recently I stayed in a home. A wife asked me: I want to hold great reverence for my husband. I believe the husband is God. Yet quarrels and conflicts keep happening. Something or other goes wrong between us; opposition and struggle arise. All day long, even while knowing I should respect my husband—believing it—still words of disrespect slip out. Why does this happen?
As I said, my view is different. I asked her this… From childhood, to a girl or a boy, we teach—knowingly or unknowingly—that sex is the most disgusting thing. We explain that it is the filthiest thing: don’t talk about it, don’t mention it, never bring it up. As if it is not happening in the world at all. Look at conversations, books, accounts—sex seems nowhere. It is so dirty a thing that it should not be spoken of. Don’t form such a relationship with anyone; it is very bad, very immoral.
For twenty years a girl hears that sex is immoral and dirty; then she marries, and we tell her to regard her husband as God. And this very man will take her into the very act that for twenty years was called the dirtiest. What will be the state of her mind? How can there be reverence for this?
In India no wife can truly respect her husband. It is simply impossible. It is absolutely false talk. In her mind there will be disgust toward the husband. And he cannot love the wife either. He knows that this is the gate to hell. Can anyone love the gate to hell? So he will speak the language of love while knowing inside that it is the gate to hell. And the sexual instinct is natural; there is no getting rid of it. Thus the whole thing goes into a vicious circle; then countless questions will arise, and he will ask questions—without ever asking the real question, where the real knot sits. Do you get my point? And then he will think: how to sublimate? What filth have I fallen into—this and that. And all of this is false talk. The real issue is something else.
What I am saying is that sex is a natural phenomenon. Drop your ill will toward it. To carry any hostility toward it is very dangerous; it will destroy your whole life—and it does. Drop the hostility completely. Know it as a natural energy. Experience it. Experience it with total simplicity. Because if there is hostility, the mind is no longer simple. You have already decided that it is wrong, and yet you are doing it: dragging yourself and doing it; doing it and being miserable. In this way everything will be disturbed.
No—approach it with great naturalness. Just as eyes have been given to me, hands and feet have been given, so sex too has been given. It is just as natural. There is no sin in it; even if the moral codes of the world call it sin, it is natural. Know it fully. And as for the sexual act, look at it with great love, great simplicity, with an innocent mind, and see what rasa is in it, what joy there is. And gradually you will experience that there is no rasa in it and no joy. And then freedom from that act will begin.
Osho, you call this innocent, but won’t that give rise to guilt and blame?
Drop all the attitudes you are clinging to. That is why I explained it. Your mind-set is already formed—drop all of it. Drop all of it. If I go somewhere and a girl is walking with me, your mind will at once start: “Ah, how is this girl going with him?” That is an attitude. If you feel a little compassion for me, you will say, “Don’t take this girl along; who knows what people will think.”
Once a girl used to go with me, and an elderly man said, “Don’t take her there. The village you’re going to is very orthodox. Don’t take her—people will ask, ‘Who is this girl with you?’ And if someone asks what she is to you, then what will you say?” I said, “I’ll say she loves me—that’s why she goes with me.” He said, “Oh, never say that to anyone, or there will be big trouble. The whole thing will be ruined. Your entire respect will be wiped out.”
This unintelligent state of our mind—this inertia we have gripped—is what is causing us suffering. And we set out to search for God while our intelligence is stuck here, in all these stupidities! And they are of our own making.
That is why I am troubled: your real issues are not in front of you. The real issues sit very deep, gnawing at the roots. We hide them and discuss other matters. Break that.
Nothing is lost yet. Start any day—each day is new. Drop your ill will toward sex. You will feel a different attitude toward your husband. He will no longer be an enemy, no longer a bad man. The very air around you will change. You will have love for your children. How can a mother who thinks sex is bad truly love her child? The child is the product of that very sex, the fruit of that same “filthy act.” Outwardly she may show great love, but deep down she will know...
And so she will touch the feet of the sannyasin, the celibate, thinking, “This man is higher.” But how will she touch her husband’s feet? If she does, it will be forced. “How could this man possibly be higher!” And if it comes to light that the sannyasin loves a woman, all respect is finished—he becomes like the ordinary men we know every day. Case closed.
This diseased mind of ours is utterly rotten. To break through this entire rot is very difficult. But one has to experiment.
Once a girl used to go with me, and an elderly man said, “Don’t take her there. The village you’re going to is very orthodox. Don’t take her—people will ask, ‘Who is this girl with you?’ And if someone asks what she is to you, then what will you say?” I said, “I’ll say she loves me—that’s why she goes with me.” He said, “Oh, never say that to anyone, or there will be big trouble. The whole thing will be ruined. Your entire respect will be wiped out.”
This unintelligent state of our mind—this inertia we have gripped—is what is causing us suffering. And we set out to search for God while our intelligence is stuck here, in all these stupidities! And they are of our own making.
That is why I am troubled: your real issues are not in front of you. The real issues sit very deep, gnawing at the roots. We hide them and discuss other matters. Break that.
Nothing is lost yet. Start any day—each day is new. Drop your ill will toward sex. You will feel a different attitude toward your husband. He will no longer be an enemy, no longer a bad man. The very air around you will change. You will have love for your children. How can a mother who thinks sex is bad truly love her child? The child is the product of that very sex, the fruit of that same “filthy act.” Outwardly she may show great love, but deep down she will know...
And so she will touch the feet of the sannyasin, the celibate, thinking, “This man is higher.” But how will she touch her husband’s feet? If she does, it will be forced. “How could this man possibly be higher!” And if it comes to light that the sannyasin loves a woman, all respect is finished—he becomes like the ordinary men we know every day. Case closed.
This diseased mind of ours is utterly rotten. To break through this entire rot is very difficult. But one has to experiment.
Osho, sex feels futile; it feels as if it shouldn’t be?
What you feel—that it shouldn’t be—is utterly untrue. It is untrue because it does not arise from experience. The condemnation has been planted beforehand. Therefore in ninety-nine out of a hundred instances it will seem so to you. And if it were to seem so out of experience, you would be very surprised. If it became clear to you through experience—your own experience—then I would...
I am thinking of holding an entire, separate camp devoted solely to brahmacharya (celibacy), so I can discuss it with you completely. If this becomes known to you through experience—your experience—you will be astonished. Now, if in the state of intercourse a husband and wife are together, and in that moment the wife feels that this act is utterly futile, that thought transfers instantly to the husband. It is such a quiet, silent moment of the mind that if the wife gets the idea that it is futile, or the husband does, the other—who is with them at that time—will immediately begin to feel that it is futile. You can experiment and see what I am saying. And if for either the wife or the husband sex becomes futile, then for the other it will become so on its own. But if it happens out of condemnation...
We have already been told that this is a dirty thing. And women are more, so to say, suggestible. Therefore the foolishness society teaches to men and women—women learn more of it, men learn less. That is why the number of male renunciates is smaller and of female renunciates larger.
Boys are taught, and girls are taught, that sex is dirty. But boys never learn it as deeply as girls do. The capacity to learn, to absorb something, is greater in women than in men; and so the two wheels of the cart go out of alignment, and great confusion is created.
First of all, become very natural and at ease toward any instinct. Whatever society has taught, set it aside and ask, How am I to know?—about any instinct. Then the experience you will have will be very deep, larger, of quite a different quality.
For now the experience is of pleasure, and the mind keeps saying, What a sin this is! Because of that idea of sin, it can appear as suffering, but it is not suffering. Inside there is pleasure; inside the sensation of bliss is flowing, and on the surface, because of the notion of sin, it appears as misery.
This feeling of misery is intellectual, and the feeling of pleasure is purely instinctual. So in the depths bliss is felt, and on the surface misery is felt. From this, the mind ends up on different tracks, in opposition to itself.
I am thinking of holding an entire, separate camp devoted solely to brahmacharya (celibacy), so I can discuss it with you completely. If this becomes known to you through experience—your experience—you will be astonished. Now, if in the state of intercourse a husband and wife are together, and in that moment the wife feels that this act is utterly futile, that thought transfers instantly to the husband. It is such a quiet, silent moment of the mind that if the wife gets the idea that it is futile, or the husband does, the other—who is with them at that time—will immediately begin to feel that it is futile. You can experiment and see what I am saying. And if for either the wife or the husband sex becomes futile, then for the other it will become so on its own. But if it happens out of condemnation...
We have already been told that this is a dirty thing. And women are more, so to say, suggestible. Therefore the foolishness society teaches to men and women—women learn more of it, men learn less. That is why the number of male renunciates is smaller and of female renunciates larger.
Boys are taught, and girls are taught, that sex is dirty. But boys never learn it as deeply as girls do. The capacity to learn, to absorb something, is greater in women than in men; and so the two wheels of the cart go out of alignment, and great confusion is created.
First of all, become very natural and at ease toward any instinct. Whatever society has taught, set it aside and ask, How am I to know?—about any instinct. Then the experience you will have will be very deep, larger, of quite a different quality.
For now the experience is of pleasure, and the mind keeps saying, What a sin this is! Because of that idea of sin, it can appear as suffering, but it is not suffering. Inside there is pleasure; inside the sensation of bliss is flowing, and on the surface, because of the notion of sin, it appears as misery.
This feeling of misery is intellectual, and the feeling of pleasure is purely instinctual. So in the depths bliss is felt, and on the surface misery is felt. From this, the mind ends up on different tracks, in opposition to itself.
Sublimation!
No. As I say, sublimation happens. What I mean is, sublimation isn’t something you do. As your knowing about a particular instinct develops, it begins to be sublimated. Sublimation is not done; it happens.
No. As I say, sublimation happens. What I mean is, sublimation isn’t something you do. As your knowing about a particular instinct develops, it begins to be sublimated. Sublimation is not done; it happens.
My whole emphasis is that whatever is important in life happens through knowing, not through doing. And whenever you ask, “How to do it?” then I know the mind—because of the way society has trained it—is getting troubled and is asking, “How to do it?”
Osho, the rigid, bound arrangement that is society—won’t it fall into chaos?
It won’t fall into any mess—not even a little. It will become very beautiful. There won’t be the slightest disorder. The disorder is already here. Right now it is a mess. And nothing could be messier than this. I cannot imagine what could be more of a mess than what we have now.
I had gone to speak at a college recently. After I had spoken, one boy asked me, “If what you are saying happens, then everything will become a mess.” So I said to him: Can you tell me what a society messier than this would look like? I said: This is society—how could it get any more messed up than this? Can you give me any picture of it? He stood there for a moment. He said, “I had never thought of it that way. But when I think about it, it’s true—how could it get more messed up than this?” Meaning, we are already standing in the seventh hell; what hell could there be below this? So there is no fear of a fall. Don’t be frightened at all. There is no fear. No fear at all.
I had gone to speak at a college recently. After I had spoken, one boy asked me, “If what you are saying happens, then everything will become a mess.” So I said to him: Can you tell me what a society messier than this would look like? I said: This is society—how could it get any more messed up than this? Can you give me any picture of it? He stood there for a moment. He said, “I had never thought of it that way. But when I think about it, it’s true—how could it get more messed up than this?” Meaning, we are already standing in the seventh hell; what hell could there be below this? So there is no fear of a fall. Don’t be frightened at all. There is no fear. No fear at all.
Osho, according to you, the Jats who live in villages—do they live blissfully?
No, no. Who said they live in bliss? Absolutely not. You are mistaken. Go and look again. These are some of our peculiar, long-standing notions.
What happens is, city people think there is great joy in the village; village people think there is great joy in the city. Village folk tell me that in the eyes of city dwellers they see great happiness, great joy, great ambition. I know both. And since I am neither a villager nor a city man, it is easy for me to see. So for me there is no question of happiness here or there. No one is happy.
If villagers were happy in the village, cities would never have come into being. How did you move toward the city? And that village itself is fading and moving toward the city. A day will come when not a single village will remain on the earth. How did this happen? If villagers were happy, how could it be that they all keep moving to the city—villages are being destroyed and cities keep spreading? And if villagers are happy, who is telling you to stay in the city? Who is stopping you? Go live in a village. But no one goes from the city to the village, while people from villages keep coming to the city.
This is how it is: it always seems to us that where we are, there is great misery, and where we are not, there is great happiness. Why? Because we do not see the other’s suffering—what his pain is, his troubles, his difficulties; the torment of his life does not appear to us. And does one become simple by sitting in a bullock cart? Or by living in a small hut? Or by wearing khadi clothes?
Simplicity and complexity are matters of the mind. And the villager’s mind and the city-dweller’s mind are not different. Nor does getting a university education make any difference in the mind. It remains the same. It keeps doing the same calculations. None of that makes any difference.
One man has a knife in his hand and another has a sword. So is the one with the knife simple? Is the one with the sword complex? Insult both, and the one with the knife will raise his knife; the one with the sword will raise his sword. The man who carries an atom bomb is the very same man who used to pick up a bow and arrow. There is no difference in that.
So there is no difference in the mind; the difference is between the atom and the bow and arrow. You get my point, don’t you? You are in the city: you have a small car, and you are miserable; in the village, the one with a small cart is miserable in the same way. You are in the city: you have a small house, and you are troubled; in the village, the one who doesn’t have his own bullocks is just as troubled. That is to say, there are differences in things, but the state of consciousness remains exactly the same; in that there is no difference, and there cannot be.
What happens is, city people think there is great joy in the village; village people think there is great joy in the city. Village folk tell me that in the eyes of city dwellers they see great happiness, great joy, great ambition. I know both. And since I am neither a villager nor a city man, it is easy for me to see. So for me there is no question of happiness here or there. No one is happy.
If villagers were happy in the village, cities would never have come into being. How did you move toward the city? And that village itself is fading and moving toward the city. A day will come when not a single village will remain on the earth. How did this happen? If villagers were happy, how could it be that they all keep moving to the city—villages are being destroyed and cities keep spreading? And if villagers are happy, who is telling you to stay in the city? Who is stopping you? Go live in a village. But no one goes from the city to the village, while people from villages keep coming to the city.
This is how it is: it always seems to us that where we are, there is great misery, and where we are not, there is great happiness. Why? Because we do not see the other’s suffering—what his pain is, his troubles, his difficulties; the torment of his life does not appear to us. And does one become simple by sitting in a bullock cart? Or by living in a small hut? Or by wearing khadi clothes?
Simplicity and complexity are matters of the mind. And the villager’s mind and the city-dweller’s mind are not different. Nor does getting a university education make any difference in the mind. It remains the same. It keeps doing the same calculations. None of that makes any difference.
One man has a knife in his hand and another has a sword. So is the one with the knife simple? Is the one with the sword complex? Insult both, and the one with the knife will raise his knife; the one with the sword will raise his sword. The man who carries an atom bomb is the very same man who used to pick up a bow and arrow. There is no difference in that.
So there is no difference in the mind; the difference is between the atom and the bow and arrow. You get my point, don’t you? You are in the city: you have a small car, and you are miserable; in the village, the one with a small cart is miserable in the same way. You are in the city: you have a small house, and you are troubled; in the village, the one who doesn’t have his own bullocks is just as troubled. That is to say, there are differences in things, but the state of consciousness remains exactly the same; in that there is no difference, and there cannot be.
Osho, do villagers have simplicity?
Who told you that? Where is it to be found? I have not been able to find it till today, despite searching. These are delusions that have been popularized. People keep repeating them. Where is it? I don’t find even a trace. Who says there is simplicity in them? And what kind of simplicity—tell me?
We say such things and they sound impressive, but there is nothing there—nothing at all. The whole matter is false. There is no such thing as this so-called simplicity. Otherwise there is a very easy recipe: wipe out the cities and the world will become simple. Then there will be no trouble at all. Very easy!
When the world was nothing but villages, if it was so simple, then whom were Buddha and Mahavira speaking against? And whom were they trying to awaken? In those days it was villages everywhere. Mahavira’s entire forty years of teaching happened in villages, in the deep countryside, and even there he was saying, “Make the mind simple.” So whom was he instructing? Was he mad? If in the village everyone was simple—if they are simple even now—then twenty-five hundred years ago they must have been utterly simple!
You will be surprised—look up the oldest of books. The oldest text in China, some six thousand years old, written on leather—there too it is written: “In the beginning the world was very simple.” It says the people of the past were very good, and now the world has become completely distorted, and now no one is good.
A six-thousand-year-old book says the same. Buddha says the same, Mahavira says the same: earlier people were very simple, now people have become a mess. Before there was great religion, now there is great irreligion. If you could go back ten thousand years, a million years, you would still find people saying, “Earlier the world was very good; now it has gone bad.”
In fact, wherever we are not, it seems everything there must have been good; and wherever we are, it begins to seem everything has gone wrong.
I do not agree, I do not agree. In the human mind it makes no difference whether it is city or village. Clothes make no difference. Centuries make no difference—that someone lives in the twentieth century and someone in the tenth—no difference. The mind changes only through sadhana; by no other means—by no other means.
We say such things and they sound impressive, but there is nothing there—nothing at all. The whole matter is false. There is no such thing as this so-called simplicity. Otherwise there is a very easy recipe: wipe out the cities and the world will become simple. Then there will be no trouble at all. Very easy!
When the world was nothing but villages, if it was so simple, then whom were Buddha and Mahavira speaking against? And whom were they trying to awaken? In those days it was villages everywhere. Mahavira’s entire forty years of teaching happened in villages, in the deep countryside, and even there he was saying, “Make the mind simple.” So whom was he instructing? Was he mad? If in the village everyone was simple—if they are simple even now—then twenty-five hundred years ago they must have been utterly simple!
You will be surprised—look up the oldest of books. The oldest text in China, some six thousand years old, written on leather—there too it is written: “In the beginning the world was very simple.” It says the people of the past were very good, and now the world has become completely distorted, and now no one is good.
A six-thousand-year-old book says the same. Buddha says the same, Mahavira says the same: earlier people were very simple, now people have become a mess. Before there was great religion, now there is great irreligion. If you could go back ten thousand years, a million years, you would still find people saying, “Earlier the world was very good; now it has gone bad.”
In fact, wherever we are not, it seems everything there must have been good; and wherever we are, it begins to seem everything has gone wrong.
I do not agree, I do not agree. In the human mind it makes no difference whether it is city or village. Clothes make no difference. Centuries make no difference—that someone lives in the twentieth century and someone in the tenth—no difference. The mind changes only through sadhana; by no other means—by no other means.
Osho's Commentary
This is how it is in India today: right next door people with different beliefs are living, and you are living too. They keep their minds closed. They cling to their belief; you cling to yours. You are hardly anyone’s neighbor, because everyone is closed; no one is really meeting anyone—nor can they. As long as there is belief in you, you cannot be anyone’s neighbor. I am a Hindu, you are a Muslim—how will we be neighbors? That belief keeps the circle bound, tight. But if belief drops, then those whom we call seekers of knowledge will be neighbors—and none else can be neighbors in this world. Belief breaks relationship. It cuts you off from people and from the search as well.
How did you accept this? On what foundation does this acceptance stand? Apart from the accident that propaganda was going on around you and you happened to hear it. Like a soap advertisement—on the radio they say it, in the newspaper they print it, they put actresses’ pictures to declare that this is the best soap. After hearing it ten or twenty-five times, when you go to the market you say, give me that particular soap. If someone asks you, why did you choose this one—there are thousands? You will say, I believe it is good. How did this belief arise? Propaganda has been done around you. This is the entire strategy of advertisement—to create an atmosphere around you that this is good, this is good. And you start saying—this is good.
Just as the belief is created that a certain soap is good, so are these beliefs of yours. There is no difference. All this is deep propaganda and indoctrination, and it grabs your mind.
One who is eager to know will never be eager to believe. He will say, I want to know. I want to inquire. I will weigh each fact, recognize and understand it. If it feels right—if my own experience says so—then fine. Then it will not be belief; then it will be knowing. Not belief, but knowledge.
Belief is an event of unknowing, an event of ignorance. The more ignorant a person is, the more beliefs will cluster around him. The more one moves toward knowing, beliefs will keep falling away; and one who attains to knowing himself will have no beliefs at all. If you ask him, Do you believe in God? he will say, I know. He will not say, I believe. The question of believing no longer remains. Believing is for the one who does not know. What place has belief then?
If you truly wish to search, to inquire—if the longing to know has really arisen—then drop all believing. There will be great trembling. The trembling will be that, on dropping belief, you will feel that you are utterly ignorant. The fear will be: once I leave believing, there is no one more ignorant than me. I am not able to know anything at all.