Naye Samaj Ki Khoj #3

My beloved Atman!

On the Search for a New Society I have spoken on three sutras. Today I will speak on the fourth — and afterwards, answer a few questions from before.

Up to now the human mind has been constructed upon fear. The whole culture, the whole religion, all the values of life stand upon fear. What we call God is not God — it is a mansion built out of our fear. There is, somewhere, the Divine — but fear is not the path to it. If you would realize That, you must become free of fear.

Fear acts like a poison in life; it toxifies everything. And yet, until now, we have tried to “set man right” by frightening him. Man has not been set right — he has only been terrorized.

I have heard: a woman brought her son to a fakir. She said, ‘My boy does not listen to me. Please frighten him a little so that he begins to obey. He disobeys, he argues over small things. Frighten him a little so he becomes right.’

The fakir was a very unusual man. As soon as he heard this he leapt up, waving his arms, shaking his head, and shrieked loudly. The boy, panic-stricken, ran away. The mother, terrified, fainted. And when the mother fainted, the fakir too, in fear, ran off. After a little while when the mother came to, the fakir returned and sat again upon his seat. A little later the boy also returned from the back.

The mother said, ‘What did you do? The boy is still trembling. The fakir too was out of breath. The woman’s face was drained as if all blood had gone. I did not ask for so much fear!’ The fakir said, ‘Once frightening begins, where to stop — that is also difficult to decide.’ The woman said, ‘I asked you to frighten the boy, not me.’ The fakir replied, ‘I was frightening only the boy — you got afraid. And not only you: when you fainted, I myself panicked and ran away! When fear comes, who will fear and who will be spared — that is hard to say.’

For thousands of years we have been trying to set man right by frightening him. In that, all have become afraid. Those who organized the frightening are afraid. Those who begged to be frightened are afraid. Those who arranged the apparatus of fear are afraid. All are afraid. It is not only the ordinary man who is frightened — those whom we call great men are also frightened. Yes, the forms of fear will differ a little. Those we call fearless, abhay, are also frightened — only the direction of their fear has changed.

Many saints have said: Fear no one except God. But if the fear is of God, it is still fear. And remember, to fear a snake or a scorpion — that is not so bad; it is intelligent. But to fear Ishwar is utter foolishness. Because once we become afraid of someone, any real relationship becomes impossible. Fear never allows a relationship to flower. Only love creates relationship. Where there is fear, there can be hatred. If I am afraid of you I cannot love you — I can only hate you. Yes, I can display love, but inside there will be hatred.

Those who said ‘Fear God!’ are responsible for making this world atheistic. For the final outcome of fear of God is hatred toward God. And when hatred grows too much, finally one will deny: there is no God! A God before whom one must be afraid twenty-four hours a day — such a God must be denied.

Man slowly denied God. The reason behind his denial is not God himself. What fault is it of God that anyone should deny him? No — the reason is the fear attached to God. We molded a statue of fear and named it God. The whole religion is threatening. The fear of hell is given; the temptations of heaven are dangled. There is punishment for sin and reward for virtue.

And remember, reward is but another face of fear. We say to a man, ‘If you err, you will rot in hell’ — that too is fear. And, ‘If you do not do right, you will miss heaven’ — that too is fear. Heaven and hell, sin and virtue — all have been made into instruments of intimidation.

Thus the soul has shrunk under fear. Man cannot take a step, cannot live. The fear is so much — how to live? And it is not that the frighteners have remained unafraid. They too are afraid. Fear is contagious. If I frighten you, it will not be long before I myself am frightened — because when fear becomes infectious in all of you, where will I escape? It will seize me too.

Sadhus and sannyasins — all are afraid.

A young man came to me just now — perhaps thirty years old — shaking all over. I asked, ‘What happened?’ He said, ‘I had gone to Songarh, to listen to Kanji. There I heard that if this human birth is missed, one will have to wander through eighty-four crores of wombs. I have stayed there three months. Since childhood I have been afraid of centipedes. So I have come to ask you — what if after death I become a centipede?’

If one has to hear from morning to night, day after day for three months, ‘The human birth is very rare, obtained with great difficulty. If you miss even a little, then there is wandering through eighty-four crores of wombs; only then perhaps a human birth again’ — fear can enter the mind of any sensitive person, panic can settle in.

In Europe there were two Christian sects. One was called the Shakers — it slowly died out. Another was called the Quakers — it still lives. Shaker and Quaker meant this: when their master preached, the listeners would begin to shake, to tremble — they were so terrified of hell. That sect was the Shakers. The Quakers were even more — as if an earthquake had come, they were shaken like an earth-quake: hence Quakers. When Wesley spoke, women would faint in the hall — he terrified people so much. He painted hell with such vivid detail.

For many years pictures hung in temples and mosques, were carved in churches — flames of hell and cauldrons, and people boiling in them. When such images are drawn vividly — and when a whole society flows with that current — to panic an ordinary, weak person is not difficult!

The idea was: through fear we will make man moral, religious, good. Man did not become good, religious, moral — he became only frightened. And fear itself is the greatest irreligion. There is no sin greater than fear. The whole consciousness of man is filled with fear. Because of it he has become crippled — paralyzed. Man’s brain, intelligence — all have become stunted. The old man stands upon fear.

If we are to give birth to the New Man, all the nets of fear must be broken. And we must understand that all fears are lethal.

This does not mean that when a horn is blaring you should stand fearlessly in front of the car. I am not saying that. That is not fear — it is sheer intelligence. But a man thinking, ‘I will have to wander through eighty-four crores of wombs’ — that fear is mental, imaginary, merely institutional, taught by certain people.

How many hells are there? One guru says, seven. Another says, three. Another says, one. In Mahavira’s time there was Makkhali Goshal — he said, ‘These gurus know nothing; they have not gone far enough into the depths. There are seven hundred hells!’

And hells upon hells — each more dangerous than the last. All arrangements have been made to frighten man from every side. The thought was: through fear we will make man good. Even today this is the thought. Even today a father frightens his son thinking he will make him good. Even today the government frightens the people thinking it will make them good. Even today we frighten the thief thinking he will become good.

But what has ever become good through fear? Have thieves decreased? Has dishonesty diminished?

Prisons go on increasing; thieves go on increasing. No reduction. Courts have made no difference; police have made no difference; laws are unable to frighten. God is tired, heaven and hell are tired — man goes on deteriorating day by day.

It is necessary to understand this truth well: man cannot be transformed through fear. And if he is frightened, that creates a further misfortune — the frightened man becomes even more troublesome. Because fear itself is a great immorality.

Freedom from fear is essential — the mental, psychological fears that seize us in the mind. Just today, in the afternoon, a man came to me. He asked, ‘What will happen after death?’

If in a man the thought arises — ‘What will happen after death?’ — in one sense he is already dead. Life has slipped from his hands. If a man is alive, truly alive, he will live now. He will say, ‘When death comes, then we will see what death is. For now, death has not come.’

Socrates was dying. His friends were weeping. He said, ‘Do not weep.’ They said, ‘How can we not weep? Death stands at the door. In a little while the hemlock will be given. Are you not afraid?’

Socrates said, ‘In front of me there are only two options. Either I will die absolutely — as the atheists say — simply cease. If I cease absolutely, there is no need to fear, because there will be no one left to fear. Or, as the theists say, the soul will not die — I will not die; only the body will die. If only the body dies and Socrates remains, then also there is no need for fear. In any case, one of these two is true. Therefore there is no need for fear. Either I will remain — then why fear? Or I will not remain — then who will fear, and how?’

Socrates speaks with intelligence. He says, ‘What is after death — see it when you die. If you remain, you will see. If you do not remain, there is no question of seeing.’

But man is alive and yet asks, ‘What will happen after death?’

In such a man, inside, life has turned to ash. Such a man is preparing to die, not to live. In some deep way he has become sick.

Sigmund Freud, in one of his books, has written a small sentence which all religious people should understand well. He writes: whenever anyone goes to the religious teachers asking, ‘What is death? What is rebirth? What lies ahead?’ — understand that mental sickness has already begun in that person.

This is true. It is true because as long as we are healthy we do not go to ask about disease. And if a healthy man goes to the doctor and says, ‘Please examine me to see whether I have any disease’ — understand that a disease greater than disease has already arrived. Now even the doctor will not be able to cure it.

When we are in bliss we never ask, never ask, ‘Why is there life?’ But when we are in misery we begin to ask, ‘Why is there life? What is the meaning of life?’ When you are in bliss you do not ask what the purpose of bliss is. But when you are in pain you surely ask, ‘What is the purpose of pain? Why is there pain in life?’ The whys about the future, the ultimate meanings — such questions indicate a pathological mind.

Fear — many kinds of fear — mental fears — press us from all sides. We will have to recognize them. Without recognizing them we cannot drop them. The fear that we recognize will drop — because if it becomes clear that this fear is utterly useless, has no meaning at all, there remains no reason for it to continue.

But what have we done? We do not recognize — we give new names. And our names are deceptions. For thousands of years we have lived in such cleverness that it has created a very strange situation. Things no longer keep their right names. On every box the label has been changed — inside is one thing, the label says something else. Therefore it has become very difficult to search — what lies where.

We say of a person — he is a very good man. But out of a hundred so-called good men, ninety-eight are not good — they are merely timid, only frightened, and because of fear they appear to be good. You will say, ‘I am a very good man, I never steal.’ But if I investigate a little, I will find that you too would like to steal — only fear stops you. Then you are not a good man — you are a frightened man. Yet we change the label, and never know.

A man says, ‘I am absolutely honest.’ He should inquire a little whether he is not dishonest — only afraid. Dishonesty plus fear — and the result is called honesty.

Is this the definition of honesty? Suppose tomorrow he comes to know that for one day all laws are suspended, all police are on holiday, for one day there are no courts. Then watch that man. His so-called honesty will vanish. He will no longer be honest. The “good man” is therefore weak. Often it happens that a man is good because he is weak.

And the inverse also happens: the bad man is often bad because he is strong. In the world of goodness he finds no opportunity to display his power — that realm is crowded with all kinds of weaklings; he cannot show his strength there. The powerful man turns to the bad.

If there are two children at home and one is a complete simpleton, the parents will say — ‘He is very good, obedient.’ And if the other child is a little strong, a little intelligent, they will say — ‘He is going to the dogs, disobeys, does not listen to what we say.’ But understand: to be a simpleton is not to be good. Though being a simpleton, one does become obedient.

We have relabeled everything. Therefore, where fear is, we cannot catch that it is fear. Where violence is, we do not catch the violence. Where hatred is, we do not catch the hatred. Where love is absent, we do not catch its absence. Deception surrounds us on all sides. The inner arrangement man has made inside himself — everywhere the wrong name has been pasted.

I remember an incident. A sannyasin used to give discourses in a village. A few people came — old women, old men, and their small children. While he was speaking, a little boy loudly said to his mother, ‘Ma, I want to pee!’ The women laughed; the sannyasin was also displeased. He called the mother near and said, ‘Please teach the boy: if ever this happens, he should say something else that you will understand — but others will not. Use a code language.’ She asked, ‘What should he say?’ The sannyasin said, ‘Teach him that when he needs to pee he should say, “Mother, I want to sing a song.” Then no one will know. Make a code — you will understand. With children such things happen — what can be done?’ The mother understood. She taught the boy. For two or four days the boy forgot; then he learned.

A year later the sannyasin was a guest in that woman’s house. There was a wedding; the woman went there and left her boy to sleep near the sannyasin, saying, ‘Please watch him, I will return.’ Around eleven o’clock the boy shook the sannyasin and said, ‘Swamiji, I want to sing a song!’ The swami said, ‘I am tired from the day — I don’t want to hear a song. Go to sleep. One does not sing in the middle of the night.’ The boy said, ‘No — I very much want to sing.’ The swami said, ‘Control your mind a little, keep a hold on your desire. Sing in the morning.’ The boy said, ‘We will sing again in the morning — but now I must sing.’ The swami said, ‘What trouble — I feel sleepy, you want to sing!’ The boy said, ‘I must sing.’ Still the swami said, ‘Just a little… sing in the morning! Sleep now — I have travelled all day, let me sleep.’ The boy said, ‘You sleep — but why do you stop me from singing?’ The swami said, ‘If you sing, how will I sleep? Lie quietly and sleep!’

The boy became a little afraid — he kept quiet a while. Then he whispered, ‘No, Swamiji — I cannot be quiet, I must sing a song.’ The swami said, ‘Do not sing aloud — sing softly into my ear.’

Our whole life is disordered because the names have been changed. We cannot recognize what lies where. Inside the mind we have changed labels — to deceive ourselves and to deceive others. Therefore man has become a puzzle. Man is not essentially a puzzle — he is a straightforward book, a clean, clear book. But he has become a riddle because we do not call a thing by its right name. We say something else — something that sounds good — but falsifies the facts. Fact has become fiction.

Hence, if you go within, you will not rightly recognize when you are afraid — because you call fear something else. You have your own code language; every person has his own.

A man stands in a temple with folded hands, kneeling before God. He says, ‘I am praying.’ What has kneeling to do with prayer?

Kneeling is fear — it has nothing to do with prayer. What has kneeling to do with prayer?

A man lies with his head pressed upon a stone idol — with his head at the feet of a statue. What prayer is there in lying at the feet of a statue? No — it is fear. And it is an ancient symbol of fear. Old emperors, old generals compelled people to bow at their feet. There were many reasons for this compulsion. First: when a man bows to the feet he goes down — and while he is down the emperor or general can clearly see that he is not dangerous, that he hides no dagger, carries no gun, conceals no sword. When a man stands upright it cannot be known what he hides — so arrangements were made to make him bow. It was a military secret in very ancient days: make everyone bow before the king, so that at once it can be seen whether he hides any weapon that could endanger the king. Hence both hands must be shown.

If you have seen photographs of Hitler’s concentration camps — if not, you should — you will be astonished. All prisoners were stripped naked when taken into the camps, and all had to walk with both hands raised. Even a small child had to go with both hands up — so it would be visible that the hands are empty, no sword, no gun, no mischief, no bomb.

Therefore, before kings, before generals, before robbers and murderers, when one approached, one had to fold hands from afar — so it would be clear that both hands are empty. When leaving, one had to walk backwards — so that the eyes remained on the king; one might not turn and do mischief; the back remained visible. These were arrangements of fear. The same arrangements of fear man uses before God in the temple. That is not prayer — it is only fear. But if we call fear ‘prayer’, the matter is finished. He cries, ‘I am fallen; you are pure. I am lowly; you are great!’ All this that he says — these are the voices of the worms of fear crawling inside him. But he calls it prayer. He has changed the label; the code language has begun. Now it will never be known what he is doing. A man kneeling, falling at the feet, beating his chest, groaning and crying — these are proofs of fear. But the name of fear is ‘prayer’. And in no dictionary is it written that fear means prayer, that prayer means fear. Therefore, when you go searching, you will not find that you are afraid.

A friend of mine used to walk with me in the mornings — new to walking with me. As we went, whichever temple appeared he would fold his hands. If there was a little shrine, he would bow his hands. If we came upon a peepal tree, he would bow. I asked, ‘What are you doing?’ He said, ‘Peepal dev lives here, Hanumanji lives there, and there he lives.’ I said, ‘They may live — why are you worried?’ He said, ‘What are you saying! If we pass Hanumanji’s temple without folding hands, what if he gets angry? No, no — that won’t do.’

I explained to him a lot. His intellect understood — but fear is deeper than intellect. That fear did not understand. So he began to avoid me, stopped coming in the morning. I began to search for him. I would stand at his door at five every morning: ‘Come!’ He became more afraid of me than of Hanumanji. Sometimes he said he was unwell, sometimes something else. I would sit and say, ‘I am waiting — get ready; what is the problem?’

One day I took him out. He had already told me that it is all fear — there is no essence in folding hands; what can the peepal do? So we passed the peepal — a hundred steps went by, and his fear began to rise. After a hundred steps he said, ‘Forgive me — now I am trapped between two fears: one is the fear of you, and the other is that I passed the peepal without saluting. Please allow me — I must go back and fold my hands. Otherwise my whole day will be ruined. I will keep thinking that for the first time in my life I passed the peepal without saluting — who knows, the deity of the peepal may be angry!’

But he believes he is religious. And the neighbors also believe, ‘This man is very religious.’ But the man is simply frightened.

It is necessary to know things by their right names — otherwise self-analysis never happens. Never.

A husband returns home and, as he enters, begins saying to his wife, ‘No woman is more beautiful than you. I love you so much. Without you I cannot live even a day.’

If he looks within, he will see — this is not love, it is fear. He has prepared his lines on the way — what to say today. He is rehearsing till he reaches the door. Because the wife may pounce and ask at once, ‘Why are you so late?’ — and before she asks, he begins his own talk. But he will call it love. The day a husband commits some offense against his wife, that day he brings a sari from the market. The wife too will think — ‘This is love.’ But the day the husband brings a sari, she should become a little alert — some matter is amiss. He is afraid, he is frightened, he is making arrangements — he is bribing.

It is not that we bribe only officers and ministers. Fathers bribe sons; sons bribe fathers. Bribery goes on twenty-four hours a day. The father comes home with chocolates — that is a bribe. But he does not see it — he will say, ‘I love my son very much.’ In truth he only wants to silence the child: ‘Stop your noise; let me read the newspaper. Take this chocolate and go out.’

I am telling you: in life, whatever is — see it as it is. Otherwise you will never be able to bring any transformation into your life. What is — see it so. If there is no love, know there is no love. It is right to say, ‘There is no love; my heart is a dry desert; no spring of love arises in it.’ This will be more loving, more compassionate. The wife can also understand this.

But the wife will deceive, the husband will deceive, the son will deceive, the mother will deceive — everyone will go on deceiving, and no one will catch things rightly.

My understanding is: if someone comes to understand, ‘I am a dry desert; in me there is no spring of love’ — then not many days will pass before a spring of love can burst forth. But if it is never known — if the dry desert goes on believing, ‘I am a green, flowing spring’ — then it is very difficult; then nothing is ever known.

Fear must be recognized in all its forms — all its forms, all its deceptions. Recognize where it stands. The Gita receives a kick and now you bow your head and fold your hands. There is some fear! A kick to a book has no meaning, nor has placing your head upon it any meaning. A book is just a book. But the mind is frightened, the mind is frightened. If you turn the cover and look inside and see — ‘Ah! It is not the Gita. Only the cover is of the Gita — inside is a film magazine’ — then you will walk away unconcerned, swaggering: ‘No matter.’

And often it happens that inside the cover of the Gita at home are books that are not the Gita — often this happens. Because who wants to read the Gita? And the one who wants to read — no one allows him to. So the Gita’s cover serves. The cover is Gita; inside is something else. That is being read with great enjoyment. If you see someone reading the Gita with great delight, go a little closer — if he is so delighted, there is fear that inside the cover there is something else.

I have heard: a dictionary salesman went to a house and said to the housewife, ‘I sell this dictionary — it is very good; please buy one.’ The housewife said, ‘We have a dictionary — no need.’ He said, ‘Where is the dictionary?’ She pointed to a book lying on a distant table. The agent said, ‘Forgive me — that is not a dictionary; it seems to be a holy book.’ The woman said, ‘This is too much! How are you recognizing from so far that it is a holy book? You cannot even see it or read it from there. How do you know it is a holy book? I tell you it is a dictionary.’ The man said, ‘I tell you it is a holy book.’ The woman asked, ‘But how do you recognize it?’ He said, ‘The dust settled on it tells the whole story. Such dust cannot settle on a dictionary — children keep flipping it. It is a holy book — no one ever opens it, so dust has gathered. That dust is telling it is not a dictionary.’

Indeed it was not a dictionary — it was a holy book.

But to recognize things as they are, to recognize where we are, what we are — this causes great pain, much hurt, great anguish. For fear of that anguish we choose deception. Deceiving another has no great meaning, and does not do great harm. Deceiving oneself is the greatest harm. Man goes on taking himself to be something else.