Naye Samaj Ki Khoj #6
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Read in Original Hindi (मूल हिन्दी)
Questions in this Discourse
Osho, in what we discussed the other day, the central question that arose for us—and about which we want to learn from you—is this: the influence of “nihilism” that we seem to find in Buddhism and Jainism… Perhaps the interpretation of shunya can be made as positive as one likes, yet the very word, through usage, creates a general interpretation in people’s minds. You can’t give everyone a new formula for an old word; but perhaps a more proper word could be used. From this perspective it appears—many people feel this too—that “shunya is the only word which can describe your approach to truth.” Or is there some other term, path, or way of speaking so that the general public does not get the impression that you have a tendency toward negativism? So there is no misunderstanding.
No, no, no—why should it not appear so? There is indeed such a tendency in me. And I also do not accept that there is any other path! Other than shunya, there is no path. Only a negative mind reaches truth; no other kind of mind has ever reached. It is useful to understand this a little.
In fact, whatever we know, whatever we have learned, heard, experienced—that becomes our positive mind. That is our wealth. Whatever you are knowing this very moment, all that has been accumulated up to today, that is your mind. From childhood till now—or, if you extend it, through all your births—whatever knowledge has accumulated in you, that is the mind. Truth cannot be known through this mind, because truth is the unknown. All that you know is the known. Unless a leap happens from the known to the unknown, you will never reach the unknown.
So if one wants to know truth, to know existence—let’s not even say “truth,” say to know existence, to know whatever is—then all that we know will have to be bid farewell, put aside. The illusions that arise in consciousness—“I know this, I know this, I know this”—are like many walls and curtains upon it. They all must be broken. I must come to a place in myself where I can say, “I don’t know anything. I stand empty so that I may know what is.” To gather the courage to be ignorant is the first condition for becoming truly knowing. And the person we call “knowledgeable,” because he cannot gather the courage to be ignorant—and keeps running after being learned—never attains that innocence which is available to the one who can say, with his whole heart, from core to core, every particle of him, “I don’t know. I am ignorant.”
One who can say this—the positive mind is gone; the state of shunya remains, because “I don’t know anything.” In this very moment, in this emptiness, in this negative state, all that surrounds us breaks upon us—the existence that encircles us without and within finds entry from every door. And we know.
But if we then turn that knowing into knowledge, if we convert knowing into a storehouse of knowledge, the positive mind begins to accumulate again. And the glimpse we had is lost again.
Therefore every seeker should strive each day to regain the negative mind: to bid goodbye to what was known, to become empty again, to become innocent again, to be free again.
Otherwise what we knew yesterday becomes a barrier to today’s knowing. Then we simply repeat what is already known. To become free each day from what we have come to know… Just as dust settles daily on the body and we bathe to be free of it, so dust of experience, of scriptures, of words settles daily on the mirror of consciousness. Something or other settles every day. It must be dusted off daily, so the mirror becomes empty again. Only an empty mirror sees; only an empty mirror can know, for only it can reflect; only there do things form their true images.
You painted yesterday and the day before; you’ve been painting your whole life—yet if the images you have made still sit in any corner of your mind, you can never create a new painting. You will keep circling and reproducing the same images, and your mind will keep repeating them.
No—the old must be bid farewell, as if it has nothing to do with you. What has been made is gone; what has been made has died. Whether it is knowledge or a painting, a belief, a word, a doctrine—what is made is dead. Get free of what has died—so that life’s pulsation rises again just as it rises in the utterly new. So that the new can arise, and arise again.
And truth is ever-new. Existence is not a dead entity that you know once and are done. It is to be known moment by moment, day after day. Because it is new each day, becoming new continuously. And to know that new, the old mind becomes a barrier. The old mind—that is the positive mind; positive is always old. The new is the negative. Negative simply means: it has no storehouse, it is utterly empty.
So when I speak of shunya, if you understand rightly, I say shunya is the doorway to knowing Brahman. Shunya is the method, the technique, the path. That which we come to know through shunya is Brahman. Therefore I see no opposition between shunya and Brahman, nor between positive and negative. The negative is the way for the positive to manifest. But the moment the positive appears, if you cover the negative, the mistake begins. Then remove the positive so the negative returns… and let this go on continually, until a state arises in which the mind never hardens into the positive; things arise and pass, arise and pass; the mind remains always negative—only then will you know.
As we see with a camera: you have a negative in place; as soon as the image is formed, that plate becomes useless; what was negative becomes positive, something gets imprinted—then it is finished, spoiled, no longer of use; one picture has formed and the plate is dead.
Our consciousness works very much like a camera plate—and that is why it dies so quickly. Even a child does not have a child’s mind; he has an old mind. The difference is only that the child has the mind of an old man of ten days; the seventy-year-old has the mind of seventy years. But even a one-day-old baby does not have a child’s mind—he has the mind of a one-day-old old man, the accumulation of one day already on him.
So whether in literature, art, philosophy, or religion—you have to pass through the negative. To the degree that you can remain negative, to that degree a genuine positive will keep arising from within you.
Therefore I do not say: change the word—because there is no need. The so-called common mind—and in some sense we are all common—demands the positive because it is afraid. The negative frightens because it is unknown; the positive is known, familiar—so it appears secure. The unknown, unfamiliar—seems insecure; fear arises; the mind hesitates to venture into the unknown. “Walk on paths already known!”
But remember: one who walks on known paths never arrives anywhere. On the known, you can only circle; you cannot arrive. If it were possible to arrive via the known, we would already have arrived. We have already walked that path; we know it. We didn’t arrive, and we are still circling it—then man becomes the bullock yoked to the mill-stone.
We must seek the unknown, on which we have not walked. Perhaps through that we may arrive. And we must seek it every day. It is not that this journey is ever completed. If someone says, “I have become a knower; finished! I am Brahma-jnani; nothing remains to be known”—the moment someone says this, he has clutched at an experience and become positive. Whatever the experience, however great—he stopped right there and died; his life is no longer life. For the very meaning of life is to know, to know, to know… to live, to live, to live… And when we say existence is infinite, when we say the Divine is infinite, we mean simply this: however much you know, the infinite remains to be known; however much you live, the infinite remains; however much you attain, the infinite remains.
If you cling to what has been attained, remember: the positive is always limited; it cannot be infinite. Only the negative can be infinite; only shunya can be infinite; all else will have boundaries. If you cling to what you have grasped, you are bound by the limited. And what has passed as an experience is dead.
Yesterday I loved you—then I cling to it: “I am your lover.” Neither you are the same, nor am I, nor is the world the same. Nothing is the same now. Only a dead experience remains—and I sit clutching a memory. When I meet you today, I look at you through that memory; and then trouble begins. Because you are not that person, nor am I that person, nothing is that anymore. And when many such dead experiences stand between us, our very contact with life is broken.
Who knows? Yesterday there was love; today, perhaps there may not be! That is precisely why we make a beloved into a wife. “Wife” is positivity; “beloved” is utterly negative. Yesterday she was a beloved; today she might not be. But we make her positive as “wife,” because she was yesterday, she must be today, she must be tomorrow—until death she must remain wife.
But in becoming “wife,” the beloved died and love died. To expect love from a wife is sheer madness. Love could exist only with a beloved—where it was also possible that love might not be returned; where it was not necessary that love should be there—there expectation could be. Now to expect is madness; now “love will be given anyway!” And what is guaranteed becomes meaningless; it turns into business, into trade, into security.
It is essential to remember in all matters that our mind tries to make things positive. It does so because it lacks courage; it is weak. Its demand for security is stronger than its demand for truth. The demand for security says: “Clutch what you know; do not wander into the unknown; who knows, you might forget, you might lose what is in hand.”
I say: what is, can never be lost! Therefore there is no fear in wandering unknown paths. Only what is not, and which you falsely believe to be, can be lost. As you wander the unknown, your mind changes—slowly, slowly it becomes negative. Negative means simply this: it does not clutch, does not stop anywhere, builds no walls; it is always open, free, with infinite possibility for entry.
What does negative mean?
This room—these walls are not the room. The empty space within the walls is the room. The larger the empty space, the larger the room. If the empty space is filled, entry becomes prohibited, difficult.
A positive mind is a filled mind; for it, entry of the new is impossible. And truth is ever new. Existence is ever new; moment to moment it knocks: “Open, let me in!” But inside is a positive, filled mind. It says, “There is no space.” It says, “Those who are familiar are already seated; the unfamiliar has no place here. Why get into the trouble of the unfamiliar! With great difficulty we have become familiar with those who got in. Who would invite the unfamiliar! We sit with the door closed, content with the familiar.”
Dead. The doors are shut to the ever-new existence knocking daily.
Negative mind means an empty room, in which nothing is stored. Guests come and go; none stays. So for the new guest, the door is open each day: “Come, we are in waiting.” Such intense expectancy for the new alone finally connects you with existence; otherwise, it does not. It connects you with life; otherwise, it does not.
Thus negation, no-saying, shunya—these are the doorways to knowing an affirmative life. There is no opposition between them. The ordinary mind has been handed so much affirmativeness, so much positive—that is why it is ordinary; otherwise it too would be extraordinary. What other difference is there between an extraordinary person and an ordinary one? The ordinary clutches the positive, thus he is ordinary. If he too lets go—if his roots are uprooted from there—he too becomes extraordinary; he too descends into the same journey.
So I neither want to change the word nor soften it; rather I want to emphasize that shunya is shunya. Gather the courage to jump into it! And the more courage you can gather to jump into it…
I often tell a little story in this context: A man sets out to find the end of the world. Many advise him, “Has anyone ever found the world’s end? Does the world end anywhere? Why this madness?” But the more they advise, the more stubborn he becomes: “Since no one has found it, at least I should try!” Searching, he arrives at a place—the last place, the last temple. The priest says, “Go no further; a little ahead the world ends. Do not go there; to see the end of the world is terrifying. We have built this temple precisely so that if anyone strays here, we may stop him from going beyond.” But the man says, “I am here for that very search. I will not stop.”
He goes on. There is a board: “Here ends the world. Do not go further. Beware!” But that is exactly what he has come to see. Yet, near the board, his life starts to tremble: for the first time it occurs to him, “If the world ends there, how will I survive? I am part of the world! If the world truly ends, how will I remain?” His legs falter. Where the world ends, he too will end. “I want to see the world’s end, but I must survive.” Still, he says, “Let me go a few steps further and see.”
He goes a few steps—there is an abyss, infinite; ahead is only void, below only void, bottomless. No ground below, no ground above, no ground ahead. His head spins; he runs back, fearing he might fall in. He has seen many pits; those you could climb out of. This pit is such that you could never get out—indeed, in this pit you could never even arrive at the bottom. You would just keep falling, and falling… There would never come a moment when you could say, “I have fallen; I have reached bottom.” There is no place to stand. He runs back in terror, collapses on the temple steps, and faints.
The priest shakes him, sprinkles water: “What happened?” He says, “Don’t even remind me of what happened! What I saw was terrifying.” The priest asks, “Did you read what was written on the other side of the board?” He says, “No; I ran back in fear; I didn’t read what was on the other side.” The priest tells him, “On the other side it said: ‘Here God begins.’ Had you jumped… But you returned. Now it will take births upon births. Because nothing is stationary; everything is moving. Even if you go back there, that board won’t be in the same place; that end won’t be in the same place. After many births you’ll reach again. Next time remember: if you come to that abyss where all ends—then jump. For only there, by your first leap, will you find that all has happened.”
Only by becoming nothing—shunya—does one discover that all has happened. The so-called God-believer, soul-believer, theist—none of them can know, because they cling to the positive. They say “God exists! We hold his feet and sing hymns.” This person is not one who will dissolve; he lacks the courage to vanish. He is trying to make even God into a possession. He dances, jumps, rejoices, is delighted—because “God has been found.” He is afraid to die, afraid to vanish, afraid to become nothing. He has made “God” the last trick to avoid the void. Such a person never knows truth—he only knows projections of his mind, imaginations. He gains pleasures, yes; but he does not know what is. To know that, one must pass through the pit of shunya, must fall into it—by whatever direction one comes.
As I see it, new art is wandering around that pit of shunya. It is near the board that says, “Here all ends.” Therefore all standards are disrupted; lines and colors are scrambled. Something has begun to peep through that is negative; the positive is lost; clear shape is no longer there. What it is—even to say that has become difficult.
Even the painter cannot say what it is that he has painted. If it were positive, he would say, “This is Krishna standing, playing the flute.” That is what he painted until yesterday—everything clear, clean, lines of things firmly drawn; nothing was jumbled. Now it is all jumbled. Only the frame remains clearly visible; within the frame all is in disorder. And hence the frame itself will be lost; for long, frames cannot survive around such painting. What is being created within does not fit a frame. The frame is old—made for when everything fit neatly inside. The painting began somewhere and ended somewhere. Now it neither begins nor ends. Now it is coming into contact with an infinite void. And in that encounter something is happening that has never happened before.
Therefore I hold that old painting served the work of a camera, of a photograph. Even when there was no camera, it fulfilled its need. For the first time painting is becoming free of the photograph, free of the camera. It is arriving where things are as they are—and things as they are are tied to the void. Hence the growing difficulty.
It is happening everywhere. Poetry too is arriving where meaning will be lost. As long as poetry has meaning, shunya cannot manifest. And as long as there is a fixed arrangement of meaning, only what falls within limits can appear. What the Upanishads could not say, what Lao Tzu could not say—perhaps a coming painting or poem will say it. But it will be hard to understand; and one who loiters around it may go mad.
As I see it, among those we call saints and mahatmas, rarely does anyone pass near shunya. They keep circling the affirmative, the positive.
A few pass by shunya—Nietzsche, for example—and then go mad. He reached the place where the world ends. If he had leapt, something would have happened. Not leaping, he turned back—and then he goes mad. For after seeing the void, if one returns, there is no way left but madness. If he had jumped, everything would have changed; returning, everything becomes impossible.
In these last fifty years, the finest thinkers of the world, painters, singers—all have come close to madness. They hover near the void. Whoever leaps enters the state into which a Buddha or a Lao Tzu once entered. Whoever returns becomes mad in this world—for what he has seen he cannot forget; the glimpse he has had he cannot erase; and he can never again be satisfied with what is here, for he has seen something else, with which this has no harmony or resonance.
This is the crisis upon the mind of humanity today: our training has been for a positive mind, but the whole development is bringing us to the place where a negative mind should arise. Training for the positive, circling near the negative—hence the trouble.
Therefore I say: we must train for the negative mind. Then Nietzsche will not go mad; then our van Gogh will not go mad. And our ordinary person will be able to recognize and grasp what emerges from the negative. He will be able to see: “Yes, there is something here.” He will not ask, “What is it?” He will simply see what is.
Right now, standing before a painting, the ordinary man asks, “What is this?” As long as he asks, “What is this?” know that he has had no training in the negative. Then he will only stare.
We do not stand before a tree and ask, “What is this?” We do not ask why two flowers blossomed. We do not ask why the moon is hanging exactly there. Things are. But standing before a painting, we ask, “Why is it like this? What is it? Why did he make it so?”
The whole world needs training in the negative mind. The world we have passed through was of the positive mind—childish—and it is gone. Now a very mature world will come—of the negative mind. The Beats, the hippies, the beatniks—they are all troubled around the negative mind. If we do not offer training, they will all go mad. So discourse on the negative mind, on shunya, and practice of it, are necessary.
The meditation camps I hold are for shunya—how a person, if only for a short while, not twenty-four hours but even fifteen minutes, can become absolutely empty. To reach, for a moment, the place where all is lost. If this small experiment grows, a new door opens in your life, one you never imagined. From there begin to come the rays of truth.
So I call shunya itself Brahman. Whoever is prepared for shunya becomes worthy of Brahman. Whoever is not prepared for shunya is not worthy. And any Brahman you accept before shunya is false—merely assumed. It only makes you a little comfortable; beyond that, it has no value.
In fact, whatever we know, whatever we have learned, heard, experienced—that becomes our positive mind. That is our wealth. Whatever you are knowing this very moment, all that has been accumulated up to today, that is your mind. From childhood till now—or, if you extend it, through all your births—whatever knowledge has accumulated in you, that is the mind. Truth cannot be known through this mind, because truth is the unknown. All that you know is the known. Unless a leap happens from the known to the unknown, you will never reach the unknown.
So if one wants to know truth, to know existence—let’s not even say “truth,” say to know existence, to know whatever is—then all that we know will have to be bid farewell, put aside. The illusions that arise in consciousness—“I know this, I know this, I know this”—are like many walls and curtains upon it. They all must be broken. I must come to a place in myself where I can say, “I don’t know anything. I stand empty so that I may know what is.” To gather the courage to be ignorant is the first condition for becoming truly knowing. And the person we call “knowledgeable,” because he cannot gather the courage to be ignorant—and keeps running after being learned—never attains that innocence which is available to the one who can say, with his whole heart, from core to core, every particle of him, “I don’t know. I am ignorant.”
One who can say this—the positive mind is gone; the state of shunya remains, because “I don’t know anything.” In this very moment, in this emptiness, in this negative state, all that surrounds us breaks upon us—the existence that encircles us without and within finds entry from every door. And we know.
But if we then turn that knowing into knowledge, if we convert knowing into a storehouse of knowledge, the positive mind begins to accumulate again. And the glimpse we had is lost again.
Therefore every seeker should strive each day to regain the negative mind: to bid goodbye to what was known, to become empty again, to become innocent again, to be free again.
Otherwise what we knew yesterday becomes a barrier to today’s knowing. Then we simply repeat what is already known. To become free each day from what we have come to know… Just as dust settles daily on the body and we bathe to be free of it, so dust of experience, of scriptures, of words settles daily on the mirror of consciousness. Something or other settles every day. It must be dusted off daily, so the mirror becomes empty again. Only an empty mirror sees; only an empty mirror can know, for only it can reflect; only there do things form their true images.
You painted yesterday and the day before; you’ve been painting your whole life—yet if the images you have made still sit in any corner of your mind, you can never create a new painting. You will keep circling and reproducing the same images, and your mind will keep repeating them.
No—the old must be bid farewell, as if it has nothing to do with you. What has been made is gone; what has been made has died. Whether it is knowledge or a painting, a belief, a word, a doctrine—what is made is dead. Get free of what has died—so that life’s pulsation rises again just as it rises in the utterly new. So that the new can arise, and arise again.
And truth is ever-new. Existence is not a dead entity that you know once and are done. It is to be known moment by moment, day after day. Because it is new each day, becoming new continuously. And to know that new, the old mind becomes a barrier. The old mind—that is the positive mind; positive is always old. The new is the negative. Negative simply means: it has no storehouse, it is utterly empty.
So when I speak of shunya, if you understand rightly, I say shunya is the doorway to knowing Brahman. Shunya is the method, the technique, the path. That which we come to know through shunya is Brahman. Therefore I see no opposition between shunya and Brahman, nor between positive and negative. The negative is the way for the positive to manifest. But the moment the positive appears, if you cover the negative, the mistake begins. Then remove the positive so the negative returns… and let this go on continually, until a state arises in which the mind never hardens into the positive; things arise and pass, arise and pass; the mind remains always negative—only then will you know.
As we see with a camera: you have a negative in place; as soon as the image is formed, that plate becomes useless; what was negative becomes positive, something gets imprinted—then it is finished, spoiled, no longer of use; one picture has formed and the plate is dead.
Our consciousness works very much like a camera plate—and that is why it dies so quickly. Even a child does not have a child’s mind; he has an old mind. The difference is only that the child has the mind of an old man of ten days; the seventy-year-old has the mind of seventy years. But even a one-day-old baby does not have a child’s mind—he has the mind of a one-day-old old man, the accumulation of one day already on him.
So whether in literature, art, philosophy, or religion—you have to pass through the negative. To the degree that you can remain negative, to that degree a genuine positive will keep arising from within you.
Therefore I do not say: change the word—because there is no need. The so-called common mind—and in some sense we are all common—demands the positive because it is afraid. The negative frightens because it is unknown; the positive is known, familiar—so it appears secure. The unknown, unfamiliar—seems insecure; fear arises; the mind hesitates to venture into the unknown. “Walk on paths already known!”
But remember: one who walks on known paths never arrives anywhere. On the known, you can only circle; you cannot arrive. If it were possible to arrive via the known, we would already have arrived. We have already walked that path; we know it. We didn’t arrive, and we are still circling it—then man becomes the bullock yoked to the mill-stone.
We must seek the unknown, on which we have not walked. Perhaps through that we may arrive. And we must seek it every day. It is not that this journey is ever completed. If someone says, “I have become a knower; finished! I am Brahma-jnani; nothing remains to be known”—the moment someone says this, he has clutched at an experience and become positive. Whatever the experience, however great—he stopped right there and died; his life is no longer life. For the very meaning of life is to know, to know, to know… to live, to live, to live… And when we say existence is infinite, when we say the Divine is infinite, we mean simply this: however much you know, the infinite remains to be known; however much you live, the infinite remains; however much you attain, the infinite remains.
If you cling to what has been attained, remember: the positive is always limited; it cannot be infinite. Only the negative can be infinite; only shunya can be infinite; all else will have boundaries. If you cling to what you have grasped, you are bound by the limited. And what has passed as an experience is dead.
Yesterday I loved you—then I cling to it: “I am your lover.” Neither you are the same, nor am I, nor is the world the same. Nothing is the same now. Only a dead experience remains—and I sit clutching a memory. When I meet you today, I look at you through that memory; and then trouble begins. Because you are not that person, nor am I that person, nothing is that anymore. And when many such dead experiences stand between us, our very contact with life is broken.
Who knows? Yesterday there was love; today, perhaps there may not be! That is precisely why we make a beloved into a wife. “Wife” is positivity; “beloved” is utterly negative. Yesterday she was a beloved; today she might not be. But we make her positive as “wife,” because she was yesterday, she must be today, she must be tomorrow—until death she must remain wife.
But in becoming “wife,” the beloved died and love died. To expect love from a wife is sheer madness. Love could exist only with a beloved—where it was also possible that love might not be returned; where it was not necessary that love should be there—there expectation could be. Now to expect is madness; now “love will be given anyway!” And what is guaranteed becomes meaningless; it turns into business, into trade, into security.
It is essential to remember in all matters that our mind tries to make things positive. It does so because it lacks courage; it is weak. Its demand for security is stronger than its demand for truth. The demand for security says: “Clutch what you know; do not wander into the unknown; who knows, you might forget, you might lose what is in hand.”
I say: what is, can never be lost! Therefore there is no fear in wandering unknown paths. Only what is not, and which you falsely believe to be, can be lost. As you wander the unknown, your mind changes—slowly, slowly it becomes negative. Negative means simply this: it does not clutch, does not stop anywhere, builds no walls; it is always open, free, with infinite possibility for entry.
What does negative mean?
This room—these walls are not the room. The empty space within the walls is the room. The larger the empty space, the larger the room. If the empty space is filled, entry becomes prohibited, difficult.
A positive mind is a filled mind; for it, entry of the new is impossible. And truth is ever new. Existence is ever new; moment to moment it knocks: “Open, let me in!” But inside is a positive, filled mind. It says, “There is no space.” It says, “Those who are familiar are already seated; the unfamiliar has no place here. Why get into the trouble of the unfamiliar! With great difficulty we have become familiar with those who got in. Who would invite the unfamiliar! We sit with the door closed, content with the familiar.”
Dead. The doors are shut to the ever-new existence knocking daily.
Negative mind means an empty room, in which nothing is stored. Guests come and go; none stays. So for the new guest, the door is open each day: “Come, we are in waiting.” Such intense expectancy for the new alone finally connects you with existence; otherwise, it does not. It connects you with life; otherwise, it does not.
Thus negation, no-saying, shunya—these are the doorways to knowing an affirmative life. There is no opposition between them. The ordinary mind has been handed so much affirmativeness, so much positive—that is why it is ordinary; otherwise it too would be extraordinary. What other difference is there between an extraordinary person and an ordinary one? The ordinary clutches the positive, thus he is ordinary. If he too lets go—if his roots are uprooted from there—he too becomes extraordinary; he too descends into the same journey.
So I neither want to change the word nor soften it; rather I want to emphasize that shunya is shunya. Gather the courage to jump into it! And the more courage you can gather to jump into it…
I often tell a little story in this context: A man sets out to find the end of the world. Many advise him, “Has anyone ever found the world’s end? Does the world end anywhere? Why this madness?” But the more they advise, the more stubborn he becomes: “Since no one has found it, at least I should try!” Searching, he arrives at a place—the last place, the last temple. The priest says, “Go no further; a little ahead the world ends. Do not go there; to see the end of the world is terrifying. We have built this temple precisely so that if anyone strays here, we may stop him from going beyond.” But the man says, “I am here for that very search. I will not stop.”
He goes on. There is a board: “Here ends the world. Do not go further. Beware!” But that is exactly what he has come to see. Yet, near the board, his life starts to tremble: for the first time it occurs to him, “If the world ends there, how will I survive? I am part of the world! If the world truly ends, how will I remain?” His legs falter. Where the world ends, he too will end. “I want to see the world’s end, but I must survive.” Still, he says, “Let me go a few steps further and see.”
He goes a few steps—there is an abyss, infinite; ahead is only void, below only void, bottomless. No ground below, no ground above, no ground ahead. His head spins; he runs back, fearing he might fall in. He has seen many pits; those you could climb out of. This pit is such that you could never get out—indeed, in this pit you could never even arrive at the bottom. You would just keep falling, and falling… There would never come a moment when you could say, “I have fallen; I have reached bottom.” There is no place to stand. He runs back in terror, collapses on the temple steps, and faints.
The priest shakes him, sprinkles water: “What happened?” He says, “Don’t even remind me of what happened! What I saw was terrifying.” The priest asks, “Did you read what was written on the other side of the board?” He says, “No; I ran back in fear; I didn’t read what was on the other side.” The priest tells him, “On the other side it said: ‘Here God begins.’ Had you jumped… But you returned. Now it will take births upon births. Because nothing is stationary; everything is moving. Even if you go back there, that board won’t be in the same place; that end won’t be in the same place. After many births you’ll reach again. Next time remember: if you come to that abyss where all ends—then jump. For only there, by your first leap, will you find that all has happened.”
Only by becoming nothing—shunya—does one discover that all has happened. The so-called God-believer, soul-believer, theist—none of them can know, because they cling to the positive. They say “God exists! We hold his feet and sing hymns.” This person is not one who will dissolve; he lacks the courage to vanish. He is trying to make even God into a possession. He dances, jumps, rejoices, is delighted—because “God has been found.” He is afraid to die, afraid to vanish, afraid to become nothing. He has made “God” the last trick to avoid the void. Such a person never knows truth—he only knows projections of his mind, imaginations. He gains pleasures, yes; but he does not know what is. To know that, one must pass through the pit of shunya, must fall into it—by whatever direction one comes.
As I see it, new art is wandering around that pit of shunya. It is near the board that says, “Here all ends.” Therefore all standards are disrupted; lines and colors are scrambled. Something has begun to peep through that is negative; the positive is lost; clear shape is no longer there. What it is—even to say that has become difficult.
Even the painter cannot say what it is that he has painted. If it were positive, he would say, “This is Krishna standing, playing the flute.” That is what he painted until yesterday—everything clear, clean, lines of things firmly drawn; nothing was jumbled. Now it is all jumbled. Only the frame remains clearly visible; within the frame all is in disorder. And hence the frame itself will be lost; for long, frames cannot survive around such painting. What is being created within does not fit a frame. The frame is old—made for when everything fit neatly inside. The painting began somewhere and ended somewhere. Now it neither begins nor ends. Now it is coming into contact with an infinite void. And in that encounter something is happening that has never happened before.
Therefore I hold that old painting served the work of a camera, of a photograph. Even when there was no camera, it fulfilled its need. For the first time painting is becoming free of the photograph, free of the camera. It is arriving where things are as they are—and things as they are are tied to the void. Hence the growing difficulty.
It is happening everywhere. Poetry too is arriving where meaning will be lost. As long as poetry has meaning, shunya cannot manifest. And as long as there is a fixed arrangement of meaning, only what falls within limits can appear. What the Upanishads could not say, what Lao Tzu could not say—perhaps a coming painting or poem will say it. But it will be hard to understand; and one who loiters around it may go mad.
As I see it, among those we call saints and mahatmas, rarely does anyone pass near shunya. They keep circling the affirmative, the positive.
A few pass by shunya—Nietzsche, for example—and then go mad. He reached the place where the world ends. If he had leapt, something would have happened. Not leaping, he turned back—and then he goes mad. For after seeing the void, if one returns, there is no way left but madness. If he had jumped, everything would have changed; returning, everything becomes impossible.
In these last fifty years, the finest thinkers of the world, painters, singers—all have come close to madness. They hover near the void. Whoever leaps enters the state into which a Buddha or a Lao Tzu once entered. Whoever returns becomes mad in this world—for what he has seen he cannot forget; the glimpse he has had he cannot erase; and he can never again be satisfied with what is here, for he has seen something else, with which this has no harmony or resonance.
This is the crisis upon the mind of humanity today: our training has been for a positive mind, but the whole development is bringing us to the place where a negative mind should arise. Training for the positive, circling near the negative—hence the trouble.
Therefore I say: we must train for the negative mind. Then Nietzsche will not go mad; then our van Gogh will not go mad. And our ordinary person will be able to recognize and grasp what emerges from the negative. He will be able to see: “Yes, there is something here.” He will not ask, “What is it?” He will simply see what is.
Right now, standing before a painting, the ordinary man asks, “What is this?” As long as he asks, “What is this?” know that he has had no training in the negative. Then he will only stare.
We do not stand before a tree and ask, “What is this?” We do not ask why two flowers blossomed. We do not ask why the moon is hanging exactly there. Things are. But standing before a painting, we ask, “Why is it like this? What is it? Why did he make it so?”
The whole world needs training in the negative mind. The world we have passed through was of the positive mind—childish—and it is gone. Now a very mature world will come—of the negative mind. The Beats, the hippies, the beatniks—they are all troubled around the negative mind. If we do not offer training, they will all go mad. So discourse on the negative mind, on shunya, and practice of it, are necessary.
The meditation camps I hold are for shunya—how a person, if only for a short while, not twenty-four hours but even fifteen minutes, can become absolutely empty. To reach, for a moment, the place where all is lost. If this small experiment grows, a new door opens in your life, one you never imagined. From there begin to come the rays of truth.
So I call shunya itself Brahman. Whoever is prepared for shunya becomes worthy of Brahman. Whoever is not prepared for shunya is not worthy. And any Brahman you accept before shunya is false—merely assumed. It only makes you a little comfortable; beyond that, it has no value.
Osho, why should one try to know the unknowable?
Yes! You ask why anyone would want to know the unknown, the unknowable, the Unknowable. Why would anyone want to know the unknowable?
The very moment we ask, “Why should one want to know?” we reveal that the Why is already within us—and it makes us restless. That very Why unsettles us. We cannot simply accept, without question, that the unknowable should be known. The mind asks, “Why?” The mind also asks, “Why is there the unknowable? What is it? Why is it? Why is there anything at all? And why do I want to know it?”
If we look very closely and ask, “Why do we want to know the unknowable?”—that too becomes an attempt to know the unknowable. Because it is itself utterly unknowable why I want to know.
My point is: what we call the human spirit, the very soul of man, is this longing to know the unknowable. In the whole existence, it is man alone who asks—and not even all men. It is man who asks “why” and “what.” That asking is part of our very humanity; it is our destiny and our fate as human beings. We simply cannot stop. Being human, we will ask. And as discernment arises within, we will ask: Why is there existence? Why are we? Why is all this? If it had not been, what loss would there be? We are sitting here talking; if this talk had not happened, what difference would it make? Why is it happening? Why have we gathered? We cannot remain without asking; we must ask. This quest, this act of questioning, is the human soul itself. Man begins precisely here—with this inquiry, this curiosity.
Therefore you cannot tack a “why” onto this curiosity. It would be meaningless. To ask, “Why should we be curious?” is itself curiosity. So no “why” can be added to curiosity, because it remains curiosity all the way down. Are you getting what I am saying?
Then a certain thing arises—what in logic is called infinite regress. We ask, “Why should one be curious?” then, “Why should one ask about curiosity?” This leads nowhere. What is certain is: curiosity is. And as human consciousness develops, curiosity intensifies.
We also try to forget our curiosity, because it disturbs us; it creates anxiety. We drink to get rid of the Why. We sleep, go unconscious, take mescaline, take lysergic acid (LSD)—so that the Why within us disappears. But it does not; it stands there.
It must have some meaning in the vast design—because as soon as intelligence develops even a little, the Why stands up. Even a small child is not free of it. An ant is walking by; he crushes it. We may think he is the ant’s enemy. No—he simply wants to know: Why is it moving? What is moving? What is inside it? What is this that moves? He breaks it open. He is not as concerned with things that do not move, but anything that moves—even a child wants to crush it and see: What is the matter? What is happening here? Why is it moving? Where is this motion?
The Why is within us. One should recognize that the Why itself is the human soul—the Why. And the more man develops, the more this Why grows. At the ultimate limit, when man asks Why in a total, entire way—he can ask totally only when there is no ready-made answer left in his mind, when the positive mind is completely finished. The positive mind does not ask Why; it accepts many things, hence it is “positive.” It believes; it does not suspect, does not doubt. The believing mind is the positive mind. The doubting mind is the negative mind. And the day doubt becomes total, complete—that very day the leap happens. In that very moment you find yourself where the answer to the Why is.
But no one has ever been able to bring that answer back here. Even knowing it, one returns only to say that what has been known cannot be said. Yet until we pass through that leap, the Why will go on pushing us from behind, pushing and pushing. The more a man asks, the more a man he is. The less he asks, the less human he is. For me, the human spirit means asking, doubting, not accepting—never accepting anything merely as given.
That power of refusal, and the intense longing of curiosity within—that is the human soul. And it is. You cannot ask why it is. That would be begging the question—back to the same point again. Why it is cannot be asked. Why the Why is—cannot be asked. It is—so it is.
The very moment we ask, “Why should one want to know?” we reveal that the Why is already within us—and it makes us restless. That very Why unsettles us. We cannot simply accept, without question, that the unknowable should be known. The mind asks, “Why?” The mind also asks, “Why is there the unknowable? What is it? Why is it? Why is there anything at all? And why do I want to know it?”
If we look very closely and ask, “Why do we want to know the unknowable?”—that too becomes an attempt to know the unknowable. Because it is itself utterly unknowable why I want to know.
My point is: what we call the human spirit, the very soul of man, is this longing to know the unknowable. In the whole existence, it is man alone who asks—and not even all men. It is man who asks “why” and “what.” That asking is part of our very humanity; it is our destiny and our fate as human beings. We simply cannot stop. Being human, we will ask. And as discernment arises within, we will ask: Why is there existence? Why are we? Why is all this? If it had not been, what loss would there be? We are sitting here talking; if this talk had not happened, what difference would it make? Why is it happening? Why have we gathered? We cannot remain without asking; we must ask. This quest, this act of questioning, is the human soul itself. Man begins precisely here—with this inquiry, this curiosity.
Therefore you cannot tack a “why” onto this curiosity. It would be meaningless. To ask, “Why should we be curious?” is itself curiosity. So no “why” can be added to curiosity, because it remains curiosity all the way down. Are you getting what I am saying?
Then a certain thing arises—what in logic is called infinite regress. We ask, “Why should one be curious?” then, “Why should one ask about curiosity?” This leads nowhere. What is certain is: curiosity is. And as human consciousness develops, curiosity intensifies.
We also try to forget our curiosity, because it disturbs us; it creates anxiety. We drink to get rid of the Why. We sleep, go unconscious, take mescaline, take lysergic acid (LSD)—so that the Why within us disappears. But it does not; it stands there.
It must have some meaning in the vast design—because as soon as intelligence develops even a little, the Why stands up. Even a small child is not free of it. An ant is walking by; he crushes it. We may think he is the ant’s enemy. No—he simply wants to know: Why is it moving? What is moving? What is inside it? What is this that moves? He breaks it open. He is not as concerned with things that do not move, but anything that moves—even a child wants to crush it and see: What is the matter? What is happening here? Why is it moving? Where is this motion?
The Why is within us. One should recognize that the Why itself is the human soul—the Why. And the more man develops, the more this Why grows. At the ultimate limit, when man asks Why in a total, entire way—he can ask totally only when there is no ready-made answer left in his mind, when the positive mind is completely finished. The positive mind does not ask Why; it accepts many things, hence it is “positive.” It believes; it does not suspect, does not doubt. The believing mind is the positive mind. The doubting mind is the negative mind. And the day doubt becomes total, complete—that very day the leap happens. In that very moment you find yourself where the answer to the Why is.
But no one has ever been able to bring that answer back here. Even knowing it, one returns only to say that what has been known cannot be said. Yet until we pass through that leap, the Why will go on pushing us from behind, pushing and pushing. The more a man asks, the more a man he is. The less he asks, the less human he is. For me, the human spirit means asking, doubting, not accepting—never accepting anything merely as given.
That power of refusal, and the intense longing of curiosity within—that is the human soul. And it is. You cannot ask why it is. That would be begging the question—back to the same point again. Why it is cannot be asked. Why the Why is—cannot be asked. It is—so it is.
Osho, on the path of the negative mind, must we put aside all memories? Can we not retain at least some understanding that would encourage every fresh approach of the negative mind, or help us in the effort to know?
Nothing you accumulate can ever give a boost to the negative mind. It is like a man saying, “I want to be a beggar,” and then piling up wealth so that the wealth may support his beggary. Do you see my point? To be a beggar means to be without possessions. A man says, “I am gathering wealth so that when tomorrow I become a beggar it will be convenient to be a beggar.” That is upside down!
Negative mind means this: “I know nothing,” and that this state remains continuous. Whatever I come to “know” will become an obstacle to it, not a support—because it will lessen it, diminish it. Gradually we forget that we know nothing, and we accumulate so much knowledge that it becomes a problem.
There was a Muslim fakir, Bayazid. He was passing through a village at dusk. All day he had met no one; he had lost his way. A small child was walking toward a temple carrying a lit lamp. Bayazid stopped him and asked, “Did you light this lamp? Where are you taking it?” The child said, “I am taking it to offer in the temple, and yes, I lit it.” Bayazid asked, “You lit it yourself and saw the flame arise—then can you tell me from where this flame entered the lamp? From where did it come, how did it come?” The child looked at Bayazid, blew out the lamp, and said, “The flame has just gone out before your eyes; will you tell me where it went and how it went? Then I will also think about where it came from!” Bayazid stood stunned. He fell at the child’s feet and said, “I was under a great illusion that I knew from where life comes and where it goes. The truth is that you have thrown me back into not-knowing. Now I do not even know where this little flame has gone. But you have showered great grace on me. From the teachers with whom I learned much, I never received as much as I have from you today. I go from you having learned that I know nothing—not even where this flame has gone.”
There is a learning of knowledge, and I say there is also a learning of ignorance. Learning ignorance is the way to give birth to the negative mind; learning knowledge creates the positive mind. All culture, civilization, schools, gurus, teachers are busy producing the positive mind. That is why it happens that a man coming out of the university loses his creative spark. The reason is: the positive mind is strengthened and the negative mind disappears. Thus it has happened that those who did not go to university have made discoveries and inventions, while the university man becomes almost dead—his positive mind is strong. Whatever can be truly known or discovered has always been the work of the negative mind.
Henry Thoreau returned from his studies, and the villagers welcomed him. An old man said at the reception, “We welcome Henry Thoreau because this boy has returned from the university without being spoiled. The university could not spoil him. He still asks, he still doubts! He still has the courage to be ignorant. All that ‘knowledge’ could not make him a knower.”
So do not even think that what we collect will help us to become poor. Jesus has a phrase—“poor in spirit.” That is the meaning of negativity: poor in spirit, inwardly impoverished. And there are only two kinds of inner wealth—experience and knowledge. Nothing else can be taken within: neither money nor anything else. But knowledge seems to go within; experience seems to go within; and a man becomes “rich” inside. Those who have money on the outside are arrogant; those who have amassed inner experience or knowledge are also arrogant. And the inner arrogance is greater, because he thinks: no thief can steal it, no one can snatch it away; his conceit is even more. Then he is not poor in spirit.
But in any direction where knowing is to happen, be poor in spirit—that inner humility. And humility means an inner negation in which there is no idea of becoming rich. “I have nothing.” With this feeling, wherever you stand, much will begin to be seen.
Negative mind means this: “I know nothing,” and that this state remains continuous. Whatever I come to “know” will become an obstacle to it, not a support—because it will lessen it, diminish it. Gradually we forget that we know nothing, and we accumulate so much knowledge that it becomes a problem.
There was a Muslim fakir, Bayazid. He was passing through a village at dusk. All day he had met no one; he had lost his way. A small child was walking toward a temple carrying a lit lamp. Bayazid stopped him and asked, “Did you light this lamp? Where are you taking it?” The child said, “I am taking it to offer in the temple, and yes, I lit it.” Bayazid asked, “You lit it yourself and saw the flame arise—then can you tell me from where this flame entered the lamp? From where did it come, how did it come?” The child looked at Bayazid, blew out the lamp, and said, “The flame has just gone out before your eyes; will you tell me where it went and how it went? Then I will also think about where it came from!” Bayazid stood stunned. He fell at the child’s feet and said, “I was under a great illusion that I knew from where life comes and where it goes. The truth is that you have thrown me back into not-knowing. Now I do not even know where this little flame has gone. But you have showered great grace on me. From the teachers with whom I learned much, I never received as much as I have from you today. I go from you having learned that I know nothing—not even where this flame has gone.”
There is a learning of knowledge, and I say there is also a learning of ignorance. Learning ignorance is the way to give birth to the negative mind; learning knowledge creates the positive mind. All culture, civilization, schools, gurus, teachers are busy producing the positive mind. That is why it happens that a man coming out of the university loses his creative spark. The reason is: the positive mind is strengthened and the negative mind disappears. Thus it has happened that those who did not go to university have made discoveries and inventions, while the university man becomes almost dead—his positive mind is strong. Whatever can be truly known or discovered has always been the work of the negative mind.
Henry Thoreau returned from his studies, and the villagers welcomed him. An old man said at the reception, “We welcome Henry Thoreau because this boy has returned from the university without being spoiled. The university could not spoil him. He still asks, he still doubts! He still has the courage to be ignorant. All that ‘knowledge’ could not make him a knower.”
So do not even think that what we collect will help us to become poor. Jesus has a phrase—“poor in spirit.” That is the meaning of negativity: poor in spirit, inwardly impoverished. And there are only two kinds of inner wealth—experience and knowledge. Nothing else can be taken within: neither money nor anything else. But knowledge seems to go within; experience seems to go within; and a man becomes “rich” inside. Those who have money on the outside are arrogant; those who have amassed inner experience or knowledge are also arrogant. And the inner arrogance is greater, because he thinks: no thief can steal it, no one can snatch it away; his conceit is even more. Then he is not poor in spirit.
But in any direction where knowing is to happen, be poor in spirit—that inner humility. And humility means an inner negation in which there is no idea of becoming rich. “I have nothing.” With this feeling, wherever you stand, much will begin to be seen.
Osho, why do you answer our questions?
The moment, the very moment we ask, “Why do you answer our questions?”—there could be many reasons for answering your questions. My reason is this: so that I can raise more questions. That is my reason.
I am, in fact, not giving you any answer. I do not even want to give you an answer—because who am I to give one? And my answer can never become your answer.
So my whole effort—even though I may appear to be answering—is only this: that the question within you becomes deeper, becomes formidable, throws you into difficulty; that instead of one question being resolved, ten arise, a thousand arise, and within you there is nothing but questions. Because it seems to me that the more the question grows within us, the more our soul grows. And as the soul grows...
I am, in fact, not giving you any answer. I do not even want to give you an answer—because who am I to give one? And my answer can never become your answer.
So my whole effort—even though I may appear to be answering—is only this: that the question within you becomes deeper, becomes formidable, throws you into difficulty; that instead of one question being resolved, ten arise, a thousand arise, and within you there is nothing but questions. Because it seems to me that the more the question grows within us, the more our soul grows. And as the soul grows...
Osho, is it your soul that grows, or another’s?
The truth is, we and others are not as separate as we appear. If your soul grows, it is impossible that mine does not grow along with it. It may be that I don’t even notice it. When a Socrates is born, something of an uplift happens in the soul of all humanity. Whether anyone recognizes it or not is not the central point.
My soul is not some broken-off, separate thing that could grow all alone. If it grows, it grows together; if it shrinks, it shrinks together. We may be a little ahead or a little behind, but we cannot be separate.
One wave rushes ahead; behind it another wave rushes on. But the two waves are not separate—they can be ahead and behind.
Buddha may be ahead, I may be behind, but we cannot be separate. Ultimately, if you look closely, all human souls grow together. And this very urge to grow—when I wish for your growth, knowingly or unknowingly I am enlarging myself. If we are small, we make others small; if we are great, we make others great. We are not so separate; we are together.
My soul is not some broken-off, separate thing that could grow all alone. If it grows, it grows together; if it shrinks, it shrinks together. We may be a little ahead or a little behind, but we cannot be separate.
One wave rushes ahead; behind it another wave rushes on. But the two waves are not separate—they can be ahead and behind.
Buddha may be ahead, I may be behind, but we cannot be separate. Ultimately, if you look closely, all human souls grow together. And this very urge to grow—when I wish for your growth, knowingly or unknowingly I am enlarging myself. If we are small, we make others small; if we are great, we make others great. We are not so separate; we are together.
Osho, you clarified the question that the approach to emptiness is not as negative as it appears on the face of it. Now, the possibility of “negative training” that you have presented could perhaps be envisioned as a new kind of action or conduct for an individual’s progress. So is it meant only for the individual, or do you also conceive of such negative training for society as a whole?
Certainly, certainly—precisely for the whole society! Because I do not accept that these divisions we have made between the individual and society truly exist in reality.
Osho, the question will be complete if I add one more doubt: if the conception of such negative training for the individual and for society is presented as an art and as a line of practice, will it not lead to anarchy?
It should lead there! Anarchy is the only true order; everything else is disorder. Everything else is disorder. The day we can make society anarchic, that very day society will fully manifest. Wherever a little true society manifests, it manifests through anarchic people.
So the ultimate vision is that someday society reaches the point where it can be anarchic. When we provide every facility for the whole society to be anarchic, that day society will be fully revealed, in all its forms. Anarchy is the final longing of evolution; there evolution is complete—where there is no check on the individual, no bondage, no limit, no walls, no law; people live by their own nature.
And if we understand this rightly, the more the negative mind develops, the less anarchy remains “anarchy.” Anarchy has its own discipline. You understand, don’t you? Anarchy is not merely the absence of discipline; it has its own discipline, its own order. But it is inner, not outer. The negative mind too has its discipline, but it is inner, not outer. All the discipline of the positive mind is from the outside. Hence the discipline of a positive society is always imposed from the outside—by laws, by police, by courts. The discipline of the negative mind arises from within. It comes from its naturalness, its spontaneity.
So the moment we move in the direction of making a person negative, an inner discipline begins to awaken within him. And if ever the whole society... the ultimate longing should be that the whole society be such that it moves by its own nature, that all its order arises from within. If order does not arise from within, it only means the negative mind has not developed; the mind is positive. Because the mind is positive, we always demand from the outside.
I love a girl. The negative mind will consider love enough. Whatever discipline is possible will arise from that love. If I live together with her, that living together will arise out of love. But the positive mind will say no: you must take the seven rounds around the sacred fire, you must go to the registry office and get it registered. Law must be above. The law should say “Stay together,” the law should prevent “Do not separate.” Love is not sufficient; an external law is also needed. That will become love’s protection. And the strange thing is, where love is not sufficient, there is no love at all. Then arrangement has to be manufactured. And if we say, “No, don’t make any arrangements!” people will say, “Then everything will become anarchy.”
But does love not have its own order?
And my own understanding is that everything has become anarchic. And whatever is significant has died. Because what is significant grows of itself; it does not grow out of rules and laws. All that has died. And the whole of humanity is in an abnormal condition; no one is in a normal state. The entire humankind is almost in a state of madness. There is law everywhere. Even to touch your father’s feet—there is a rule for that too.
Let the negative mind develop within each person. Then from that negative mind his discipline will arise as well; he will live in such a way that living can be most blissful. And my view is that a person who tries even a little to live for his joy never attempts to cause suffering to anyone. This is impossible. And the person who endures all kinds of suffering in trying to “make” his life tries in every way to make others suffer too. Our whole society is a mix of sadists and masochists. All kinds of such people have gathered in it.
The lawmaker is a sadist. He gives value to law. He says, “If you want to marry, you will have to live together your whole life!” He imposes a condition. And living together a whole life can be so sorrowful that under that sorrow and burden the little joy of marriage and togetherness is crushed under a stone—but that doesn’t matter to him. He says, “Only if you will live together for life can you marry! Otherwise you cannot marry.” If you want to remain free, you cannot marry—so you will be saved from the possibility of love. And if you want to love, you must marry.
That sadist—my own understanding is that all lawmakers are sadists. Whether it is Manu or anyone else, all are sadists. They devise every way to torment. But they hide their tormenting in such a way that it appears they are undertaking great measures for the welfare of society and others. Great measures!
Society has sadists, and until now the current has been influenced by them. And there are masochists too—those who enjoy giving themselves pain. Such people, by obeying laws, stand themselves firmly in a mold. However much suffering they get—if standing on the head is the rule, they will stand on their heads. They enjoy tormenting themselves. These self-tormentors become our gurus, our leaders—the ones who torment themselves. And those who torment others become controllers, compilers of codes, makers of laws. Until now the world has been in the grip of sadists and masochists; that is why there is so much madness, so much turmoil.
If the negative mind of a person develops, he is neither a masochist nor a sadist. He neither wants to torment anyone, nor himself. The negative mind, for the first time, realizes that each moment is to be lived and is so blissful that we should live it. Let go of the past, let go of the future, and live moment to moment. That moment-to-moment living arises from the negative mind. And if it can arise, the same truth applies to one as to all. However long it takes is another matter. If anyone wants happiness, he will have to live moment to moment; only then can he be happy. Yes, if he wants misery, let him never live in the moment—let him live in all the histories of the past and in all the imaginations of the future; then he will go on getting misery. He will go on getting misery.
Whether individual or society, today or tomorrow we will have to come to this point: how far can we give freedom to the individual, and how far can we give freedom to society? Certainly everything will change! Nations cannot remain, wars cannot remain, castes cannot remain, religions cannot remain, because all this is imposed positivity—this will all fall away. And so all those who are pain-lovers—whether inflicting pain on others or on themselves—will be greatly troubled. Hence they will not want this to happen. They are making every effort. The schools are in their hands, the state is in their hands, everything is in their hands. They are making every effort.
If some being from Mars were to see us, he would say this entire earth has gone mad; this whole planet is mad. If some very distant traveler were to see us fully and take account of everything, he would not say that some people here are mad—he would say this whole planet as a whole is mad. And it has become a madhouse. And those who have made the madhouse are the leaders, the gurus, the teachers; they are the ones who go on building the madhouse.
So a great rebellion is needed throughout the world against the positive mind.
So the ultimate vision is that someday society reaches the point where it can be anarchic. When we provide every facility for the whole society to be anarchic, that day society will be fully revealed, in all its forms. Anarchy is the final longing of evolution; there evolution is complete—where there is no check on the individual, no bondage, no limit, no walls, no law; people live by their own nature.
And if we understand this rightly, the more the negative mind develops, the less anarchy remains “anarchy.” Anarchy has its own discipline. You understand, don’t you? Anarchy is not merely the absence of discipline; it has its own discipline, its own order. But it is inner, not outer. The negative mind too has its discipline, but it is inner, not outer. All the discipline of the positive mind is from the outside. Hence the discipline of a positive society is always imposed from the outside—by laws, by police, by courts. The discipline of the negative mind arises from within. It comes from its naturalness, its spontaneity.
So the moment we move in the direction of making a person negative, an inner discipline begins to awaken within him. And if ever the whole society... the ultimate longing should be that the whole society be such that it moves by its own nature, that all its order arises from within. If order does not arise from within, it only means the negative mind has not developed; the mind is positive. Because the mind is positive, we always demand from the outside.
I love a girl. The negative mind will consider love enough. Whatever discipline is possible will arise from that love. If I live together with her, that living together will arise out of love. But the positive mind will say no: you must take the seven rounds around the sacred fire, you must go to the registry office and get it registered. Law must be above. The law should say “Stay together,” the law should prevent “Do not separate.” Love is not sufficient; an external law is also needed. That will become love’s protection. And the strange thing is, where love is not sufficient, there is no love at all. Then arrangement has to be manufactured. And if we say, “No, don’t make any arrangements!” people will say, “Then everything will become anarchy.”
But does love not have its own order?
And my own understanding is that everything has become anarchic. And whatever is significant has died. Because what is significant grows of itself; it does not grow out of rules and laws. All that has died. And the whole of humanity is in an abnormal condition; no one is in a normal state. The entire humankind is almost in a state of madness. There is law everywhere. Even to touch your father’s feet—there is a rule for that too.
Let the negative mind develop within each person. Then from that negative mind his discipline will arise as well; he will live in such a way that living can be most blissful. And my view is that a person who tries even a little to live for his joy never attempts to cause suffering to anyone. This is impossible. And the person who endures all kinds of suffering in trying to “make” his life tries in every way to make others suffer too. Our whole society is a mix of sadists and masochists. All kinds of such people have gathered in it.
The lawmaker is a sadist. He gives value to law. He says, “If you want to marry, you will have to live together your whole life!” He imposes a condition. And living together a whole life can be so sorrowful that under that sorrow and burden the little joy of marriage and togetherness is crushed under a stone—but that doesn’t matter to him. He says, “Only if you will live together for life can you marry! Otherwise you cannot marry.” If you want to remain free, you cannot marry—so you will be saved from the possibility of love. And if you want to love, you must marry.
That sadist—my own understanding is that all lawmakers are sadists. Whether it is Manu or anyone else, all are sadists. They devise every way to torment. But they hide their tormenting in such a way that it appears they are undertaking great measures for the welfare of society and others. Great measures!
Society has sadists, and until now the current has been influenced by them. And there are masochists too—those who enjoy giving themselves pain. Such people, by obeying laws, stand themselves firmly in a mold. However much suffering they get—if standing on the head is the rule, they will stand on their heads. They enjoy tormenting themselves. These self-tormentors become our gurus, our leaders—the ones who torment themselves. And those who torment others become controllers, compilers of codes, makers of laws. Until now the world has been in the grip of sadists and masochists; that is why there is so much madness, so much turmoil.
If the negative mind of a person develops, he is neither a masochist nor a sadist. He neither wants to torment anyone, nor himself. The negative mind, for the first time, realizes that each moment is to be lived and is so blissful that we should live it. Let go of the past, let go of the future, and live moment to moment. That moment-to-moment living arises from the negative mind. And if it can arise, the same truth applies to one as to all. However long it takes is another matter. If anyone wants happiness, he will have to live moment to moment; only then can he be happy. Yes, if he wants misery, let him never live in the moment—let him live in all the histories of the past and in all the imaginations of the future; then he will go on getting misery. He will go on getting misery.
Whether individual or society, today or tomorrow we will have to come to this point: how far can we give freedom to the individual, and how far can we give freedom to society? Certainly everything will change! Nations cannot remain, wars cannot remain, castes cannot remain, religions cannot remain, because all this is imposed positivity—this will all fall away. And so all those who are pain-lovers—whether inflicting pain on others or on themselves—will be greatly troubled. Hence they will not want this to happen. They are making every effort. The schools are in their hands, the state is in their hands, everything is in their hands. They are making every effort.
If some being from Mars were to see us, he would say this entire earth has gone mad; this whole planet is mad. If some very distant traveler were to see us fully and take account of everything, he would not say that some people here are mad—he would say this whole planet as a whole is mad. And it has become a madhouse. And those who have made the madhouse are the leaders, the gurus, the teachers; they are the ones who go on building the madhouse.
So a great rebellion is needed throughout the world against the positive mind.
Osho, what is the difference between your philosophy and Nagarjuna's philosophy?
The difference will be exactly as much as the difference between me and Nagarjuna. Do you understand what I mean? What I mean is that...
Osho, their foundation too is nihilism.
No, no, no. This rush to conclude—don’t be in such a hurry. There will be many differences between me and Nagarjuna. Please understand me. Please understand what I am saying. A thought is not something that drops from the sky. Thought has its roots in me; it springs from me and spreads.
Take Nagarjuna, for example. He talks about emptiness, but he is a masochist. He talks about emptiness, yet he is suffering-oriented—he inflicts great suffering upon himself.
I am not suffering-oriented at all. I maintain that what you call “nihilism”—the doctrine of emptiness—is the supreme hedonism: it is the quest for the ultimate pleasure and bliss. Nagarjuna is not a hedonist.
The line that followed Buddha was of suffering-oriented people. Among them, Buddha is the least so. The irony is that the line that formed after him is filled with those deeply given to suffering. Buddha is the least suffering-oriented among those from whom the line began, yet the one who comes after him is heavily suffering-oriented. And in Buddha’s thought he found support for suffering. A person can, in the name of emptiness, become an advocate of suffering. He says, “There is no essence in anything.” What does emptiness mean for Nagarjuna? For him it means everything is futile. Nothing has any substance. Everything is causeless. Nothing has any purpose. Everything is meaningless.
(The audio recording of the question is unclear.)
Yes, yes, yes—I’m not talking about that.
So he turns the whole thing into: food is futile, clothing is futile, wife is futile, love is futile. If you look very closely, there is no difference between Nagarjuna’s emptiness and Shankara’s maya; they are one and the same. Shankara has stolen maya wholesale from Nagarjuna’s emptiness—pure and simple theft. There is no difference between Shankara and Nagarjuna.
Between me and Nagarjuna there is a world of difference. The truth is, I am talking about religion; and the kind of religion I am talking about is such that if Charvaka were to speak of religion, or Epicurus were to speak of religion, then that is the kind of religion I am talking about. Charvaka did not talk of religion, nor did Epicurus. If I have any kinship, it is with Charvaka and Epicurus—but they did not speak of religion.
So when I speak of religion, it appears to align with Nagarjuna, Shankara, Buddha. I am saying what Shankara and Buddha said, what Nagarjuna said—and I am saying it from the place from which Epicurus and Charvaka would say it. Therefore, naturally, it has become a great tangle. You understand me, don’t you? That is to say, I myself am a hedonist—an out-and-out hedonist.
Take Nagarjuna, for example. He talks about emptiness, but he is a masochist. He talks about emptiness, yet he is suffering-oriented—he inflicts great suffering upon himself.
I am not suffering-oriented at all. I maintain that what you call “nihilism”—the doctrine of emptiness—is the supreme hedonism: it is the quest for the ultimate pleasure and bliss. Nagarjuna is not a hedonist.
The line that followed Buddha was of suffering-oriented people. Among them, Buddha is the least so. The irony is that the line that formed after him is filled with those deeply given to suffering. Buddha is the least suffering-oriented among those from whom the line began, yet the one who comes after him is heavily suffering-oriented. And in Buddha’s thought he found support for suffering. A person can, in the name of emptiness, become an advocate of suffering. He says, “There is no essence in anything.” What does emptiness mean for Nagarjuna? For him it means everything is futile. Nothing has any substance. Everything is causeless. Nothing has any purpose. Everything is meaningless.
(The audio recording of the question is unclear.)
Yes, yes, yes—I’m not talking about that.
So he turns the whole thing into: food is futile, clothing is futile, wife is futile, love is futile. If you look very closely, there is no difference between Nagarjuna’s emptiness and Shankara’s maya; they are one and the same. Shankara has stolen maya wholesale from Nagarjuna’s emptiness—pure and simple theft. There is no difference between Shankara and Nagarjuna.
Between me and Nagarjuna there is a world of difference. The truth is, I am talking about religion; and the kind of religion I am talking about is such that if Charvaka were to speak of religion, or Epicurus were to speak of religion, then that is the kind of religion I am talking about. Charvaka did not talk of religion, nor did Epicurus. If I have any kinship, it is with Charvaka and Epicurus—but they did not speak of religion.
So when I speak of religion, it appears to align with Nagarjuna, Shankara, Buddha. I am saying what Shankara and Buddha said, what Nagarjuna said—and I am saying it from the place from which Epicurus and Charvaka would say it. Therefore, naturally, it has become a great tangle. You understand me, don’t you? That is to say, I myself am a hedonist—an out-and-out hedonist.
Osho, that wasn’t so either. Nagarjuna too opened the path precisely so that everyone might be liberated!
Liberation from what? Liberation from what? You do understand my point, don’t you? Think over what I’m saying, think over what I’m saying.
Osho, to endure one’s suffering until liberation—that is his path. What that path is like, it seems from this that...
You didn’t keep my point in mind!
I understand one thing: what you say—revolutionary, soaring high—is right. But so that everyone can understand as well as possible, it is necessary to explain with even better examples.
Absolutely necessary. Absolutely necessary.
You said there would be madmen who have come back from the shunya; they have seen the shunya and returned, like hippies and other madmen. Now, do you approve of these madmen using drugs that send them back to the shunya?
No; not at all, not at all, not at all. Because in truth LSD or mescaline or marijuana is an attempt to forget the void, not an attempt to live it. It is not an attempt to live. That too is escapism. Our rishis have been experimenting with it for a long time—since soma. Hashish, opium—sannyasins in our land have been using them for a long time. It is an effort to forget the void that has been seen; it is the ultimate attempt at forgetfulness. From soma to LSD, it is the same story. Even in the Vedas a rishi reached that place where the void is, and such panic and restlessness arose from it that somehow it became necessary to forget it. So dance, sing, sing songs, drink wine, drink soma—do anything—forget it.
My message is: leap into the void; do not be afraid. My message is: do not get frightened by the void and turn back. Whatever the road back may be—do not return. Because if you return, you will either go mad or drown yourself in intoxication. There is no third alternative. To avoid madness you will have to resort to intoxication; if you avoid intoxication, you will go mad. Do not return!
Humanity has reached the point where it must gather the courage to encounter the void. Encounter it, and the void will dissolve and the fullness will be revealed. This will happen in the encounter.
I understand one thing: what you say—revolutionary, soaring high—is right. But so that everyone can understand as well as possible, it is necessary to explain with even better examples.
Absolutely necessary. Absolutely necessary.
You said there would be madmen who have come back from the shunya; they have seen the shunya and returned, like hippies and other madmen. Now, do you approve of these madmen using drugs that send them back to the shunya?
No; not at all, not at all, not at all. Because in truth LSD or mescaline or marijuana is an attempt to forget the void, not an attempt to live it. It is not an attempt to live. That too is escapism. Our rishis have been experimenting with it for a long time—since soma. Hashish, opium—sannyasins in our land have been using them for a long time. It is an effort to forget the void that has been seen; it is the ultimate attempt at forgetfulness. From soma to LSD, it is the same story. Even in the Vedas a rishi reached that place where the void is, and such panic and restlessness arose from it that somehow it became necessary to forget it. So dance, sing, sing songs, drink wine, drink soma—do anything—forget it.
My message is: leap into the void; do not be afraid. My message is: do not get frightened by the void and turn back. Whatever the road back may be—do not return. Because if you return, you will either go mad or drown yourself in intoxication. There is no third alternative. To avoid madness you will have to resort to intoxication; if you avoid intoxication, you will go mad. Do not return!
Humanity has reached the point where it must gather the courage to encounter the void. Encounter it, and the void will dissolve and the fullness will be revealed. This will happen in the encounter.
Osho, these hippies haven’t gone mad by seeing the Void; what’s happened is that by taking drugs they’ve gone mad!
No, no, no—mad and all that, they haven’t become. Taking drugs doesn’t make anyone mad. Taking drugs doesn’t make anyone mad; that a madman may also take drugs is another matter. But taking LSD doesn’t make one crazy. There is nothing in LSD that could drive someone mad.
With LSD the peculiarity is that whatever you are, LSD will make you that—more manifest. If you are mad, you’ll appear more mad. If you are serious, you’ll become more serious. If you are a painter, you’ll get more absorbed in painting. If you are a poet, you’ll start singing more songs. The use of LSD is to inflame what you already are, to bring it fully into the open—and beyond that it has no meaning.
If a person is insane, he will become insane. If a man sees ghosts and takes LSD, the ghosts will appear immensely substantial. And if you give LSD to Meera, it will be Krishna and Krishna everywhere. Whatever your mind is, LSD will make it total. It will wipe out doubts and hesitations; your mind will appear to you completely, just as it is.
So when Huxley took LSD, he felt strongly that what Kabir experienced was happening to him. But when others took it, they did not feel that—because whatever is in your mind is what will be revealed. LSD will project onto a blank canvas whatever is within you, and it will do nothing else.
But all this is an escape. Hippies or beatniks—it is a kind of rebellion, but a children’s rebellion; it is not a thoughtful rebellion. Not a thoughtful rebellion.
With LSD the peculiarity is that whatever you are, LSD will make you that—more manifest. If you are mad, you’ll appear more mad. If you are serious, you’ll become more serious. If you are a painter, you’ll get more absorbed in painting. If you are a poet, you’ll start singing more songs. The use of LSD is to inflame what you already are, to bring it fully into the open—and beyond that it has no meaning.
If a person is insane, he will become insane. If a man sees ghosts and takes LSD, the ghosts will appear immensely substantial. And if you give LSD to Meera, it will be Krishna and Krishna everywhere. Whatever your mind is, LSD will make it total. It will wipe out doubts and hesitations; your mind will appear to you completely, just as it is.
So when Huxley took LSD, he felt strongly that what Kabir experienced was happening to him. But when others took it, they did not feel that—because whatever is in your mind is what will be revealed. LSD will project onto a blank canvas whatever is within you, and it will do nothing else.
But all this is an escape. Hippies or beatniks—it is a kind of rebellion, but a children’s rebellion; it is not a thoughtful rebellion. Not a thoughtful rebellion.
Osho, is there any medium by which one can move toward shunya, toward zero?
Certainly. I call meditation the path toward zero...
No, this behavior of the hippies these days...
Yes, this will—this will become a medium. In fact, now the world will never again be free of the hippies.
No, my question is: those who take drugs and such—by taking them, are they claiming that this is a medium to go in that direction, toward the void?
Yes, yes—of course they’re claiming that! They are indeed claiming it... In truth, the human mind has reached very near a certain crisis-point; we don’t quite realize it. The human mind is moving close to a particular crisis. Some are ahead, some behind—that’s another matter. The new children are closer to it; the old are a little farther away. And the more developed a country is, the nearer it is to this point; the less developed, the farther.
A hippie cannot be born in India yet. There’s simply no way to produce one right now.
Those new youths who have come to stand almost on the borderline—what they see is that your entire old world was meaningless, absurd: that’s one. The values you created now appear utterly pointless and foolish. And the truth is, anyone who thinks will find them so. So their feet have been uprooted from the old ground. The old no longer feels significant. And ahead there is a terrifying shunya—an abyss. Ahead they see nothing that could become a new value. There is nothing ahead, and all that was behind has been torn away. In this condition there are two options: either he gathers courage and descends into this abyss, or he takes LSD and goes to sleep. You understand what I mean, don’t you?
For the person standing on the borderline, there are only two possibilities: either he takes the jump—whatever happens, happens—or he takes LSD. Because he is uprooted from behind; there is no way to return. The bridge by which we walked until yesterday has fallen. Or perhaps it was never there—only a figment of imagination; we thought it was there, and so we walked along merrily. But now it has fallen. The youth who is like a hippie today—the bridge behind has collapsed, there is no bridge ahead, and he’s standing on such a razor-thin line of the moment that he fears he might fall—so he takes a drug. Then he forgets. Then bridges begin to appear, front and back—everything starts seeming in place again.
So I am saying that the hypnosis within which humanity lived—there’s now no way to recreate it without drugs. That hypnosis has broken. It was a trance, a dream in which we and our elders lived—that has shattered. If you want to recreate it now, either you do it through drugs, or you show the readiness to live without bridges: we will not ask for bridges. We will live in shunya; we will no longer demand values.
What has happened is: the old value has broken, but the demand for the old value has not. Because this child was born out of us; its expectations are the same as ours. But it has come to stand at a place where none of the old values exist. Yet the demand for value is still there. So it has fallen into difficulty. This “madness” you see—its madness is that its inner demand is still for those old values. Even today, if he lives with a girl, his demand is for a wife—but the value called “wife” has ended. His demand is to be a husband—but the value called “husband” has ended. Now he faces a great difficulty: either he becomes ready to be a lover without being a husband—meaning, to live without any value—or he takes a drug.
So the hippie, in a way, is an auspicious sign. From there one must move forward. It will take forty or fifty years; some people will gather courage and take the plunge. And that is why, among the hippies, the more thoughtful ones have become deeply engaged in meditation, in Zen, and in exploring in that direction.
No, this behavior of the hippies these days...
Yes, this will—this will become a medium. In fact, now the world will never again be free of the hippies.
No, my question is: those who take drugs and such—by taking them, are they claiming that this is a medium to go in that direction, toward the void?
Yes, yes—of course they’re claiming that! They are indeed claiming it... In truth, the human mind has reached very near a certain crisis-point; we don’t quite realize it. The human mind is moving close to a particular crisis. Some are ahead, some behind—that’s another matter. The new children are closer to it; the old are a little farther away. And the more developed a country is, the nearer it is to this point; the less developed, the farther.
A hippie cannot be born in India yet. There’s simply no way to produce one right now.
Those new youths who have come to stand almost on the borderline—what they see is that your entire old world was meaningless, absurd: that’s one. The values you created now appear utterly pointless and foolish. And the truth is, anyone who thinks will find them so. So their feet have been uprooted from the old ground. The old no longer feels significant. And ahead there is a terrifying shunya—an abyss. Ahead they see nothing that could become a new value. There is nothing ahead, and all that was behind has been torn away. In this condition there are two options: either he gathers courage and descends into this abyss, or he takes LSD and goes to sleep. You understand what I mean, don’t you?
For the person standing on the borderline, there are only two possibilities: either he takes the jump—whatever happens, happens—or he takes LSD. Because he is uprooted from behind; there is no way to return. The bridge by which we walked until yesterday has fallen. Or perhaps it was never there—only a figment of imagination; we thought it was there, and so we walked along merrily. But now it has fallen. The youth who is like a hippie today—the bridge behind has collapsed, there is no bridge ahead, and he’s standing on such a razor-thin line of the moment that he fears he might fall—so he takes a drug. Then he forgets. Then bridges begin to appear, front and back—everything starts seeming in place again.
So I am saying that the hypnosis within which humanity lived—there’s now no way to recreate it without drugs. That hypnosis has broken. It was a trance, a dream in which we and our elders lived—that has shattered. If you want to recreate it now, either you do it through drugs, or you show the readiness to live without bridges: we will not ask for bridges. We will live in shunya; we will no longer demand values.
What has happened is: the old value has broken, but the demand for the old value has not. Because this child was born out of us; its expectations are the same as ours. But it has come to stand at a place where none of the old values exist. Yet the demand for value is still there. So it has fallen into difficulty. This “madness” you see—its madness is that its inner demand is still for those old values. Even today, if he lives with a girl, his demand is for a wife—but the value called “wife” has ended. His demand is to be a husband—but the value called “husband” has ended. Now he faces a great difficulty: either he becomes ready to be a lover without being a husband—meaning, to live without any value—or he takes a drug.
So the hippie, in a way, is an auspicious sign. From there one must move forward. It will take forty or fifty years; some people will gather courage and take the plunge. And that is why, among the hippies, the more thoughtful ones have become deeply engaged in meditation, in Zen, and in exploring in that direction.
Osho, so you’re saying that Western civilization has advanced far in the direction of shunya (emptiness)?
Absolutely certain. Absolutely certain. Absolutely certain. Absolutely certain.
You are a materialist in that sense.
No, don’t say that so quickly! Because I said exactly this: I am a man like Epicurus who becomes a Buddha. I am not a materialist. I hold that the fight between matter and spirit is the very essence of ignorance and foolishness. There is only one reality; call it matter or call it spirit—it makes no difference. Therefore I cannot call myself a materialist, nor can I call myself a spiritualist. Because I consider that division itself to be ignorance. I don’t stand anywhere within that division. I hold—there is only one thing: the same appears as matter when it is visible, and as soul when it is invisible. Two ends of the same thing. So what should I call myself? It’s become a difficult business. What should one call it? Truly, there is no word yet—there is no word yet.
Thank you!
You are a materialist in that sense.
No, don’t say that so quickly! Because I said exactly this: I am a man like Epicurus who becomes a Buddha. I am not a materialist. I hold that the fight between matter and spirit is the very essence of ignorance and foolishness. There is only one reality; call it matter or call it spirit—it makes no difference. Therefore I cannot call myself a materialist, nor can I call myself a spiritualist. Because I consider that division itself to be ignorance. I don’t stand anywhere within that division. I hold—there is only one thing: the same appears as matter when it is visible, and as soul when it is invisible. Two ends of the same thing. So what should I call myself? It’s become a difficult business. What should one call it? Truly, there is no word yet—there is no word yet.
Thank you!