According to Osho, the real question can’t be asked because it lives at your innermost center; when you reach it, the answer appears simultaneously. What we ask are peripheral, unreal questions—hence the sense of stupidity. Still, ask and exhaust them, then drop them; recognizing the false as false ripens you for the truth. The criterion: if an answer won’t change your life, the question is useless.
Real questions are so deep that when you find them you instantly know the answer, so the askable ones feel fake—and that’s why you feel silly.
From the Discourses
Passages where Osho speaks to this question — each links to the complete discourse.
Why is it so difficult to ask the real question? And why do I feel so stupid about this and any other question?
I asked them, "If it is proved definitely that God is, how is it going to change your life?" They shrugged their shoulders. They said, "We will live as we are living." "Or, if it is proved," I told them, "that God definitely does not exist, how is it going to change your life?" They said, "It is not going to change our lives at all, because we both live exactly the same life. We are partners in a business. He believes in God, I don't believe in God, but as far as our lives are concerned we have the same pattern. His God does not make any difference, my no-God does not make any difference." Then I said, "This is a futile question." Which question is futile? One whose answer is not going to make a change in your life. It is useless. People ask, "Who created the world?"…
Osho, I have always wanted to ask a question, but no question ever takes shape. And the ones that do don’t seem worth asking. What should I do now?
You are fortunate that such a question is arising in you and refuses to be formed. It clearly means the hour to go within has arrived. You have asked a lot of questions outside and gotten many answers outside—now don’t create more wounds. Inquiry is good, as against mere curiosity—remember—but it is nothing compared to mumuksha. Understand these three words well. Curiosity asks anything and everything; it is like small children. A child is walking and he asks, “Why is this bush big? Why the dog’s tail? Why the sun in the sky?” He keeps on asking anything. If you don’t answer, it’s no big deal to him—he keeps asking anyway. He isn’t even much concerned whether you answered or not. Even while you are answering, he has another question ready. He doesn’t even hear your answer. You answer and you find he has no taste for it; his joy…
Osho, I want to ask many questions, but then I stop, because they all seem futile. Are all questions futile?
And it did work. A few days later the emperor lost a war and had to flee. The enemy gave chase; he hid in the hills, trembling. He could hear the hoofbeats. He was deeply distressed; life had turned to dust. What dreams he had dreamed, what it all came to! He had thought to enlarge his kingdom, hence he had gone to war. He lost even what was in his hand in trying to gain what was not. He was very sad, very anxious. What a mistake I made! Just then he remembered the ring. He read the sentence: This too will pass. His mind suddenly became light. As if someone had opened the shutters of a closed room. Sunlight came inside; a gust of fresh air came in. Like a mantra! As if nectar had showered—This too will pass. He sat quietly. He even forgot when the hoofbeats…
Why am I afraid to ask my real questions?
Avinash, EVERYBODY IS AFRAID OF ASKING the real questions. That's why people ask metaphysical questions, philosophical questions -- questions about God, the creation, after-life, reincarnation -- because these questions are not in any way related to you; you remain outside. To ask a real question is dangerous because when you ask a real question you have to encounter me directly and you have to face the consequences. I am not a predictable man; one never knows what I am going to say. One never knows whether I am going to hit you or to pat you; you can never be sure. And then to ask a real question needs the courage to open your heart, to show your wounds, to show where it hurts. Nobody wants to show their wounds, nobody wants to show their tears -- and everybody is full of tears and full of wounds, and everybody is…
Beloved Osho, inside of me there seem to be so many questions, but when I try to ask you one of them, they all seem to be gone, and I don't know even if I really wanted to ask you something. But still the feeling of question remains. Please, can you explain where this feeling comes from?
It is very simple. You don't have a question; you have a quest. And you are not aware of the distinction. Your quest is not clear to you, it is clouded. You think perhaps there is some question -- so you make many questions and they disappear but you are left with a vague feeling that something similar to a question is still there. What is it? All questions are like leaves. The quest is like the roots. You are fortunate, because at first people have to ask thousands of questions; then, by and by, one by one, the leaves disappear. Then branches come, then the trunk, and then finally they realize that the real thing is the quest. You are fortunate that you have only roots. But with roots the difficulty is that they are always underground, so you don't see where they are. You try somehow to make…