My beloved! I am deeply delighted to be among you. Surely, on this occasion I would like to share a few things from my heart. Seeing the state of education, there is great pain in the heart. Under the name of education, such dependencies are nourished that the birth of a free and healthy human being becomes impossible. The basic reasons for the ugliness and crippledness in which humankind is trapped are hidden in education itself. Education has torn man away from nature, yet culture has not arisen from it; on the contrary, what has arisen is—distortion. And each generation keeps forcing this distortion upon the new ones. When distortion itself is taken as culture, it is no surprise that the act of imposing it acquires an aura of virtue. And when sin appears in the garb of virtue, it becomes exceedingly destructive. Therefore exploitation stands behind the veil of service, violence dons the robes of nonviolence, and deformities wear the masks of culture. It is not without cause that irreligion finds residence in the temples of religion. Irreligion never presents itself straight and naked. Hence it is always wise not to trust appearances alone. It is essential to strip away the garments and look within. I too would like to strip education of its garments and look. You will not mind this, will you? It is a compulsion; it has to be done. To see the true soul of education we must remove its so‑called vestures. For surely, behind very beautiful clothing some sick and ugly soul must be residing; otherwise human life would not be a life so full of hatred, violence, and irreligion. When we see bitter and poisonous fruits on the tree of life, do we not recall that wrong seeds must have been sown? If the seeds were right, how could the fruits be wrong? A tree laden with toxic fruit speaks of nothing but the hidden poison in the seed. If man is wrong, then surely education is not right. It may be that you have not thought in this way, and that my words do not coincide with your thinking. But I do not ask to be believed, only to be heard. That is enough. It is enough to listen to truth in silence. Only falsehood insists on being believed. Truth, merely being heard, brings its own result. The right listening to truth is itself acceptance. My view, even toward pedagogy, may be different and opposed. I am neither an educationist nor a sociologist. Yet this is a good fortune, because the more one knows the scripture, the more difficult it becomes to know life. Scriptures forever become barriers to the knowing of truth. In a mind filled with scripture, inquiry comes to an end. For true inquiry one needs a weightless and unbiased mind, does one not? Scriptures and doctrines create sides. And then the gaze toward life and its problems is no longer impartial and innocent. For the one to whom scripture is paramount, solutions become more important than problems. He begins to view problems in accordance with his solutions, not solutions in accordance with the problems! From this arises a foolish state in which problems do not end by solutions, they actually increase by them. The whole history of humankind is proof of this. Why are man’s thought and conduct so different, so self‑contradictory? This is the result of imposing solutions upon life on the basis of scriptures and doctrines. The solutions have not been born from the problems; they have been thrust upon them. Solutions are on the surface; problems are within. Solutions are in the intellect; problems are in life. And this inner conflict has turned suicidal. The madness that has been running within civilization has now come to the point of explosion. Frightened by the possibility of that explosion, all humanity trembles. But what will fear alone do? Not fear, but the courage to know and recognize the whole situation is needed. I will not bring scriptures in between, for I do not want to be blinded by solutions. I wish to speak to you of those things that arise from looking straight at the problems. Is it not possible that we look directly at life? Is it not possible that we see life as the first human being must have seen it? Can our mind not look at life with the same simplicity, freedom, and naturalness? Before education, I take this to be the most vital problem. If education so burdens, complicates, and ages a person’s mind that his direct contact with life is shattered, it is not auspicious. A burdened and aged mind is deprived of knowledge, of joy, and of beauty. To experience knowledge, joy, and beauty, a young mind is needed. The body is bound to grow old—but not the mind. The mind can remain forever young. Until the very last moment of death, the mind can remain youthful. And only such a mind comes to know the mysteries of life and death. Such a mind is the religious mind. But education makes the mind old. It does not awaken the mind, it stuffs it; and by stuffing, the mind grows old. By stuffing thoughts, the mind grows tired, burdened, and old! To give thoughts is to load memory. It is not the awakening of thought or of intelligence. Memory is not intelligence. Memory is mechanical. Intelligence is living consciousness. We must not give thoughts; we must awaken thinking. Where thought is awakened, the mind remains forever young. And where the mind is young, there is a perpetual encounter with life; there the doors of consciousness are open, and the fresh breezes of morning come in, and the light of the new rising sun also arrives. When a person is imprisoned in the thoughts and words of others, his own capacity to fly in the sky of truth is destroyed. But what does our education do? Does it teach one to think—or does it rest content by supplying borrowed, dead thoughts? What is more alive and potent than thinking itself? But merely learning the thoughts of others—there is no other deadness more dead than that. The collection of thoughts brings inertia. From the stockpiling of thoughts, neither thought nor intelligence is born. For the arising of thought and intelligence, excessive emphasis on mechanical memory is fatal. For that, ample opportunities for thought and intelligence are necessary. For that, in place of faith one must be taught doubt. Faith and belief bind. Doubt liberates. By doubt I do not mean disbelief—because disbelief is only the negative form of belief. Neither belief nor disbelief—but doubt. Belief and disbelief are both the death of doubt. Where the liberating intensity of doubt is absent, there is neither the search for truth nor its attainment. The intensity of doubt becomes the search. Doubt is thirst; doubt is longing. In the fire of doubt the being is churned, and thought is born. The pain of doubt is the birth pang of thought. Whoever flees from that pain remains forever deprived of the awakening of thought. Do we have doubt? Do we doubt the fundamental meanings and values of life? If not, then surely our education has been wrong. Apart from a right doubt, a right education has no other foundation. Without doubt, how will there be a search? Without doubt, how will there be discontent? Without doubt, how will the being be restless to know and attain truth? Therefore we have become shallow puddles of easy contentment, and our souls are not rivers flowing restlessly toward the ocean. Who created this deadness? Certainly education—and the teacher. Through the teacher, the human mind has been bound in very subtle chains of dependency. This subtle exploitation is very ancient. There are many causes of exploitation—religions, religious gurus, monarchies, the vested interests of society, the men of wealth, the power‑holders. The power‑holders have never wanted man to think, because where there is thought, there is the seed of rebellion. Thought is fundamentally rebellion. Because thought is not blind; thought has its own eyes. It cannot be led just anywhere. It cannot be made to do or accept anything. It cannot be turned into a blind follower. Hence the power‑holders are not in favor of thought; they are in favor of belief. For belief is blind. And only when man is blind can he be exploited. And only when man is blind can he be employed against his own well‑being. Man’s blindness makes him the ground for every kind of exploitation. Therefore belief is taught, faith is taught, devotion is taught. Religions have done this. Politicians have done this. Every kind of authority fears thought. If thought awakens, neither castes nor classes can remain. The exploitation of wealth also cannot continue. Nor can exploitation be justified by invoking the merits and demerits of past lives. With thought will come revolution—on all planes and in all relationships. Politicians will not be spared by it, and the borders of nations will not be spared. No wall that separates man from man can remain. Hence both capitalist and communist politicians fear thought. And for security against this fear, the framework of education was contrived. This so‑called education is part of a vast conspiracy running for centuries. Earlier the religious priest controlled it; now the state dominates it. In the absence of thought, the individual does not even come into being. For the very cornerstone of individuality is missing in him. What is that cornerstone? Is it not the independent capacity to think? But independent thought is murdered before birth. The Gita is taught, the Quran and the Bible are taught, Das Kapital and the Communist Manifesto are taught—and even thinking is taught within their frames, on their basis! What can be more false than such thinking? Blind repetition is taught, and it is called thinking! Where there are bases, frameworks, beliefs and devotions, thought is impossible. For thought the mind must be free of all frameworks. If education gives the mind frameworks and rails, it is not right. It should rather give such awareness and vigilance that the mind does not get cast into frameworks. It should give such understanding that conditioning does not enslave the mind, and that the individual’s stream of independent inquiry may unfold. With attention, this can certainly happen. The seeds of independent thinking are in every individual. Under favorable conditions they can develop. Who does not want freedom? Who does not want his own intelligence and thought? But if the entire machinery of education prepares a person for dependence rather than freedom, that is another matter. Then it is a wonder that a few, even after passing through this machinery, save themselves from becoming machines. There is no task more difficult than to pass through schools and universities and still preserve one’s own originality. Universities attained their pinnacle of skill in destroying original talent long ago. For man’s enslavement, excessive emphasis is laid upon discipline. The lack of intelligence is patched with discipline. When there is intelligence, a spontaneous discipline arises by itself in a person and in his life. It does not have to be imported; it comes on its own. But where intelligence is not taught, one has to depend on imposed discipline from outside. Such discipline will be false, for it does not awaken from the individual’s inner being, nor are its roots in his own intelligence. The inner conscience smolders against it from within. From the reaction to such discipline, license is born. License is always a reaction to bondage; it is its inevitable echo. A consciousness filled with freedom is never licentious. If man is to be saved from the disease of license, his soul must be given the atmosphere of total freedom. But we know only two options—bondage or license. For freedom we have not yet become ready. Discipline—discipline that comes from others—is also bondage. This discipline is breaking everywhere, and there is great anxiety. This discipline must break. It should break. Its very causes are wrong. Its death lies hidden within it. It forcibly conceals anarchy within itself. And whatever is suppressed by force is bound to erupt one day. Such discipline, if it exists, snatches away the naturalness and joy of consciousness; and when it breaks, it leaves the person in ruins. Discipline that comes from the outside is in every way harmful to man. Education should be free of external discipline. It should awaken the sleeping intelligence in the individual. Then that intelligence itself becomes self‑discipline. In such a way of life there is neither suppression nor pressure. Such a way is as simple and natural as flowers. And when life moves in the light of one’s own intelligence, the very possibilities of anarchy and license vanish. Where there is no repression, there can be no explosions of anarchy or license. I ask, can we not make man free? Freedom frightens us with the specter of license—because we have pressed man down with bondages, and his soul has always struggled to escape them. Whenever possible, he has broken chains. But in the very effort of breaking, he becomes filled with bitterness, harshness, and opposition—thus he does not become free, he becomes licentious. Freedom is creative; license is destructive. Yet if we are to be saved from license, there is no path other than freedom. Education can surely lay such foundations as make man free. We no longer need disciplined persons. We need those who are free and available to their own intelligence. In them alone is hope; in them alone is the future. What have the systems of discipline done? They have brought inertia and mindlessness into man. A disciplined person will be inert. In fact, the more inert one is, the more disciplined he will become. Look, how disciplined machines are! Intelligence can never say only “yes.” It must also know how to say “no.” Even its “yes” has value and meaning only when it also knows how to say “no.” But discipline never teaches “no”; it always expects “yes.” If told—“Fire!”—it will fire. Because of such inert education the world has known wars, violence, and myriad stupidities—and still knows them. Shall we not break this vicious circle now? Will education that imposes discipline be stopped only after a nuclear war? But then there will be no need to stop it—for then neither disciplinarians will remain nor the disciplined. For the future of man, there is no greater danger than people of disciplined minds—for they know only how to obey orders. To push the nuclear buttons, such obedient persons are always ready! Alas! If instead of discipline, intelligence had been taught—if instead of obedience, thought had been taught—the world would certainly have been utterly different. Education is not to impart discipline, but to impart self‑intelligence. Only the discipline that flowers from that can be auspicious and benevolent. For such discipline cannot be exploited. In the hands of priests and politicians it cannot be turned into an instrument of violence and war. On its basis a Hindu cannot be made to fight a Muslim. Nor can blood‑drenched dances be performed along the false, imagined borders of nations. In the name of discipline and obedience, what has not been extracted from man? Society has long used the teacher to discipline the new generation in this way. The teacher has been an instrument of many exploitations. He has been a device for infecting many diseases—and perhaps he does not even know it, because he himself is the victim of the same education! Each generation, through the teacher, bequeaths to the new one its envies, its hatreds, its hostilities, its enmities, its stupidities—along with its knowledge and experiences. With knowledge and experience, they also pass on their diseases and deadness—and with even greater insistence and care, because their hostilities and superstitions are their egos. The Hindu father teaches his children to be Hindu, the Jain his to be Jain, the Muslim his to be Muslim. And the sectarian poisons that are anti‑human—he wants to pass the very same poison to his children. Through numerous channels of education this poison is spread. Through such toxic instruction, humanity cannot become one, and our eyes cannot be raised to that religion which is one—and can be one. In the same way, nationalities are taught, and national egos are glorified. One country is reared and propped in opposition to others. The result: violence flourishes and the fires of war are lit. Where egos are—there is violence, there are wars. There are many more such diseases whose germs teachers keep infecting into innocent children. Among the most heinous crimes done to man, this is one. Only a supremely alert teacher can remain unstained by this. Those who wield power in society never wish to change its structure—because their power, interest, and exploitation depend upon that structure. The teacher installs that structure in the minds of children. He makes them conformist and binds them to dead traditions. He does not teach them rebellion. And where there is no rebellion, there is no growth. What is the duty of a teacher? His duty is to teach rebellion—the day education becomes rebellion, on that day a totally new humanity can be born. What is the meaning of rebellion? Rebellion means—a revolution in values! Surely the values of life are wrong; otherwise why this restlessness, this meaninglessness, this confusion in human life? This ugliness, this violence, this envy, this irreligion—are these all without cause? No, the values of life are wrong, and this is their natural outcome! Life’s values must be changed. Man needs new values. And for that, we must prepare for a great rebellion. The teacher must awaken from slumber. There is no other Bhagirath who can bring the Ganges of rebellion to earth. But teachers live in great illusions. Society may starve them, yet it showers respect upon them. Teachers have always been given respect and honor. He is “guru,” respectable—thus his ego is nourished and he is deluded. And then, through him, the task is undertaken of casting new generations into old molds. The teacher is exploited most respectfully. Society does not honor the teacher for nothing; in exchange for this honor, it obtains very cheaply a very costly service from him. I ask: are teachers aware of this? The history of man is full of follies. Superstitions and ignorance have pitched tents everywhere. Yet the teacher does not allow the new generations to break away from that chain. He binds these new arrivals to the same chain. He is a lackey of the past and thus proves an enemy of the future. Is it not proper that the weight of the past not be upon our heads? Let it be the ground underfoot—that is fine; but it should not be a burden on the head. For the making of the future, a mind free of the past is needed. Let the experiences of the past expand man’s knowledge—but let them not bind him. For he has to go beyond them as well. The past is the beginning of his journey, not the end. From where the departing generation has left him, the new must go further. Every generation must, in every way, leave the previous one behind—not only materially but also mentally and spiritually. Surely this hurts the ego of the departing generation, and for this very ego it does not wish to see any journey or development beyond itself. Perhaps the ego and envy that live in each individual seize entire generations as well. Earlier religious leaders, and later founders of religions, have forbidden further births. Each prophet declared himself the last, each proclaimed himself omniscient—and thus sealed the doors of further growth in knowledge. The golden ages were behind! Ahead lies only decline and degeneration. To tie man to the pegs of the past is most unwholesome. Yet the old generation wants to impose its scriptures, its doctrines, its gurus upon the new one. For centuries this has continued, and as a result the human soul has not developed as it could have. The maturity it could have attained has not been attained. It lies crushed under the stones of the past; burdened so heavily by the past that its ascent has come to a halt. Education must unburden the human soul. Only unburdened souls can move to the peaks of Paramatman. The weight of dead conditionings does not allow the seed of consciousness to sprout; it perishes buried in the soil. Without being unburdened of the past, the sprouting of one’s own individuality cannot occur. Only when the grip of the past loosens does growth happen in man. The past is a ladder to be passed over; carrying it on the head is not wisdom. In the world material prosperity increases—because each generation takes it further than the previous. But spiritual prosperity does not increase, because our minds are too bound by the past in that dimension. A son does not hesitate to build further the house his father made. But when it comes to moving beyond the wills of a Rama, a Krishna, a Buddha, a Mahavira, or a Christ, some deep fear clamps our very life‑energy. This is taught, this fear is imposed. A commentary on the Gita can be written; but to think beyond the Gita—this cannot be done. Beyond the Quran there is nothing. Because of this, humankind has become extremely crippled and spiritually impoverished. For a son to go beyond his father is not his father’s insult; in fact, it is his honor—his glory. Each generation, every new generation, should be prepared in such a way that it leaves the previous one behind in every way. To keep it bound to us, to keep it revolving within our circle—this wish is sick; it does not indicate a healthy mind. We must consider whether education has not been an accomplice in drawing these diseased Lakshman‑rekhas. I simply cannot understand this madness. My love says that those who come after me into the world should, in every way, go ahead of me. They should create a world we could not even imagine. Their souls should be brighter than ours, their thoughts more pure. Their eyes should witness truths we could not, and their feet should touch unknown paths that were not even dreamt by us. Love can only pray thus. I would neither bind children with my knowledge nor with my experiences. I would set them free. Love always frees. Whatever binds is not love—it is violence. Education must be future‑oriented, not past‑oriented; only then can development happen. Every creative process can only be future‑oriented. Is it not right that we teach love and reverence for the future? The meaningless worship of the past has gone on too long. Is it not now right that in our hearts there be prayers for the sunrises of the future? But we are bound to the past. The past—what has passed and now remains nowhere except in memory. Our theories, our beliefs, our ideals—we have borrowed all from the past. Thus the dead rule over the living. Respect for the dead is one thing; their rule is quite another. In fact, because of rule, even healthy respect cannot be. Against rule, resistance accumulates within. Heartfelt respect for the past is possible only when the past rules not at all; such respect will be profoundly inward. In it there will be grace and gratitude. That gratitude will not bind us; it will make us lighter and more unburdened. The heart naturally overflows with gratitude for those who free us. For those who bind us, gratitude is unnatural—and impossible. Education is called the dissemination of knowledge. Certainly it should be the disseminator of knowledge. But that which also disseminates bondages cannot be the disseminator of knowledge. Knowledge is where the mind is free. Where the mind is bound, where is knowledge? Knowledge itself is liberation. Education teaches fear. Education teaches temptation. Education teaches envy and competition. Education initiates one into the fever of ambition. How can such education disseminate knowledge? How can such education be liberating? How can such a man be healthy? This is the spread of deadly diseases. Friend, this is not the dissemination of knowledge; this is the dissemination of ignorance. I see—and I find—that there is no disease more terrible than fear. In life, what is more fearsome than fear? Fear paralyzes the very life‑energy. Fear destroys the entire capacity for rebellion. Fear makes transformation impossible. Fear ties one to the known; the journeys into the unknown come to a halt. Yet in life, whatever is worth knowing and attaining is all unknown. Paramatman is unknown. Truth is unknown. Beauty is unknown. Love is unknown. But the fearful mind, because of fear, clings to the known. It never leaves the track. It runs only on familiar rails. It becomes mechanical; its motion is no different from the bullock at the oil‑press. Religions teach fear—fear of hells, fear of sins, fear of punishments. Society teaches fear—fear of disrespect. Education also teaches fear—fear of failure. Along with this come temptations—the temptation of heaven, the temptation of the fruits of virtue; the temptation of honor, position, status; the temptation of success, of awards. Temptation is the other face of the same coin as fear. Thus the individual consciousness is filled and refilled with fear and greed. Fires of envy and competition are lit; the fever of ambition is aroused. Then, if life is destroyed in these whirls, is it any surprise? Such education is dangerous. Such religions are dangerous. Education is that which teaches fearlessness, which establishes one in non‑greed, which gives courage and the strength to rebel—the courage to accept the challenge of the unknown. It should teach love, not envy and competition. Not the feverish rush of ambition—but a natural, spontaneous growth. But this will be only when we accept the unique privacy, the unrepeatable uniqueness, of each individual. Comparison with another is a basic mistake. Comparison breeds rivalry. No one is ahead of anyone; no one is behind. No one is above; no one is below. Each is what he is, and each has to be that. The teaching of ideals does not allow this. Children are told: become like Rama, become like Buddha, become like Gandhi. What could be more mistaken? Can anyone become like anyone else? Has anyone ever? To become Rama is impossible. Yes, one can become the Rama of a Ram‑lila. Hence there is so much hypocrisy in the world. Hypocrisy is the shadow of ideals. As long as ideals are imposed, hypocrisy will remain. If hypocrisy is to end, ideals must be dropped. In truth, no human being is born to become someone else. Each has to be only himself. Each has to bring to fruition the seed that lies hidden in him, that is already there. The day education accepts the truth of the individual’s unique and incomparable privacy, that very day the seed of a great revolution will be sown. Then we will not impose someone else’s mold upon anyone. Rather, we will strive to awaken that which lies dormant in that individual’s own seed. Because of ideals much violence has been done, and the person has not been given the chance to be that which he could be. In trying to be other, one never becomes other—but he certainly is deprived of being what he could have been. With utmost humility I wish to request: let man be that for which he is born to be. The rose is a rose, the jasmine is jasmine, the juhi is juhi. No one is smaller or greater than another. The rose need not become jasmine, nor jasmine become juhi. This evaluation of higher‑lower, superior‑inferior, is utterly false and absurd. Destroy this evaluation. The poet is not greater than the cobbler, nor is the politician greater than anyone. A teacher does not become greater by becoming a president. Life is a cooperation. In it everyone has his place, everyone is needed and indispensable. By attaching status and prestige to functions, the whole world has fallen into the madness of ambition—do you not see it? It is foolish to preach to a rose to become a juhi, or to egg on a grass‑flower to become a lotus. What is meaningful is simply this: let the rose be fully developed, and the grass‑flower too fully developed. Let their petals not remain unformed, let their fragrance not remain locked within. Let one’s own potentialities be fully unfolded—beyond this there is no joy in life. And the right direction of education is precisely this. There is no need to teach ideals, nor to teach anyone to follow. All effort should be focused on how the person’s own individuality attains completion. Only then will there be freedom from ambition and release from the fever of envy. And a society can be created that attains equality and peace. Only a society free of ambition can be classless and free of exploitation. Can there not be an education that is not based on ambition? Can mathematics or music be learned so as to get ahead of one’s companions? Can mathematics not be learned for the love of mathematics itself, and music for the joy of music itself? I see that, in truth, music can be learned, and its depths touched, only when there is love for music itself, and no competition with another. Will a competitive mind know music? Competition is dis‑music. Only those have known music who have sunk into music, not those who have run in rivalry. There is opposition between running and sinking. Running is tension; sinking is rest. Running is fever; it takes one out of oneself. Sinking is health, for by sinking the person finds his own innermost depths. Learning is the art of sinking. And that which teaches running—I call it avidya. Once I went to a gathering of teachers. It was Teachers’ Day. There I said to them: if a teacher becomes a president, what respect does that confer upon teaching? Is the teacher below and the president above? If so, then it is not the prestige of the teacher or of education, but of office and politics. Yes, if a president leaves his post and becomes a teacher, perhaps then there might be something honorable for teaching. As long as we place political offices above, we teach politics to children, knowingly or unknowingly—even though politicians say teachers and students should have nothing to do with politics. The prestige of offices awakens aspiration in others. If other teachers dream of leaving teaching to become education ministers, vice‑presidents, or presidents, if they run to fulfill these dreams—why be surprised? It is natural. And if other teachers too strive to have the teaching profession honored, there is nothing wrong in that either! Education must be free of ambition. Ambition is politics. Because of ambition, politics sits upon the throne above all. Respect lies where office is. Office lies where power is. Power lies where the state is. From this race, violence is born in life. An ambitious mind is a violent mind. Lessons of nonviolence are taught—and alongside ambition is taught. What could be more foolish than this? Nonviolence is love. Ambition is competition. Love always wishes to remain behind; competition wants to be ahead. Christ has said: blessed are those who can remain behind. Whom I love, I would wish to see ahead; and if I love all, I would joyfully place myself last of all. But competition is the very opposite of love. It is envy. It is hatred. It is violence. It wants to be ahead at all costs. This race to be ahead starts in schools—and then continues up to the graveyard. Individuals run this race; nations run it too. Wars are the ultimate fruits of this race. Why this race? What is at its root? At the root is—ego! Ego is taught, ego is nourished. Ego is aroused and inflamed in tiny children. Their innocent and simple minds are poisoned with ego. They too are urged to be first. Gold medals, honors, prizes are distributed. Then the same ego pursues them like a ghost throughout life, giving them no rest even on their deathbeds. Lessons in humility are given—and ego is taught. Will it not be the greatest auspicious day in human history when we stop teaching ego to children? Not ego, but love must be taught. And love exists only where ego is not. For this, the very method of teaching must be transformed from the roots. The categories of first and last must be broken. Examinations must be ended. And in their place, those fundamental values must be established which are born from taking egoless, love‑filled life as the highest vision. When love takes the place of competition, naturally truth is established in place of success. Where success is the only value, truth cannot be. The centrality of success has sucked the very life from success. No—merely being successful is not everything. Success alone is no value at all. Better to fail in a good deed than succeed in an evil one. Better to fail in love than succeed in competition. Better to fail in dharma than succeed in wealth—Is that not more valuable? I do not see life’s value in success alone. I see it in truth, in Shivam, in beauty; but so long as success is the measure of everything, neither toward truth, nor toward Shivam, nor toward beauty will the soul be able to move. For truth, for Shivam, for beauty, one must also learn how to fail. Even failure in that direction is glory—this vision must arise. To lose for truth is itself a victory—because in the courage to lose for truth the soul becomes strong and can touch those peaks that are illumined by the light of Paramatman. Victory and defeat are meaningless. The meaning lies in the front—on which front is there victory or defeat: of truth or untruth, of love or hatred, of man or of demonhood? And I say: blessed are those who renounce the victory of untruth and embrace defeat with truth—for thus, losing, they win; thus, perishing, they attain that which is immortal. But all this is possible only when there is a radical revolution in education, and those values centered on mere success and victory—which have tormented man for centuries—are dethroned. The greatest crime against truth happens when we insist on thrusting ready‑made conceptions about truth upon children. This insistence is a deadly fanaticism. Belief or disbelief regarding Paramatman and Atman is imposed upon children. The Gita, the Quran, Krishna, Mahavira—these are imposed upon them. In this way, their inquiry regarding truth never arises. They cannot come to their own questions; the question of discovering their own answers does not even arise. They go on repeating ready‑made answers all their lives. Their condition becomes that of parrots. Repetition is not inquiry. Repetition is inertia. Truth cannot be obtained from someone else; it has to be searched and found by oneself. Is it not right that children’s curiosity be awakened, but that they not be chained by solutions? That questions be created in them, but that they not be stuffed with borrowed answers? If education can send them upon the great pilgrimage of researching life’s truth, its work is done. In my vision, a teacher is one who awakens dormant problems, who kindles curiosity, and who fills children with courage and fearlessness for their own search. But a person can be a teacher in this sense only when he himself is free of insistences and prejudices. Therefore, to be a teacher is a great sadhana. To be a teacher requires a profoundly rebellious, alert, and aware soul. The teacher in whom the fire of rebellion is not burning will, knowingly or unknowingly, become the agent of some interest, some policy, some religion, or some politics. For then he will impose upon children the very prejudices and notions in which he himself is imprisoned. Only when the teacher is himself free can he be a messenger of freedom for the student. Hence I said: to be a teacher is a great sadhana. It is a great rebellion. Within the teacher there must be a blazing fire—of reflection, of thought, of rebellion. He has much to demolish so that he may create. He has much to erase so that he may build. He has to burn the litter left by traditions and clear the mind’s field of worthless weeds, so that upon it the flowers of love and beauty may be cultivated. This is a very great responsibility. Only if the teacher can fulfill it will the birth of a new man—and a new humanity—be possible.
Osho's Commentary
I am deeply delighted to be among you. Surely, on this occasion I would like to share a few things from my heart. Seeing the state of education, there is great pain in the heart. Under the name of education, such dependencies are nourished that the birth of a free and healthy human being becomes impossible. The basic reasons for the ugliness and crippledness in which humankind is trapped are hidden in education itself. Education has torn man away from nature, yet culture has not arisen from it; on the contrary, what has arisen is—distortion. And each generation keeps forcing this distortion upon the new ones. When distortion itself is taken as culture, it is no surprise that the act of imposing it acquires an aura of virtue. And when sin appears in the garb of virtue, it becomes exceedingly destructive.
Therefore exploitation stands behind the veil of service, violence dons the robes of nonviolence, and deformities wear the masks of culture. It is not without cause that irreligion finds residence in the temples of religion. Irreligion never presents itself straight and naked. Hence it is always wise not to trust appearances alone. It is essential to strip away the garments and look within.
I too would like to strip education of its garments and look. You will not mind this, will you? It is a compulsion; it has to be done. To see the true soul of education we must remove its so‑called vestures. For surely, behind very beautiful clothing some sick and ugly soul must be residing; otherwise human life would not be a life so full of hatred, violence, and irreligion.
When we see bitter and poisonous fruits on the tree of life, do we not recall that wrong seeds must have been sown? If the seeds were right, how could the fruits be wrong? A tree laden with toxic fruit speaks of nothing but the hidden poison in the seed. If man is wrong, then surely education is not right.
It may be that you have not thought in this way, and that my words do not coincide with your thinking. But I do not ask to be believed, only to be heard. That is enough. It is enough to listen to truth in silence. Only falsehood insists on being believed. Truth, merely being heard, brings its own result.
The right listening to truth is itself acceptance.
My view, even toward pedagogy, may be different and opposed. I am neither an educationist nor a sociologist. Yet this is a good fortune, because the more one knows the scripture, the more difficult it becomes to know life. Scriptures forever become barriers to the knowing of truth. In a mind filled with scripture, inquiry comes to an end. For true inquiry one needs a weightless and unbiased mind, does one not? Scriptures and doctrines create sides. And then the gaze toward life and its problems is no longer impartial and innocent. For the one to whom scripture is paramount, solutions become more important than problems. He begins to view problems in accordance with his solutions, not solutions in accordance with the problems! From this arises a foolish state in which problems do not end by solutions, they actually increase by them. The whole history of humankind is proof of this.
Why are man’s thought and conduct so different, so self‑contradictory? This is the result of imposing solutions upon life on the basis of scriptures and doctrines. The solutions have not been born from the problems; they have been thrust upon them. Solutions are on the surface; problems are within. Solutions are in the intellect; problems are in life. And this inner conflict has turned suicidal. The madness that has been running within civilization has now come to the point of explosion. Frightened by the possibility of that explosion, all humanity trembles. But what will fear alone do? Not fear, but the courage to know and recognize the whole situation is needed.
I will not bring scriptures in between, for I do not want to be blinded by solutions. I wish to speak to you of those things that arise from looking straight at the problems.
Is it not possible that we look directly at life? Is it not possible that we see life as the first human being must have seen it? Can our mind not look at life with the same simplicity, freedom, and naturalness?
Before education, I take this to be the most vital problem.
If education so burdens, complicates, and ages a person’s mind that his direct contact with life is shattered, it is not auspicious. A burdened and aged mind is deprived of knowledge, of joy, and of beauty. To experience knowledge, joy, and beauty, a young mind is needed. The body is bound to grow old—but not the mind. The mind can remain forever young. Until the very last moment of death, the mind can remain youthful. And only such a mind comes to know the mysteries of life and death. Such a mind is the religious mind.
But education makes the mind old. It does not awaken the mind, it stuffs it; and by stuffing, the mind grows old. By stuffing thoughts, the mind grows tired, burdened, and old! To give thoughts is to load memory. It is not the awakening of thought or of intelligence. Memory is not intelligence. Memory is mechanical. Intelligence is living consciousness. We must not give thoughts; we must awaken thinking. Where thought is awakened, the mind remains forever young. And where the mind is young, there is a perpetual encounter with life; there the doors of consciousness are open, and the fresh breezes of morning come in, and the light of the new rising sun also arrives. When a person is imprisoned in the thoughts and words of others, his own capacity to fly in the sky of truth is destroyed. But what does our education do? Does it teach one to think—or does it rest content by supplying borrowed, dead thoughts? What is more alive and potent than thinking itself?
But merely learning the thoughts of others—there is no other deadness more dead than that. The collection of thoughts brings inertia. From the stockpiling of thoughts, neither thought nor intelligence is born.
For the arising of thought and intelligence, excessive emphasis on mechanical memory is fatal. For that, ample opportunities for thought and intelligence are necessary. For that, in place of faith one must be taught doubt.
Faith and belief bind. Doubt liberates.
By doubt I do not mean disbelief—because disbelief is only the negative form of belief. Neither belief nor disbelief—but doubt. Belief and disbelief are both the death of doubt. Where the liberating intensity of doubt is absent, there is neither the search for truth nor its attainment.
The intensity of doubt becomes the search. Doubt is thirst; doubt is longing. In the fire of doubt the being is churned, and thought is born. The pain of doubt is the birth pang of thought. Whoever flees from that pain remains forever deprived of the awakening of thought.
Do we have doubt? Do we doubt the fundamental meanings and values of life? If not, then surely our education has been wrong. Apart from a right doubt, a right education has no other foundation. Without doubt, how will there be a search? Without doubt, how will there be discontent? Without doubt, how will the being be restless to know and attain truth? Therefore we have become shallow puddles of easy contentment, and our souls are not rivers flowing restlessly toward the ocean.
Who created this deadness? Certainly education—and the teacher. Through the teacher, the human mind has been bound in very subtle chains of dependency. This subtle exploitation is very ancient. There are many causes of exploitation—religions, religious gurus, monarchies, the vested interests of society, the men of wealth, the power‑holders.
The power‑holders have never wanted man to think, because where there is thought, there is the seed of rebellion. Thought is fundamentally rebellion. Because thought is not blind; thought has its own eyes. It cannot be led just anywhere. It cannot be made to do or accept anything. It cannot be turned into a blind follower. Hence the power‑holders are not in favor of thought; they are in favor of belief. For belief is blind. And only when man is blind can he be exploited. And only when man is blind can he be employed against his own well‑being.
Man’s blindness makes him the ground for every kind of exploitation. Therefore belief is taught, faith is taught, devotion is taught. Religions have done this. Politicians have done this. Every kind of authority fears thought. If thought awakens, neither castes nor classes can remain. The exploitation of wealth also cannot continue. Nor can exploitation be justified by invoking the merits and demerits of past lives.
With thought will come revolution—on all planes and in all relationships. Politicians will not be spared by it, and the borders of nations will not be spared. No wall that separates man from man can remain. Hence both capitalist and communist politicians fear thought. And for security against this fear, the framework of education was contrived. This so‑called education is part of a vast conspiracy running for centuries. Earlier the religious priest controlled it; now the state dominates it.
In the absence of thought, the individual does not even come into being. For the very cornerstone of individuality is missing in him. What is that cornerstone? Is it not the independent capacity to think? But independent thought is murdered before birth. The Gita is taught, the Quran and the Bible are taught, Das Kapital and the Communist Manifesto are taught—and even thinking is taught within their frames, on their basis! What can be more false than such thinking? Blind repetition is taught, and it is called thinking!
Where there are bases, frameworks, beliefs and devotions, thought is impossible. For thought the mind must be free of all frameworks. If education gives the mind frameworks and rails, it is not right. It should rather give such awareness and vigilance that the mind does not get cast into frameworks. It should give such understanding that conditioning does not enslave the mind, and that the individual’s stream of independent inquiry may unfold.
With attention, this can certainly happen. The seeds of independent thinking are in every individual. Under favorable conditions they can develop. Who does not want freedom? Who does not want his own intelligence and thought? But if the entire machinery of education prepares a person for dependence rather than freedom, that is another matter. Then it is a wonder that a few, even after passing through this machinery, save themselves from becoming machines.
There is no task more difficult than to pass through schools and universities and still preserve one’s own originality. Universities attained their pinnacle of skill in destroying original talent long ago.
For man’s enslavement, excessive emphasis is laid upon discipline. The lack of intelligence is patched with discipline. When there is intelligence, a spontaneous discipline arises by itself in a person and in his life. It does not have to be imported; it comes on its own. But where intelligence is not taught, one has to depend on imposed discipline from outside. Such discipline will be false, for it does not awaken from the individual’s inner being, nor are its roots in his own intelligence. The inner conscience smolders against it from within.
From the reaction to such discipline, license is born. License is always a reaction to bondage; it is its inevitable echo. A consciousness filled with freedom is never licentious. If man is to be saved from the disease of license, his soul must be given the atmosphere of total freedom. But we know only two options—bondage or license. For freedom we have not yet become ready. Discipline—discipline that comes from others—is also bondage. This discipline is breaking everywhere, and there is great anxiety. This discipline must break. It should break. Its very causes are wrong. Its death lies hidden within it. It forcibly conceals anarchy within itself. And whatever is suppressed by force is bound to erupt one day.
Such discipline, if it exists, snatches away the naturalness and joy of consciousness; and when it breaks, it leaves the person in ruins. Discipline that comes from the outside is in every way harmful to man. Education should be free of external discipline. It should awaken the sleeping intelligence in the individual.
Then that intelligence itself becomes self‑discipline. In such a way of life there is neither suppression nor pressure. Such a way is as simple and natural as flowers. And when life moves in the light of one’s own intelligence, the very possibilities of anarchy and license vanish. Where there is no repression, there can be no explosions of anarchy or license.
I ask, can we not make man free? Freedom frightens us with the specter of license—because we have pressed man down with bondages, and his soul has always struggled to escape them. Whenever possible, he has broken chains. But in the very effort of breaking, he becomes filled with bitterness, harshness, and opposition—thus he does not become free, he becomes licentious. Freedom is creative; license is destructive. Yet if we are to be saved from license, there is no path other than freedom.
Education can surely lay such foundations as make man free. We no longer need disciplined persons. We need those who are free and available to their own intelligence. In them alone is hope; in them alone is the future.
What have the systems of discipline done? They have brought inertia and mindlessness into man. A disciplined person will be inert. In fact, the more inert one is, the more disciplined he will become. Look, how disciplined machines are! Intelligence can never say only “yes.” It must also know how to say “no.” Even its “yes” has value and meaning only when it also knows how to say “no.” But discipline never teaches “no”; it always expects “yes.” If told—“Fire!”—it will fire. Because of such inert education the world has known wars, violence, and myriad stupidities—and still knows them.
Shall we not break this vicious circle now? Will education that imposes discipline be stopped only after a nuclear war? But then there will be no need to stop it—for then neither disciplinarians will remain nor the disciplined. For the future of man, there is no greater danger than people of disciplined minds—for they know only how to obey orders. To push the nuclear buttons, such obedient persons are always ready! Alas! If instead of discipline, intelligence had been taught—if instead of obedience, thought had been taught—the world would certainly have been utterly different.
Education is not to impart discipline, but to impart self‑intelligence. Only the discipline that flowers from that can be auspicious and benevolent. For such discipline cannot be exploited. In the hands of priests and politicians it cannot be turned into an instrument of violence and war. On its basis a Hindu cannot be made to fight a Muslim. Nor can blood‑drenched dances be performed along the false, imagined borders of nations. In the name of discipline and obedience, what has not been extracted from man?
Society has long used the teacher to discipline the new generation in this way. The teacher has been an instrument of many exploitations. He has been a device for infecting many diseases—and perhaps he does not even know it, because he himself is the victim of the same education! Each generation, through the teacher, bequeaths to the new one its envies, its hatreds, its hostilities, its enmities, its stupidities—along with its knowledge and experiences. With knowledge and experience, they also pass on their diseases and deadness—and with even greater insistence and care, because their hostilities and superstitions are their egos. The Hindu father teaches his children to be Hindu, the Jain his to be Jain, the Muslim his to be Muslim. And the sectarian poisons that are anti‑human—he wants to pass the very same poison to his children.
Through numerous channels of education this poison is spread. Through such toxic instruction, humanity cannot become one, and our eyes cannot be raised to that religion which is one—and can be one.
In the same way, nationalities are taught, and national egos are glorified. One country is reared and propped in opposition to others. The result: violence flourishes and the fires of war are lit.
Where egos are—there is violence, there are wars. There are many more such diseases whose germs teachers keep infecting into innocent children. Among the most heinous crimes done to man, this is one. Only a supremely alert teacher can remain unstained by this.
Those who wield power in society never wish to change its structure—because their power, interest, and exploitation depend upon that structure. The teacher installs that structure in the minds of children. He makes them conformist and binds them to dead traditions. He does not teach them rebellion. And where there is no rebellion, there is no growth. What is the duty of a teacher? His duty is to teach rebellion—the day education becomes rebellion, on that day a totally new humanity can be born.
What is the meaning of rebellion?
Rebellion means—a revolution in values! Surely the values of life are wrong; otherwise why this restlessness, this meaninglessness, this confusion in human life? This ugliness, this violence, this envy, this irreligion—are these all without cause? No, the values of life are wrong, and this is their natural outcome!
Life’s values must be changed. Man needs new values. And for that, we must prepare for a great rebellion.
The teacher must awaken from slumber. There is no other Bhagirath who can bring the Ganges of rebellion to earth. But teachers live in great illusions. Society may starve them, yet it showers respect upon them. Teachers have always been given respect and honor. He is “guru,” respectable—thus his ego is nourished and he is deluded. And then, through him, the task is undertaken of casting new generations into old molds. The teacher is exploited most respectfully. Society does not honor the teacher for nothing; in exchange for this honor, it obtains very cheaply a very costly service from him. I ask: are teachers aware of this?
The history of man is full of follies. Superstitions and ignorance have pitched tents everywhere. Yet the teacher does not allow the new generations to break away from that chain. He binds these new arrivals to the same chain. He is a lackey of the past and thus proves an enemy of the future. Is it not proper that the weight of the past not be upon our heads? Let it be the ground underfoot—that is fine; but it should not be a burden on the head. For the making of the future, a mind free of the past is needed.
Let the experiences of the past expand man’s knowledge—but let them not bind him. For he has to go beyond them as well. The past is the beginning of his journey, not the end. From where the departing generation has left him, the new must go further. Every generation must, in every way, leave the previous one behind—not only materially but also mentally and spiritually. Surely this hurts the ego of the departing generation, and for this very ego it does not wish to see any journey or development beyond itself.
Perhaps the ego and envy that live in each individual seize entire generations as well. Earlier religious leaders, and later founders of religions, have forbidden further births. Each prophet declared himself the last, each proclaimed himself omniscient—and thus sealed the doors of further growth in knowledge. The golden ages were behind! Ahead lies only decline and degeneration. To tie man to the pegs of the past is most unwholesome. Yet the old generation wants to impose its scriptures, its doctrines, its gurus upon the new one. For centuries this has continued, and as a result the human soul has not developed as it could have. The maturity it could have attained has not been attained. It lies crushed under the stones of the past; burdened so heavily by the past that its ascent has come to a halt.
Education must unburden the human soul. Only unburdened souls can move to the peaks of Paramatman. The weight of dead conditionings does not allow the seed of consciousness to sprout; it perishes buried in the soil. Without being unburdened of the past, the sprouting of one’s own individuality cannot occur. Only when the grip of the past loosens does growth happen in man. The past is a ladder to be passed over; carrying it on the head is not wisdom.
In the world material prosperity increases—because each generation takes it further than the previous. But spiritual prosperity does not increase, because our minds are too bound by the past in that dimension. A son does not hesitate to build further the house his father made. But when it comes to moving beyond the wills of a Rama, a Krishna, a Buddha, a Mahavira, or a Christ, some deep fear clamps our very life‑energy. This is taught, this fear is imposed.
A commentary on the Gita can be written; but to think beyond the Gita—this cannot be done. Beyond the Quran there is nothing. Because of this, humankind has become extremely crippled and spiritually impoverished. For a son to go beyond his father is not his father’s insult; in fact, it is his honor—his glory.
Each generation, every new generation, should be prepared in such a way that it leaves the previous one behind in every way. To keep it bound to us, to keep it revolving within our circle—this wish is sick; it does not indicate a healthy mind. We must consider whether education has not been an accomplice in drawing these diseased Lakshman‑rekhas.
I simply cannot understand this madness. My love says that those who come after me into the world should, in every way, go ahead of me. They should create a world we could not even imagine. Their souls should be brighter than ours, their thoughts more pure. Their eyes should witness truths we could not, and their feet should touch unknown paths that were not even dreamt by us. Love can only pray thus. I would neither bind children with my knowledge nor with my experiences. I would set them free. Love always frees. Whatever binds is not love—it is violence.
Education must be future‑oriented, not past‑oriented; only then can development happen. Every creative process can only be future‑oriented. Is it not right that we teach love and reverence for the future? The meaningless worship of the past has gone on too long. Is it not now right that in our hearts there be prayers for the sunrises of the future? But we are bound to the past. The past—what has passed and now remains nowhere except in memory. Our theories, our beliefs, our ideals—we have borrowed all from the past. Thus the dead rule over the living. Respect for the dead is one thing; their rule is quite another. In fact, because of rule, even healthy respect cannot be. Against rule, resistance accumulates within. Heartfelt respect for the past is possible only when the past rules not at all; such respect will be profoundly inward. In it there will be grace and gratitude. That gratitude will not bind us; it will make us lighter and more unburdened. The heart naturally overflows with gratitude for those who free us.
For those who bind us, gratitude is unnatural—and impossible.
Education is called the dissemination of knowledge. Certainly it should be the disseminator of knowledge. But that which also disseminates bondages cannot be the disseminator of knowledge. Knowledge is where the mind is free. Where the mind is bound, where is knowledge? Knowledge itself is liberation.
Education teaches fear. Education teaches temptation. Education teaches envy and competition. Education initiates one into the fever of ambition. How can such education disseminate knowledge? How can such education be liberating? How can such a man be healthy? This is the spread of deadly diseases. Friend, this is not the dissemination of knowledge; this is the dissemination of ignorance.
I see—and I find—that there is no disease more terrible than fear. In life, what is more fearsome than fear? Fear paralyzes the very life‑energy. Fear destroys the entire capacity for rebellion. Fear makes transformation impossible. Fear ties one to the known; the journeys into the unknown come to a halt. Yet in life, whatever is worth knowing and attaining is all unknown.
Paramatman is unknown. Truth is unknown. Beauty is unknown. Love is unknown. But the fearful mind, because of fear, clings to the known. It never leaves the track. It runs only on familiar rails. It becomes mechanical; its motion is no different from the bullock at the oil‑press. Religions teach fear—fear of hells, fear of sins, fear of punishments. Society teaches fear—fear of disrespect. Education also teaches fear—fear of failure.
Along with this come temptations—the temptation of heaven, the temptation of the fruits of virtue; the temptation of honor, position, status; the temptation of success, of awards. Temptation is the other face of the same coin as fear. Thus the individual consciousness is filled and refilled with fear and greed. Fires of envy and competition are lit; the fever of ambition is aroused. Then, if life is destroyed in these whirls, is it any surprise?
Such education is dangerous. Such religions are dangerous. Education is that which teaches fearlessness, which establishes one in non‑greed, which gives courage and the strength to rebel—the courage to accept the challenge of the unknown. It should teach love, not envy and competition. Not the feverish rush of ambition—but a natural, spontaneous growth.
But this will be only when we accept the unique privacy, the unrepeatable uniqueness, of each individual. Comparison with another is a basic mistake. Comparison breeds rivalry. No one is ahead of anyone; no one is behind. No one is above; no one is below. Each is what he is, and each has to be that. The teaching of ideals does not allow this. Children are told: become like Rama, become like Buddha, become like Gandhi. What could be more mistaken? Can anyone become like anyone else? Has anyone ever?
To become Rama is impossible. Yes, one can become the Rama of a Ram‑lila. Hence there is so much hypocrisy in the world. Hypocrisy is the shadow of ideals. As long as ideals are imposed, hypocrisy will remain. If hypocrisy is to end, ideals must be dropped.
In truth, no human being is born to become someone else. Each has to be only himself. Each has to bring to fruition the seed that lies hidden in him, that is already there.
The day education accepts the truth of the individual’s unique and incomparable privacy, that very day the seed of a great revolution will be sown. Then we will not impose someone else’s mold upon anyone. Rather, we will strive to awaken that which lies dormant in that individual’s own seed. Because of ideals much violence has been done, and the person has not been given the chance to be that which he could be. In trying to be other, one never becomes other—but he certainly is deprived of being what he could have been.
With utmost humility I wish to request: let man be that for which he is born to be. The rose is a rose, the jasmine is jasmine, the juhi is juhi. No one is smaller or greater than another. The rose need not become jasmine, nor jasmine become juhi. This evaluation of higher‑lower, superior‑inferior, is utterly false and absurd. Destroy this evaluation. The poet is not greater than the cobbler, nor is the politician greater than anyone.
A teacher does not become greater by becoming a president. Life is a cooperation. In it everyone has his place, everyone is needed and indispensable. By attaching status and prestige to functions, the whole world has fallen into the madness of ambition—do you not see it?
It is foolish to preach to a rose to become a juhi, or to egg on a grass‑flower to become a lotus. What is meaningful is simply this: let the rose be fully developed, and the grass‑flower too fully developed. Let their petals not remain unformed, let their fragrance not remain locked within. Let one’s own potentialities be fully unfolded—beyond this there is no joy in life. And the right direction of education is precisely this.
There is no need to teach ideals, nor to teach anyone to follow. All effort should be focused on how the person’s own individuality attains completion. Only then will there be freedom from ambition and release from the fever of envy. And a society can be created that attains equality and peace. Only a society free of ambition can be classless and free of exploitation.
Can there not be an education that is not based on ambition? Can mathematics or music be learned so as to get ahead of one’s companions? Can mathematics not be learned for the love of mathematics itself, and music for the joy of music itself? I see that, in truth, music can be learned, and its depths touched, only when there is love for music itself, and no competition with another.
Will a competitive mind know music? Competition is dis‑music. Only those have known music who have sunk into music, not those who have run in rivalry. There is opposition between running and sinking. Running is tension; sinking is rest. Running is fever; it takes one out of oneself. Sinking is health, for by sinking the person finds his own innermost depths. Learning is the art of sinking. And that which teaches running—I call it avidya.
Once I went to a gathering of teachers. It was Teachers’ Day. There I said to them: if a teacher becomes a president, what respect does that confer upon teaching? Is the teacher below and the president above? If so, then it is not the prestige of the teacher or of education, but of office and politics. Yes, if a president leaves his post and becomes a teacher, perhaps then there might be something honorable for teaching.
As long as we place political offices above, we teach politics to children, knowingly or unknowingly—even though politicians say teachers and students should have nothing to do with politics. The prestige of offices awakens aspiration in others. If other teachers dream of leaving teaching to become education ministers, vice‑presidents, or presidents, if they run to fulfill these dreams—why be surprised? It is natural. And if other teachers too strive to have the teaching profession honored, there is nothing wrong in that either!
Education must be free of ambition. Ambition is politics. Because of ambition, politics sits upon the throne above all. Respect lies where office is. Office lies where power is. Power lies where the state is.
From this race, violence is born in life. An ambitious mind is a violent mind. Lessons of nonviolence are taught—and alongside ambition is taught. What could be more foolish than this?
Nonviolence is love. Ambition is competition. Love always wishes to remain behind; competition wants to be ahead. Christ has said: blessed are those who can remain behind. Whom I love, I would wish to see ahead; and if I love all, I would joyfully place myself last of all. But competition is the very opposite of love. It is envy. It is hatred. It is violence. It wants to be ahead at all costs.
This race to be ahead starts in schools—and then continues up to the graveyard. Individuals run this race; nations run it too. Wars are the ultimate fruits of this race. Why this race? What is at its root? At the root is—ego! Ego is taught, ego is nourished.
Ego is aroused and inflamed in tiny children. Their innocent and simple minds are poisoned with ego. They too are urged to be first. Gold medals, honors, prizes are distributed. Then the same ego pursues them like a ghost throughout life, giving them no rest even on their deathbeds.
Lessons in humility are given—and ego is taught. Will it not be the greatest auspicious day in human history when we stop teaching ego to children? Not ego, but love must be taught. And love exists only where ego is not.
For this, the very method of teaching must be transformed from the roots. The categories of first and last must be broken. Examinations must be ended. And in their place, those fundamental values must be established which are born from taking egoless, love‑filled life as the highest vision.
When love takes the place of competition, naturally truth is established in place of success. Where success is the only value, truth cannot be. The centrality of success has sucked the very life from success. No—merely being successful is not everything. Success alone is no value at all. Better to fail in a good deed than succeed in an evil one. Better to fail in love than succeed in competition. Better to fail in dharma than succeed in wealth—Is that not more valuable?
I do not see life’s value in success alone. I see it in truth, in Shivam, in beauty; but so long as success is the measure of everything, neither toward truth, nor toward Shivam, nor toward beauty will the soul be able to move. For truth, for Shivam, for beauty, one must also learn how to fail. Even failure in that direction is glory—this vision must arise. To lose for truth is itself a victory—because in the courage to lose for truth the soul becomes strong and can touch those peaks that are illumined by the light of Paramatman.
Victory and defeat are meaningless. The meaning lies in the front—on which front is there victory or defeat: of truth or untruth, of love or hatred, of man or of demonhood?
And I say: blessed are those who renounce the victory of untruth and embrace defeat with truth—for thus, losing, they win; thus, perishing, they attain that which is immortal. But all this is possible only when there is a radical revolution in education, and those values centered on mere success and victory—which have tormented man for centuries—are dethroned.
The greatest crime against truth happens when we insist on thrusting ready‑made conceptions about truth upon children. This insistence is a deadly fanaticism.
Belief or disbelief regarding Paramatman and Atman is imposed upon children. The Gita, the Quran, Krishna, Mahavira—these are imposed upon them. In this way, their inquiry regarding truth never arises. They cannot come to their own questions; the question of discovering their own answers does not even arise.
They go on repeating ready‑made answers all their lives. Their condition becomes that of parrots. Repetition is not inquiry. Repetition is inertia. Truth cannot be obtained from someone else; it has to be searched and found by oneself.
Is it not right that children’s curiosity be awakened, but that they not be chained by solutions? That questions be created in them, but that they not be stuffed with borrowed answers? If education can send them upon the great pilgrimage of researching life’s truth, its work is done.
In my vision, a teacher is one who awakens dormant problems, who kindles curiosity, and who fills children with courage and fearlessness for their own search. But a person can be a teacher in this sense only when he himself is free of insistences and prejudices.
Therefore, to be a teacher is a great sadhana. To be a teacher requires a profoundly rebellious, alert, and aware soul. The teacher in whom the fire of rebellion is not burning will, knowingly or unknowingly, become the agent of some interest, some policy, some religion, or some politics. For then he will impose upon children the very prejudices and notions in which he himself is imprisoned.
Only when the teacher is himself free can he be a messenger of freedom for the student. Hence I said: to be a teacher is a great sadhana. It is a great rebellion. Within the teacher there must be a blazing fire—of reflection, of thought, of rebellion. He has much to demolish so that he may create. He has much to erase so that he may build. He has to burn the litter left by traditions and clear the mind’s field of worthless weeds, so that upon it the flowers of love and beauty may be cultivated.
This is a very great responsibility. Only if the teacher can fulfill it will the birth of a new man—and a new humanity—be possible.