Shiksha Main Kranti #10

My beloved Atman!
I would like to begin this talk with a small story.

At the gate of an emperor a great crowd had gathered. From early morning it had begun to swell. By noon almost the whole city had converged there. Whoever came and stood would not move away. Some extraordinary, unprecedented happening had taken place at the emperor’s door. By evening people had arrived even from distant villages. What had happened there—so that everyone stood spellbound!

Early in the morning a beggar had come and asked alms of the emperor. He had said, “I accept alms only on one condition—my begging bowl must be filled to the brim. I never go away from any door with my bowl half-filled. If you can fill it completely, give; otherwise I will find some other door.” The emperor laughed. Perhaps this beggar did not know before whom he was standing—what a powerful emperor! This madman need not lay down conditions about whether his bowl can be filled or not. He ordered his ministers, “Not with grain—fill his bowl with gold ashrafis.” The beggar spoke again, “You heard my condition, I hope? I will not move with a bowl half-filled. If you can fill it totally, give; otherwise I will seek another door.” It was a sharp challenge to the emperor’s ego. He told his ministers, “Go—and fill his bowl with diamonds and jewels. And do not stop until the gems begin to spill over the rim.”

The ministers went. That emperor lacked no wealth. His treasuries were inexhaustible. A single begging bowl—what could it do to diamonds and jewels! He had looted the whole earth and poured it into his coffers. But the moment the bowl was filled, the king realized his mistake—he had staked wrongly. Had this been a contest between two emperors, he would have won. But he had entered into a contest with a beggar—and was in great trouble. As soon as his ministers poured diamonds and jewels into the bowl, they were astonished: the jewels, the moment they touched it, vanished as though into nowhere. The bowl remained empty, empty. Then began a race—the ministers ran back and forth, fetching treasures, pouring them in—and all dissolved into the bowl. That is why the crowd gathered, and kept growing. No one moved away: “What will happen? Will the emperor be defeated today before a beggar?”

By evening the emperor understood that there was no alternative but defeat. As the sun set he fell at the beggar’s feet and said, “Forgive me—I have blundered. I forgot the old truth: who has ever filled the bowl of a beggar? I forgot! Forgive me. I am vanquished and prostrate at your feet. But before you go, tell me one thing—by what mantra is this bowl empowered? How does all wealth poured into it disappear? Why does it never fill? This little-looking bowl—will it swallow the riches of the whole earth?” The beggar said, “No mantra empowers it, no secret is hidden in it. A simple formula—I have made this bowl out of the human heart. The human heart never fills, nor can this bowl ever be filled.” Whether the story be true or not is immaterial.

I call that education real which initiates man into the art of filling the bowl of the heart. All other education is partial, deluded, and dangerous. To this day education has not stood this test. Rather, the educated man’s bowl becomes bigger than the uneducated. It becomes more difficult, more impossible to fill. The more education increases in the world, the more beggars increase. The more education increases, the larger grows the bowl of ambition. It cannot be filled even with all the riches of the earth. So—is education giving man bliss, or pain and tension? Is it giving peace, or restlessness? This is not the question of today’s education only; it is the question of education up to today.

It is not a matter of old and new—education everywhere, in every age, has been the path of teaching ambition. Education has not yet produced a non-ambitious mind, a mind empty of ambition. We measure a person’s being educated by how high a fever of ambition we can instill in him. From the first class the training in this disease begins, and goes on to the final classes of the university. From the very first class the initiation is into one lesson—the lesson of ambition.

And do you know this—that among all the diseases that can afflict the human mind, ambition is the greatest? And do you know this—that the man who becomes enclosed within the circle of ambition, in whose very life-breath the fever of ambition is absorbed, can run his whole life long in this world and never come upon peace or joy? Do you know—no poison greater than ambition has yet been discovered?

But what else do we teach except ambition? And whatever else we teach stands on the foundation of ambition. From the very first year, what do we teach children? We teach running; we teach the race to get ahead; we teach competition. We teach: do not remain behind—go ahead, stand first. These counsels sound very sweet. They sound very pleasant to a child’s mind—and their impact is deep. But we do not even notice that the race to be first has been driving man mad.

Jesus Christ said a wondrous thing, something worth deep pondering—perhaps very few have noticed it; even the followers of Jesus did not. For whatever is truly vital, followers are always smart at leaving it aside, removing it from sight. Jesus said: Blessed are those who are able to stand last. This aphorism is extraordinary. We bless the one who succeeds in standing first. We bless the one who passes ahead of all. But Jesus says: Blessed are those who are able to stand last—for the kingdom of God shall be theirs. What does it mean, this capacity to stand last? Who stands last? And what is the meaning of the race to be first? The race to be first is ambition. From smaller chairs to bigger chairs; from bigger chairs to still bigger chairs. From Baroda to Ahmedabad, from Ahmedabad to Delhi. We induct the whole world into a single fever—run, and get ahead.

When Radhakrishnan went from teacher to President, all the teachers of India said, “A great event has happened.” They began to celebrate Teachers’ Day. Great honor, they said, has come to teachers. By some mistake I too was invited by certain people to a teachers’ conference in Delhi. I told them, “The day some President becomes a teacher, that day celebrate Teachers’ Day. A teacher’s becoming President is no reason to celebrate. That is not the honor of the teacher—that is the honor of the politician. That is the glory of posts, not of teaching. If someday a President would renounce his post and say, ‘Let me go to New Era High School in Baroda and become a teacher,’ then celebrate Teachers’ Day. Before that they are days for mourning, not for festivities. Why should teachers be honored because someone became President? Is being President a value?”

But if we value standing first, then being President has value—because he has stood first in the whole nation. From the very first day we are initiating children to stand first. If there are thirty children in the first class, the one who stands first becomes “blessed.” Those left behind become sad, impoverished; they feel inferior. Do you know who has created so much inferiority complex in the world? Your education that teaches “stand first.” Out of thirty children only one can come first—twenty-nine will be left behind. To make one child first, the souls of twenty-nine are being wounded. To honor one child, twenty-nine are being made poor within—disappointed, dejected. To crown one, twenty-nine are being sacrificed. Do you see this, or do you not?

These few successful ones—behind them stand lines upon lines of the unsuccessful. Have you any sense of that? And these five or ten successful ones do not make the world—the world is made by all those who were left behind and failed. If the world is made out of such dejected people, how can it be a heaven? It is bound to be a hell. If this world is to be made by the defeated, it cannot be a good world.

Any education, any society, any culture that condemns a vast section as defeated and inferior is not worthy of welcome, nor is such education worthy of respect. But we only look at the one who has succeeded—who looks at the twenty-nine who have failed? Let them stand in the shadows, cover their faces—why look at them? Why cast any light on them? It is their fault, we think—they lost.

But I say to you: however much those twenty-nine try, from among the thirty only one can ever be first. Twenty-nine can never be first. From among the thirty only one can win; twenty-nine are bound to lose—no matter who that one is, it makes no difference. And do you know what basic wounds you have inflicted on the minds of the twenty-nine who have lost? From the beginning you have proved their life-energy tired. From the very start they will not enter life filled with hope, but laden with despair, insult, frustration. Then if these defeated ones are filled with rage, begin to break life, smash things here and there, express their anger all around—who is responsible? Who will take responsibility? Education—and the system of education. Who else?

Do you see that from the very day education has spread, a deep mood of destruction has arisen in the minds of the young? People say, “The people of earlier times were better—they did not vandalize.” The sole reason was—they were uneducated. Nothing else. Even today, wherever there is illiteracy in the world, the youth are quiet.

Am I saying that to keep peace we should keep the world uneducated? No, I am not saying that. I am saying: this education is wrong; we must find another kind. Sooner or later we will have to think about this. If we do not, this very education can become the cause of our collective suicide. The first false note in this education is ambition.

Where does ambition take the human mind? When a person is engrossed in the effort to come first, do you know what he is learning? What is he doing? What is happening within? Through what process is his mind passing—what is being built there? And the happiness he gets in coming first—do you know upon what that happiness stands?

It is not the joy of coming first; it is the pleasure of making others unhappy. It is not the happiness of one’s own firstness; it is the enjoyment of others’ sorrow. From the tears in the eyes of those left behind arises the smile of the one who stands first.

That is why ambition inevitably teaches violence. Ambition is the deepest outcome of violence. At the center of ambition lies violence. And once, by the time one becomes youth, the mind is initiated into this, one runs this race throughout life. Who cares upon whose shoulders one must place one’s feet, whose corpses must become one’s steps? There is no attention for that.

Life is short—and it is very important to reach first. Very important—because the world sings the praises of those who come first. Then no one asks how they arrived first. What happened behind their success—no one asks! Success is beyond question; only failure is interrogated. People ask the unsuccessful, “How did you fail?” No one asks the successful by what ladders, what rungs, what bridges they crossed to reach—whether there are bloodstains on those steps, whether corpses lie behind those milestones. No one asks. Success, once achieved, becomes glorious. So man keeps running and running. And we start teaching this from the first day.

Why do I say that the happiness of coming first is not the happiness of one’s own arrival?

In a small village lived a friend of mine. He built a large, grand house. He was delighted when I visited. Again and again he asked during my three days there, “How do you like it?” Two years later I went again. His house was just as fine—but one mishap had occurred: next door a larger house had arisen. Now he did not ask me a thing about his own house; rather, he looked very sad. I asked, “You seem a little depressed, a bit forlorn—what is the matter?” He said, “Since that bigger house arose next door, an inexplicable sadness has come over me.” I told him, “May I submit—your joy was not because of your own house; it was because of the huts beside it. The palace next door has made you sad. Your house is the same, unchanged. If the joy were truly from the house, it would still be here. But that joy has vanished—because a bigger house has come up next door. When there were huts, your heart was very happy.”

The rich man’s joy is not in wealth—it is in the poor around him. The beautiful person’s joy is not in beauty—it is in the hidden ugly faces around. The victor’s joy is not in victory—it is in the queues of the defeated. And this is what we teach; this is what we labor for; this is what we arrange and organize—and in the end, this is what we hand down.

And do you know—even those few who do become first, do they truly become blissful? For when one’s joy is built upon others’ misery, one sits upon a volcano. He cannot be truly joyful. And then there is a strange thing: in this race to be first, however far you go, you never finally become first. Not a single person has ever been able to say, “I am absolutely first; beyond me there is no one.” Is there anyone—Alexander, Napoleon, Hitler, Stalin? Did any reach a place beyond which there is no one? Not one, ever.

When Alexander was dying, someone said to him, “You have conquered the whole world; you must be pleased!” Alexander replied, “As I neared conquering the entire world, a sadness began to gather: there is only one world; what will I do next—there is no second.” He spoke truly. Before we can conquer one world, we need another to conquer. No one ever becomes first—does this tell you something?

A scientist—let us call him Ferrier—who researched small insects, found a species that always marches in file behind a leader insect. Like human beings they must have a tendency to follow a leader. He placed the leader on a round plate, and released ten or fifteen followers behind. They began circling the plate, round and round. The leader kept going; the rest followed. There is no end to a circle; it has no terminus. They kept moving until the scientist grew tired—and the insects, tired unto death. Yet they continued until they fell, one by one, and died—still circling.

Man too moves in some circular track; therefore no one ever becomes first. There are always those behind—and always those ahead. In a circle there can be no first. However long you walk, you will still find others before you and others behind. No one ever becomes first. And yet we bless the one who will be first. But blessedness does not come—frustration comes; anxiety comes; the sense of defeat comes. This is the first aphorism around which all education till now has gone wrong.

The second aphorism, because of which education does not become life-giving, is this: we teach ideals—but have not been able to make the individual self-rooted. What do I mean by self-rooted? Perhaps you have never even thought of it.

Man has not yet reached the point where he can say to a person: “Become what you are.” We say to every child, “Become like Rama, become like Krishna, become like Buddha.” And if the old pictures fade, then, “Become like Ramakrishna, become like Vivekananda, become like Gandhi”—as if every person were born to become someone else!

No one is born to become someone else. But we have not yet been able to say, “Become like yourself.” Education has not gathered that courage. The consequences have been disastrous—beyond what we can imagine. For without understanding a science of human life, this has gone on being said. However much a man tries, he cannot become like anyone else. Till today two identical persons have never been born. How long since Rama? How long since Christ? How long since Buddha? How many have tried to become like them—has anyone else become them? Do not bring to mind the Rama of Ramlila. You might become the Ramlila’s Rama—but not Rama. And the Ramlila’s Rama is an ugliness—because he is false; he is acting, not soul. At best, with great effort, you can become an actor—and then you fall into hypocrisy. You lose your soul; you fall from your own center.

Whenever a man tries to become like someone else, he falls from his soul’s center—because it is simply impossible. Each person is unrepeatable, incomparable, unique. Not only man—if from the streets of Baroda we pick up a stone and search the whole earth for another exactly like it, we shall not find it. There are not even two identical stones on this vast earth—how then two identical men? Yes, Ford’s cars can be identical. Machines can be identical—human beings cannot be.

And cursed will be the day when we become capable of producing identical human beings. No misfortune could be greater. Because the day we succeed in making men alike, that very day man’s soul will disappear, and man will become a machine. In man’s variety lies his humanity; the more diverse the humans on this earth, the greater its dignity. Yet we have tried to cast people in one mold, one pattern—make them alike. Rama is beautiful, Krishna is lovely, Gandhi has his own flavor of being—but if someone else tries to become like them, he goes wrong.

Why does he go wrong?

Imagine I walk into a garden and say to the jasmine, “Become a rose,” and to the rose, “Become a lotus.” First of all, the flowers will not listen to me. They are not as foolish as humans to come together to obey anyone and everyone. But it could be—living with humans some flowers may have been spoiled. Company leaves its mark. The animals in the jungle do not suffer the diseases that afflict those who live with men. Bad company leaves its mark—and there is no worse company for flowers and birds than man. Suppose some flowers, spoilt by our company, agreed to obey me—what would happen to the garden?

The garden would stop flowering. Because if the jasmine tries to become a rose, and the rose a lotus—one thing is certain: the jasmine cannot become a rose. There is no possibility. But in trying to become a rose, the jasmine will not be able to be jasmine either. All its energy will be spent in trying to be a rose—and what it could have been, it will miss.

In the human garden, flowering has stopped. Now and then, by some accident, a person may flower—but most live and die without flowering. Who is responsible? The education, the culture, the civilization, the teachings that say, “Become like so-and-so. Become like Gandhi; become like Buddha.” No one is born to become someone else, nor can one become, nor is there any need. Each person has to become that which he can become. Therefore we need an education that helps discover a person’s hidden potential—not one that imposes an ideal from above, but one that brings into expression what is within—lets the hidden secret, the seeds within, sprout.

As of now education is a pattern, a mold. Emerson once welcomed a young man who had returned to his village as the first graduate from the university. The villagers spoke grand words in his honor. Emerson said something worth remembering: “I welcome this young man—not because he has brought a university degree, but because he has returned from the university having saved his talent. That is why I welcome him. To return from the university with one’s genius intact is very difficult.”

Passing through a mechanical system for fifteen or twenty years produces mediocrities—not the gifted. It produces a middlebrow mind. It does not produce genius; rather, it crushes genius—suppresses it, kills it. And the root cause of this suppression and killing is simply that we have not yet accepted that every human being has the right to be himself.

So the first thing I want to say is: we need an education that does not teach ambition. But then—what shall we teach if not ambition? For we know only one trick: inflame the fever that you must get ahead of others, or you will be beaten. Then he runs, and runs; seeing everyone running, he understands nothing—he must run with the crowd, for if he stands still he will be trampled. We teach him to run with the crowd. We think only then he will learn something. If we do not teach running, he will learn nothing.

I have heard: from Kashi a dog set out for Delhi. Seeing men heading to Delhi, news must have reached the dogs too that one must go to Delhi. So the dogs told their leader, “You go to Delhi. Without going to Delhi nothing is possible. Times have changed—once people of Delhi came to Kashi, now people of Kashi go to Delhi. You go.” They held a grand ceremony, garlanded him, and the dog set off. They sent word to the Delhi dogs: “Our leader is coming. Keep a room reserved at the circuit house. It will take a month—long journey—but he has decided to reach Delhi. Make arrangements.”

But something strange happened. He was to arrive after a month; the leader reached Delhi in seven days. The Delhi dogs were astonished. They had seen many leaders—but none who came so fast. “Seven days! How did you manage?” The dog panted and said, “I will tell you. When I started from Kashi I thought it might take a month, perhaps more. But the dogs of the next village began to chase me from where the Kashi dogs left me. They chased me all the way to the next village. Then other dogs took over—they chased me. I got no chance to rest. I could not stop anywhere. A month’s journey ended in seven days. But my friends, my journey is ending altogether now…” Saying so, the dog died. He reached Delhi—but a corpse, dead. He reached very fast!

We too teach man to run—and all the other people run after him. No one allows him to rest. First the parents are after him; then the wife; then the children. They keep driving him. One day he reaches Delhi—but only his corpse arrives; no living man reaches. There the breath breaks. We teach running—but in this race no one reaches anywhere. Run, and run—and there is nowhere to arrive.

Shall we call this righteous education? But before us, before educators, the question remains: if we do not teach ambition, then no one will move. All will become inert; no one will grow. No—man can move in another way as well. And those who have ever moved truly, moved straight and simple—not in competition with others but in their own joy—have moved in another way. Vincent Van Gogh, a Dutch painter, was asked by his friends, “Why do you paint? To get ahead of other painters?” Van Gogh said, “Other painters? They have not occurred to me. I paint because painting is my joy. Ahead of others—what question? If each day I can go beyond myself—that is enough.”

He said something wondrous: “If each day I can go beyond myself, that’s enough.” What comparison with others? What competition? The other is the other; I am I. Where is the comparison, the relation? The other will be the other—and I will be able to be myself. Each person will be what he can be. What has the other to do with it? Van Gogh said: “If I can surpass myself, it is enough. I paint out of my own joy.”

Can it not be that someone learns mathematics—and is taught—because learning mathematics is his joy? Can it not be that someone learns poetry because poetry is his joy? Someone music—because music is his delight? And each day he moves to transcend himself, so that where I was yesterday, where yesterday’s sun left me, today’s rising sun may not find me there—I have gone ahead. If daily I can transcend myself—can there not be such a non-competitive education? You might say, “Perhaps—but then not so many will learn mathematics, not so many music.” True—many are learning mathematics only because without it they cannot stand in competition. But what need is there that many must learn mathematics? Let each learn that which is his joy.

Abraham Lincoln became President of America. He was the son of a cobbler. Many felt hurt: a cobbler’s son—and President! On the first day, in his first address to the Senate, a man stood and said, “Mr. Abraham—do not forget that your father used to mend shoes in my house—he made shoes for us.” The whole assembly laughed. It was said to embarrass Lincoln—to remind all he was a cobbler’s son. Lincoln said, “My friend has reminded me of my father. At such a moment, the remembrance of my father fills my heart with gratitude. And I must say—my father was such a good cobbler that I doubt I can ever be such a good President. He was an extraordinary craftsman. And to the friend who has spoken, I want to ask—did my father ever do your shoes badly? Were they weak? People praised his shoes—he was a skilled artisan. I do not hope to be as good a President as he was a cobbler.”

The question is not whether you become President or not a cobbler. The question is—whatever you become, let it be the joy of your whole being—even if you become a cobbler, a street sweeper, a weaver. Weaving cloth has its art and skill—not only composing poems. Making shoes has its art—not only sculpting statues.

Let each move toward what is his joy—and be immersed in it. And daily transcend himself.

Can such an education not be created in the future? There is no reason why not. Then we will be able to give each person his own individuality. We will free him from fever, save him from the race, save him from competition and violence. And we will also give him the second aphorism to make him self-rooted—to be as he is.

There is but one sadhana of life: that what you are, what is hidden within you—that you become. Then fulfillment happens, apta-kamata happens—desirelessness fulfilled. He who becomes that for which he was born—when the seed becomes a sprout, and the sprout blossoms into a flower, and under the winds and the sun the flower dances—have you seen its joy? What is that joy? It is the joy that it has fully flowered; flowering has happened, complete blossoming—whether that flower is but a blade of grass’s bloom or a lotus! Do you know, the sun does not pour its light longer upon the lotus, saying, “You are a lotus, a high-born Brahmin.” Nor does it shove aside the grass-flower, saying, “Move, Shudra—why are you in the way? We are going to give light to the lotuses!” Neither the winds of God dwell any less upon the grass flower, nor the sun’s light, nor the rain that falls from the sky. The grass-flower has its own meaning in this vast cosmos—and the lotus has its own. And in their meanings there is no higher or lower. When the grass-flower blossoms in its total delight, it is not smaller or lower than a lotus. If both blossom totally, both attain the same joy in their being.

Joy is not related to being a lotus or a grass-flower. Joy is related to total flowering, to full blossoming.

Let every person blossom completely, become centered in himself; let him become what he is. Then keep two aphorisms in mind.

First—education must be freed from ambition. Second—from ideals. It is necessary to save each person from imitation of others, from following others, so each may attain his own destiny. The day we can develop such an education, a totally new dawn of fortune can arise for humanity. Till now we have lived in a very dark night. Till now we have lived sick and deranged. Our condition has been like that of madmen. But the human mind can become healthy, can evolve—it can blossom like a full flower.

If in the world of education a fundamental revolution happens around these two aphorisms, it is possible. Otherwise, what has been happening will go on on a larger scale—madness will increase, because education will increase. The day the whole earth is educated, it is not surprising if the whole earth takes the form of a vast madhouse. Do you know? Today the most educated nations have the most mad people. Today America is at the forefront in madness. In America, every day three million people take treatment for mental ill-health—every day! These are government figures—and you know government figures are never wholly true. And regarding madness, the government can never give true figures. The real numbers must be far greater. In New York, thirty percent cannot sleep without sleeping pills—thirty percent! The psychologists of New York say that by the end of this century no resident of New York will be able to sleep without drugs.

What happens in New York in this century will happen in India in the next. We will not remain behind for long. Our leaders will not allow it—they say, “We must compete; we will not remain behind. We must stand with the rest, move with the rest. How long will we be behind?” Our leaders refuse to accept being behind. They will very soon place us alongside them. We have built houses like theirs; we are making machines like theirs. In making humans like them we will not take long. That will happen soon—all over the earth.

With the advance of civilization, madness has advanced. It should have been the reverse—that with civilization, madness decreases; that man becomes more gentle, more peaceful, more settled, more at home in himself. It has not happened. Man is being produced who, like a madman, wanders outside himself. And this keeps increasing day by day. What its final results will be is hard to say. I do not see danger in hydrogen bombs or atom bombs. They are not our greatest peril. I do not see some outer catastrophe ending man. The danger I see is that man is becoming so unhealthy within that it is impossible to predict the end.

Toynbee recently said something very significant: past civilizations were destroyed by outside invasions—by foreigners. But the coming civilization—ours—will be destroyed from within. There is no fear of outer attack. But the way man is becoming inwardly—diseased—he can be destroyed by that. Except through education there is no direction to remove this disease. Therefore I have placed before you these two small points.

I do not say—accept my words. I am no teacher to insist, “Accept what I say—or you will fail.” I only request: think over what I have said. Perhaps you may find some truth in it. And if any truth appears through your own thinking, reflection, and churning—then it is no longer mine; it becomes yours. And only that truth which becomes one’s own is meaningful. Nothing else has meaning.

These few things I have said. You listened with so much love and peace—I am delighted and grateful. And in the end I bow to the Divine dwelling in all. Please accept my pranam.