My beloved Atman! True learning is that which sets one free — sa vidya ya vimuktaye. This is what I wish to speak to you about this morning. How wondrous this utterance is. How original this definition is. It is both the definition and the touchstone of learning: that which liberates is vidya. But perhaps you have not thought of the other side of it. We are not free. Then the learning we have acquired cannot be vidya; it must be avidya. Our lives have known no liberation. The schools in which we studied, then, were not schools — they were a-schools, centers of avidya. The criterion and the definition of vidya are only these: that life comes to know the bliss of liberation. And the learning that yields no such bliss — what shall we call it? Across the world learning goes on increasing, schools multiply, colleges multiply, universities multiply — yet man is not seen to be free. Rather man is seen to be more bound, more fettered, falling lower and lower. With this growing learning, have we not made some fundamental mistake? Is this growth perhaps the growth of avidya? And I want to tell you: it is avidya. I have no doubt that it is avidya. I am certain that what we are propagating worldwide as learning is avidya, because it does not appear to liberate the human soul. Man seems more bound, imprisoned. Human consciousness does not seem to rise upward; it seems to sink downward. Man’s prana does not seem to flow toward the divine; it is sliding down toward animality. Shall we call those initiated into such learning learned? While we spread this entire learning and labor for it tirelessly — with good intentions! Good people labor across the world that colleges grow, schools grow, hostels grow, education grows, man become knowledgeable — yet the experience of the last two thousand years says otherwise. On one side knowledge increases; on the other, the stature of man seems to shrink. On one side learning expands; on the other, life seems to wither. On one side the intellect develops; on the other, the soul seems to break. Somewhere a basic error is happening. Somewhere a foundational mistake. Perhaps from the very beginning our direction and our journey have gone astray — and then whichever way we go, that direction cannot bring us bliss. Today the world has more learning, more education, more schools than any century before — and yet today the world has more restlessness, more sorrow, more pain than any century before. The thing we call learning has harmed human life. We, with good intentions, teach our children to read and write, make them big. Our desires, our dreams are that they will rise higher. But after all the schooling we find they have fallen lower. We see this with our own eyes, and yet we continue to construct the same kind of learning, the same kind of schools, the same kind of hostels! It is hard to imagine anyone more blind than man; it is hard to imagine anyone more foolish. Man has drawn no conclusions, no results from his past experience. A small incident comes to mind. Gautam Buddha arrived at a village. That morning a poor cobbler, Sudas, had risen at dawn. The sun had just risen, and behind his hut in his little pond a lotus had bloomed — out of season. It was not the season for a lotus to open. Sudas thought, If I take this flower to the market, surely today I will find some daring buyer ready to give me a rupee — an out-of-season lotus, someone will buy it. He plucked the flower and set off toward the market, thinking, If I get a rupee I will be blessed. He was on the road when the chariot of the city’s wealthy merchant came by. Seeing the flower, the merchant stopped and said, How much, Sudas? Sudas did not have the courage to ask for a rupee. He only said, It is an out-of-season flower; whatever you give. The merchant said, I will give you five hundred gold coins, but do not sell it to anyone else. Give me the flower! He had scarcely said this when the king’s general arrived on horseback. He said, Sudas, I have bought the flower, and whatever the merchant gives I will give ten times more. Sudas said, Have you people gone mad? I could not muster the nerve to ask even for a rupee; the merchant offers five hundred gold coins, and you will give ten times that! Granted it is out of season, but who would give so much? You will give tenfold of five hundred? As they spoke, the king’s chariot also arrived. The king said, The flower is bought, and whatever the general gives I will give ten times more. Sudas said, What is this! What has happened to you people! From whom I did not expect even a rupee, they can give so much for a flower! What is the reason? The king said, You do not know: the Buddha is entering the village. We go to welcome him. I wish to offer this flower myself — an out-of-season lotus. He cannot even imagine that anyone would lay a lotus at his feet today. I want to offer this flower. Sudas said, Then there is no question of selling. I shall offer it myself. I will take this flower myself. The king said, Sudas, you have gone mad. Until now Sudas had thought the king had gone mad, the merchant had gone mad, the general had gone mad. Now all three said, Are you mad? The poverty of your births will be erased for generations to come. Sell the flower! Sudas said, It is already erased — I shall myself offer this flower. He went on foot to wait outside the town for the Buddha’s arrival. The king reached first, the general reached first, the merchant reached first. They told the Buddha: An astonishing event has happened today. A poorest-of-the-poor cobbler of the village has refused to sell a lotus flower at any price, saying, I will offer it myself. Then Sudas came and placed the flower at the Buddha’s feet. The Buddha said, Mad Sudas, why did you not sell it? The poverty of your lineage would have ended. Sudas said, Master, money is not greater than love. And the soul cannot be sold for coins. So long as it was just a flower, I was ready to sell. Since your feet came to mind, there is no question of selling. I will offer it myself. Can the poor not love? Can the poor not offer respect? Can the poor not give devotion? Do the poor not also have a soul? Kindly accept this flower. The Buddha said to his monks: Monks, Sudas is not literate, but he is learned; he is educated. Monks, Sudas is educated, though he is not schooled. He is unread, yet he is vidyavan. A monk asked, What do you mean by vidyavan? The Buddha said, One who has a sense of higher values in life, who can dedicate lower values to higher — that one is vidyavan. Sudas rejected money for love. Can we call modern people learned when they reject love for the sake of money? Can we call them educated whose entire education murders the higher values and puts the lower in front? Who are forever ready to lose the vast for the petty? Who can sell the soul for the body? For whom no value exists beyond wealth. In whose eyes no journey exists beyond status. In whose lives and minds nothing meaningful counts beyond the futile — can all such people be called learned? And can such learning liberate? It cannot. And yet that is all we have. We make people learned — we turn them into engineers, doctors, chemists, mathematicians. But none of these are vidyas. These are means of livelihood, devices for earning bread — not vidya. We send our children to Europe and America, thinking we are doing something great. We are only teaching them the skills for earning bread — nothing more. We are not giving them vidya. We are not linking them to vidya. Vidya’s concern is the birth of higher values in life. What are the higher values? If they are born, man is bound to be free. If they are born, man is bound to be filled with bliss. The higher life rises, the more it becomes free. The more life moves toward the higher, the more fetters fall away. What are bonds? Bonds are of lowness. What are chains? Chains are of lowness. What is liberation? The journey into height is liberation — to rise ever higher, to transcend oneself each day. The journey into height is vidya. But do we teach self-transcendence? We teach self-filling. We teach selfishness. We teach exploitation. We teach how to cram the mind somehow, how to fulfill one’s ambitions, how to accomplish one’s desires skillfully. And we think we are imparting learning. There can be no notion more futile than this. In a very ancient gurukul three students had passed their final examinations. Yet their master kept saying, One more test remains. The last day came, the convocation happened, the three youths received their degrees. They wondered, The final test remains — will it remain forever? The test did not happen, and the degrees were given! They thought it best to remain silent. Perhaps the master has forgotten. Perhaps we have escaped one examination. They took their mats, their loincloths, their books, bowed at the master’s feet at dusk and set out. On the way they kept wondering about the final test. Evening gathered, the sun set. A dense forest at night — they ran quickly. They had to reach the village before nightfall. The path was dangerous, wild animals were about, the sun had gone down, darkness began to fall — and right there by a thicket, on the footpath, many thorns lay scattered. One youth leapt across. The second stepped down off the path and went around. But the third set down his books and began to pick up the thorns and throw them aside. His two friends said, Have you gone mad? Night is falling, dusk has come, darkness will descend — we must reach the village quickly. This is no time to pick thorns. Not the occasion — get up and come! If we are late, there may be danger. The third said, Friends, if it were day, there would be less need to worry — whoever came would see the thorns. But now whoever passes this way after us will not be able to see them. And if we see the thorns and still walk on, all our education has been wasted. I will pick the thorns; you go on. They did not know that from the thicket the master would emerge. He had been hiding there. The thorns had been strewn — this was the final test. The master said, Sons, the two of you who crossed over, return; you have failed the final test. And the one who picked the thorns, let him go. One who has learned the art of picking thorns from the paths of life is educated, is vidyavan. And one who picks thorns from others’ ways will one day come to the capacity to spread flowers upon those ways. And one who sees thorns on others’ paths and slips by with averted eyes will one day acquire the qualification to scatter thorns on others’ paths. Return, you two. And to the third the master said, You have passed; go. They had not even imagined that this would be the last test. The final examination is always the examination of love. The ultimate value is always the value of love. Life’s loftiest heights are the heights of love. Life’s snow-peaks, Gaurishankar, Everest — they are the Everests of love. The thing we call learning — does it teach love? Our learning has no scent of love. It does not teach love; on the contrary, it teaches ego. Ego and love are opposite values. Where ego is, love cannot be. Where love is, ego cannot be. Learning teaches ego, and from childhood we make all arrangements to sharpen the ego. In first grade the child is admitted and we say, Come first. The one who comes first is rewarded; the last are unrewarded. They are left neglected by the roadside of life. In a class of thirty, one child will come first; twenty-nine will be left behind. Upon the sadness of twenty-nine, upon the pain of twenty-nine, stands the joy of one. This we call learning! Upon the suffering of the twenty-nine, upon their poverty and inferiority, upon their frustration and defeat, stands the victory of one — this we call learning! And the joy of the one who comes first is not really that he has come first; his joy is that he did not let the others come first — he left them behind. We are teaching violence. We are teaching himsa. Violence has only one meaning — to take pleasure in the pain of another. Neither by straining water before drinking nor by not eating at night does one escape violence. Violence has only one essential meaning: joy in another’s suffering. And what do we teach children? We teach them to rejoice in the pain of others. If there is only one student in a class and he comes first, he feels no happiness. If there are thirty, the happiness grows — to have left twenty-nine behind, to have made them unhappy. If there are three thousand in the class, the joy grows more. If there are three lakhs, the joy knows no bounds. If there are thirty crores, the joy is immense. Becoming president brings the same joy — to be first among forty crores. That is why politics is violence — politics is the race to be first. Religion is the opposite direction; vidya is the opposite direction. Jesus Christ has said, Blessed are those who can stand last. A strange statement. Either Jesus is mad, or we all are mad — we who run schools, impart learning, and call ourselves teachers! Jesus says, Blessed are those who can stand last; we teach, Blessed are those who can stand first. We teach the race to be first. The race to be first can never liberate anyone, for basic reasons. First, the one who enters the race to be first enters duality, enters conflict, enters struggle, begins war. He assumes enmity with others. One who assumes enmity can never be free; he remains bound to his enemies. Only the one who is a friend to all can be free. And only he can be friend to all who is in competition with none, in no rivalry with anyone. What is the meaning of friendship except this — that I am in competition with no one? And what is enmity except this — that I am a competitor? My victory or your victory — these are the options. Either I, or you. There is no meaning to both together. We teach competition! From childhood we pour into them the poison of competition, of violence, of ambition. And then we think these are schools! These are a-schools — centers of avidya. Here the poison is poured into the mind of man. Here from childhood the mind is distorted and deranged. Here insanity is taught, and then he runs like a madman his whole life. Whatever the race may be — to get ahead in wealth, to get ahead in position, to reach Delhi — it makes no difference. We teach the race, the fever of racing. From fever no one can become healthy. I have heard: a dog of Kashi got the idea to travel to Delhi. Seeing people every day going toward Delhi, why should not dogs also get the idea? Times have changed; once people came from Delhi to Kashi. Now everyone goes from Kashi to Delhi. So the dogs decided to send their representative, their leader, to Delhi. They informed the dogs of Delhi: Our dog is coming — reserve a room in the circuit house. It will take a month for a dog to make the journey on foot. The dog must have had an Indian mind, walked in the fashion of the old rishis — on foot. A month it would take. The dogs of Delhi waited. They were already used to welcoming leaders; daily experience. And now their own leader was coming — they arranged a great ceremony. But the dog arrived in seven days. The Delhi dogs were amazed. They had seen leaders arriving, but no leader reaches Delhi so swiftly — in seven days! It is a long journey; Delhi is far. People reach Delhi at the very end of life; that is why Delhi becomes a grave — few get the chance to return. But the dog arrived in seven days! He must be cleverer than men. They asked, How did you come in seven days? The dog said, Don’t ask. Our brethren made me complete the journey in seven days. The dogs of Kashi had barely left me when the dogs of the next village set upon me. They chased me to the next village, where those dogs chased me further. I got no chance to rest, nowhere to stay. I came straight, non-stop, to Delhi. But even as he said this, the dog died — because one who travels non-stop goes into death, not into life. Still, the dog completed the journey — the fever of running. And runners-on stand on all sides. We do the same with our children. We say, Go to Delhi. And then everyone sets upon them. In childhood the parents are after them. When they grow up, the wife is after them. When they grow old, the children are after them — Go ahead, go ahead, go ahead! It is essential to reach Delhi. Without reaching Delhi life has no meaning. We kindle a fever around the child. We initiate him into fever. And the more intense the fever, the more madly the child begins to run. This we call life’s movement! Will this movement liberate life? This movement can lead to death, not to freedom. Most of us die; we do not become liberated. The path to liberation is wholly other. That learning will liberate which is empty of ambition, which is non-ambitious, which does not generate ambition. You will ask, If learning does not create ambition, how will man move ahead? First, moving ahead is not itself a value. Second, there are two kinds of moving ahead — one, ahead of the other; two, ahead of oneself. I move beyond where I was yesterday. My competition is with myself, not with you. Where the sun left me last evening, when it rises today it should not find me there. I move beyond myself; I self-transcend; I overpass myself. That learning liberates which teaches the art of crossing oneself, going beyond oneself. That learning does not liberate which teaches the art of competing with others and outstripping others. Remember, one who gets caught in outstripping others runs all his life and reaches nowhere, because there are always others ahead to be outstripped. But if someone engages in the movement of crossing himself, in the direction of going beyond himself, he will one day reach where nothing remains to be crossed. Mahavira reaches there; Buddha reaches there; Jesus Christ reaches there; Krishna reaches there — where the ultimate state of self-transcendence is attained. The name of that ultimate state is the experience of Paramatman, the experience of Atman, Moksha — beyond which there is no movement, no direction, no further arriving. The name of the final goal is Moksha. The name of the final goal is liberation. When a person transcends himself in all ways and nothing remains ahead, then — then liberation is attained. But those who busy themselves in outstripping others can never reach the final goal, because the others are many — the Other is many. It is not easy, not possible, to surpass them. Has anyone to this day been able to say, I have come first, now there is no one ahead of me? Could any Napoleon, any Alexander, any Nehru dare to say, I am in front and none is before me? No one can. There is a secret here. There was a scientist named Fourier. He experimented on a species of beetles. They are most strange: they always walk behind their leader, and until the leader keeps going they cannot stop — much like humans. Many diseases of man are in other creatures too — for instance, marching behind a leader. Fourier devised a trick. He put ten or fifteen of these insects into a round plate. They began circling behind their leader. The plate was round — it had no end. Round and round they went. Until the leader stops, the followers cannot stop; and while followers keep going, how can the leader lose face and stop? He too keeps going. Alexander goes, Napoleon goes; followers go. At last they circled for twenty-four hours, without stopping. If the leader stops, those behind say the leader has failed — choose another. If the followers stop, the leader cries, What lazy sluggards! Finally the insects fell from exhaustion — and died. It never occurred to them that the journey had no end, that they were moving in a circle. If we look closely at man, to this day no one has reached the end of the journey. This suggests that perhaps our journey is in a round plate — we keep circling. Someone is always ahead, someone always behind. We are never entirely ahead, never entirely behind. Someone ahead, someone behind — and the journey goes on, and we die of exhaustion. Not only Fourier’s insects — men too die thus. Those who fall are pushed aside, and others begin their race. But no one looks closely to see whether we too are not going down the same falling path. No one has ever been first in the race of competition — nor will anyone ever be. That journey has no end. It goes in circles. But there is another journey. And only when the destination arrives does one become free — where the journey ends, there liberation comes. There is another journey: the journey of transcending oneself, of continually crossing oneself, of steadily rising and moving beyond oneself. It has no relation to any other. It has no connection with anyone else. I call that vidya which does not teach moving ahead of others, but teaches self-transcendence — moving ahead of oneself. And the day a person is initiated into moving beyond himself, totally new doors of bliss open in his life, doors he did not even know existed. And the one initiated into moving ahead of others finds, day after day, new avenues of suffering, tension, pain, and restlessness opening up. Remember, to put another behind is to give another pain. And one who gives pain to others can never come to bliss, because what we give to life returns to us. Life is wondrous: whatever we give to it, its echoes begin to come back to us. I was on a hill where there was an echo-point. If you made a sound there, it returned sevenfold. A friend went with me to that echo-point. He began to bark like a dog. The hills were filled with the barking of dogs; sevenfold the sound returned. I said to him, If you must shout, would it not be better to sing a song? If not a song, at least speak in the voice of a cuckoo. Is it necessary to make the sound of a dog? Then he sang a song, and the valleys resounded with the sweet tones of the song, and the song returned. Then I said to my friend, Not only this echo-point — the whole of life is an echo-point. If we hurl abuses, abuses return. If we sing songs, songs return. If we scatter thorns, thorns return. If we shower flowers, flowers return. Life is a great center of resonance — whatever we cry out in the mansion of life, the same returns. So if we are teaching how to give others pain, how to leave others behind, how to sadden others, how to defeat others — remember, the same will return to us, and at the end of life this will be our wealth. How can such wealth bring liberation near? It will bring hell near, suffering near, pain and bondage near. It is surprising that if we scatter thorns on another’s path, we become bound; and if we scatter flowers, we do not become bound. Bondage only means this: when thorns return to us, they bring pain; when flowers return, no cause for pain remains. Blavatsky traveled the whole world. She had a strange habit: she kept a bag in her hand, and again and again, whether on a train or in a carriage, she would put her hand in and throw something out. People would ask, What are you throwing? Blavatsky would say, Flower seeds. I throw them along the roadside. The rains are coming; then these seeds will sprout and the plants will grow. In the rains their flowers will bloom. People would say, You are mad! What is the point of sowing seeds along roads you will never travel again? And suppose flowers do come — what of it? Blavatsky would say, No — along the roads I pass, flowers have come from seeds thrown by someone else, and I am delighted by them. I am in their debt. How shall I repay it? I sow along roads I will not take — but someone will pass and be delighted. And it matters not to me who sees those flowers and who is delighted. I even imagine that flowers have bloomed and someone is delighted, and my heart fills and overflows with joy. Have you ever imagined that through you someone might come to joy? Even in imagination, if you sense that someone’s being is filling with bliss because of you, that in some dark heart a lamp is lit because of you — even the imagination will make your heart rejoice. And when it actually happens, life becomes established in great joy. But day and night we remain engaged in planning and desiring others’ pain, others’ defeat, to bring others down. Then if in the result our heart and soul are filled with sorrow and darkness, do not be surprised. It is simple arithmetic — like two and two are four. It must be so. What shall I call vidya? Which learning is it that liberates? That which carries man nearer to the soul, nearer to truth. And who will take you near truth? Will another take you? No — no one else can. You must refine yourself continually. Day by day you must polish the gold within. Day by day you must pass through the fire so that the dross burns away and only the gold remains. Self-refinement, self-sadhana, the constant rising above oneself — the learning that teaches this becomes the giver of liberation. These few things I have said. In the end, one thing more and I will complete my talk. Whatever sorrow, darkness, hatred and violence has arisen in the human world has arisen from mistaking avidya for vidya. And if human life is to be transformed, we must make a clear distinction — what is avidya and what is vidya. That which teaches livelihood, that which gives a living — roti and rozgar — that is avidya. That which teaches life, that which gives life — not a living, life — that is vidya. And we should open a-schools and schools — avidyalayas and vidyalayas. Avidyalayas so that people may learn to earn their bread, because man cannot live without bread. But by bread alone man cannot live either. We should open avidyalayas and we should open vidyalayas. Right now we call all the a-schools schools, and we even attach a dear name like Mahavira’s — we say, Mahavira Vidyalaya! As yet there is no school on earth worthy of bearing Mahavira’s name — it is too soon. For now all schools are for men. As yet there is no school of Mahavira. But it is possible — if we wish, it can be. One day it may be — the schools of Mahavira, of Buddha, of Christ, of those who knew and lived and attained. May they be one day; for this I pray to Paramatman and to you. You have listened to my words with such love and peace — I am deeply obliged. In the end I bow to the Paramatman dwelling in all. Kindly accept my pranam.
Osho's Commentary
True learning is that which sets one free — sa vidya ya vimuktaye.
This is what I wish to speak to you about this morning. How wondrous this utterance is. How original this definition is. It is both the definition and the touchstone of learning: that which liberates is vidya. But perhaps you have not thought of the other side of it. We are not free. Then the learning we have acquired cannot be vidya; it must be avidya. Our lives have known no liberation. The schools in which we studied, then, were not schools — they were a-schools, centers of avidya. The criterion and the definition of vidya are only these: that life comes to know the bliss of liberation.
And the learning that yields no such bliss — what shall we call it? Across the world learning goes on increasing, schools multiply, colleges multiply, universities multiply — yet man is not seen to be free. Rather man is seen to be more bound, more fettered, falling lower and lower.
With this growing learning, have we not made some fundamental mistake? Is this growth perhaps the growth of avidya? And I want to tell you: it is avidya. I have no doubt that it is avidya. I am certain that what we are propagating worldwide as learning is avidya, because it does not appear to liberate the human soul. Man seems more bound, imprisoned. Human consciousness does not seem to rise upward; it seems to sink downward. Man’s prana does not seem to flow toward the divine; it is sliding down toward animality.
Shall we call those initiated into such learning learned? While we spread this entire learning and labor for it tirelessly — with good intentions! Good people labor across the world that colleges grow, schools grow, hostels grow, education grows, man become knowledgeable — yet the experience of the last two thousand years says otherwise.
On one side knowledge increases; on the other, the stature of man seems to shrink. On one side learning expands; on the other, life seems to wither. On one side the intellect develops; on the other, the soul seems to break. Somewhere a basic error is happening. Somewhere a foundational mistake. Perhaps from the very beginning our direction and our journey have gone astray — and then whichever way we go, that direction cannot bring us bliss.
Today the world has more learning, more education, more schools than any century before — and yet today the world has more restlessness, more sorrow, more pain than any century before. The thing we call learning has harmed human life. We, with good intentions, teach our children to read and write, make them big. Our desires, our dreams are that they will rise higher. But after all the schooling we find they have fallen lower. We see this with our own eyes, and yet we continue to construct the same kind of learning, the same kind of schools, the same kind of hostels! It is hard to imagine anyone more blind than man; it is hard to imagine anyone more foolish. Man has drawn no conclusions, no results from his past experience.
A small incident comes to mind. Gautam Buddha arrived at a village. That morning a poor cobbler, Sudas, had risen at dawn. The sun had just risen, and behind his hut in his little pond a lotus had bloomed — out of season. It was not the season for a lotus to open. Sudas thought, If I take this flower to the market, surely today I will find some daring buyer ready to give me a rupee — an out-of-season lotus, someone will buy it. He plucked the flower and set off toward the market, thinking, If I get a rupee I will be blessed.
He was on the road when the chariot of the city’s wealthy merchant came by. Seeing the flower, the merchant stopped and said, How much, Sudas? Sudas did not have the courage to ask for a rupee. He only said, It is an out-of-season flower; whatever you give. The merchant said, I will give you five hundred gold coins, but do not sell it to anyone else. Give me the flower! He had scarcely said this when the king’s general arrived on horseback. He said, Sudas, I have bought the flower, and whatever the merchant gives I will give ten times more.
Sudas said, Have you people gone mad? I could not muster the nerve to ask even for a rupee; the merchant offers five hundred gold coins, and you will give ten times that! Granted it is out of season, but who would give so much? You will give tenfold of five hundred? As they spoke, the king’s chariot also arrived. The king said, The flower is bought, and whatever the general gives I will give ten times more.
Sudas said, What is this! What has happened to you people! From whom I did not expect even a rupee, they can give so much for a flower! What is the reason? The king said, You do not know: the Buddha is entering the village. We go to welcome him. I wish to offer this flower myself — an out-of-season lotus. He cannot even imagine that anyone would lay a lotus at his feet today. I want to offer this flower.
Sudas said, Then there is no question of selling. I shall offer it myself. I will take this flower myself. The king said, Sudas, you have gone mad. Until now Sudas had thought the king had gone mad, the merchant had gone mad, the general had gone mad. Now all three said, Are you mad? The poverty of your births will be erased for generations to come. Sell the flower! Sudas said, It is already erased — I shall myself offer this flower.
He went on foot to wait outside the town for the Buddha’s arrival. The king reached first, the general reached first, the merchant reached first. They told the Buddha: An astonishing event has happened today. A poorest-of-the-poor cobbler of the village has refused to sell a lotus flower at any price, saying, I will offer it myself. Then Sudas came and placed the flower at the Buddha’s feet.
The Buddha said, Mad Sudas, why did you not sell it? The poverty of your lineage would have ended.
Sudas said, Master, money is not greater than love. And the soul cannot be sold for coins. So long as it was just a flower, I was ready to sell. Since your feet came to mind, there is no question of selling. I will offer it myself. Can the poor not love? Can the poor not offer respect? Can the poor not give devotion? Do the poor not also have a soul? Kindly accept this flower.
The Buddha said to his monks: Monks, Sudas is not literate, but he is learned; he is educated. Monks, Sudas is educated, though he is not schooled. He is unread, yet he is vidyavan. A monk asked, What do you mean by vidyavan? The Buddha said, One who has a sense of higher values in life, who can dedicate lower values to higher — that one is vidyavan. Sudas rejected money for love.
Can we call modern people learned when they reject love for the sake of money? Can we call them educated whose entire education murders the higher values and puts the lower in front? Who are forever ready to lose the vast for the petty? Who can sell the soul for the body? For whom no value exists beyond wealth. In whose eyes no journey exists beyond status. In whose lives and minds nothing meaningful counts beyond the futile — can all such people be called learned?
And can such learning liberate? It cannot. And yet that is all we have. We make people learned — we turn them into engineers, doctors, chemists, mathematicians. But none of these are vidyas. These are means of livelihood, devices for earning bread — not vidya. We send our children to Europe and America, thinking we are doing something great. We are only teaching them the skills for earning bread — nothing more. We are not giving them vidya. We are not linking them to vidya. Vidya’s concern is the birth of higher values in life. What are the higher values? If they are born, man is bound to be free. If they are born, man is bound to be filled with bliss. The higher life rises, the more it becomes free. The more life moves toward the higher, the more fetters fall away.
What are bonds? Bonds are of lowness.
What are chains? Chains are of lowness.
What is liberation? The journey into height is liberation — to rise ever higher, to transcend oneself each day. The journey into height is vidya.
But do we teach self-transcendence? We teach self-filling. We teach selfishness. We teach exploitation. We teach how to cram the mind somehow, how to fulfill one’s ambitions, how to accomplish one’s desires skillfully. And we think we are imparting learning. There can be no notion more futile than this.
In a very ancient gurukul three students had passed their final examinations. Yet their master kept saying, One more test remains. The last day came, the convocation happened, the three youths received their degrees. They wondered, The final test remains — will it remain forever? The test did not happen, and the degrees were given! They thought it best to remain silent. Perhaps the master has forgotten. Perhaps we have escaped one examination. They took their mats, their loincloths, their books, bowed at the master’s feet at dusk and set out.
On the way they kept wondering about the final test. Evening gathered, the sun set. A dense forest at night — they ran quickly. They had to reach the village before nightfall. The path was dangerous, wild animals were about, the sun had gone down, darkness began to fall — and right there by a thicket, on the footpath, many thorns lay scattered.
One youth leapt across. The second stepped down off the path and went around. But the third set down his books and began to pick up the thorns and throw them aside. His two friends said, Have you gone mad? Night is falling, dusk has come, darkness will descend — we must reach the village quickly. This is no time to pick thorns. Not the occasion — get up and come! If we are late, there may be danger. The third said, Friends, if it were day, there would be less need to worry — whoever came would see the thorns. But now whoever passes this way after us will not be able to see them. And if we see the thorns and still walk on, all our education has been wasted. I will pick the thorns; you go on.
They did not know that from the thicket the master would emerge. He had been hiding there. The thorns had been strewn — this was the final test. The master said, Sons, the two of you who crossed over, return; you have failed the final test. And the one who picked the thorns, let him go.
One who has learned the art of picking thorns from the paths of life is educated, is vidyavan. And one who picks thorns from others’ ways will one day come to the capacity to spread flowers upon those ways. And one who sees thorns on others’ paths and slips by with averted eyes will one day acquire the qualification to scatter thorns on others’ paths.
Return, you two. And to the third the master said, You have passed; go. They had not even imagined that this would be the last test.
The final examination is always the examination of love. The ultimate value is always the value of love. Life’s loftiest heights are the heights of love. Life’s snow-peaks, Gaurishankar, Everest — they are the Everests of love. The thing we call learning — does it teach love? Our learning has no scent of love. It does not teach love; on the contrary, it teaches ego. Ego and love are opposite values.
Where ego is, love cannot be. Where love is, ego cannot be.
Learning teaches ego, and from childhood we make all arrangements to sharpen the ego. In first grade the child is admitted and we say, Come first. The one who comes first is rewarded; the last are unrewarded. They are left neglected by the roadside of life. In a class of thirty, one child will come first; twenty-nine will be left behind. Upon the sadness of twenty-nine, upon the pain of twenty-nine, stands the joy of one. This we call learning! Upon the suffering of the twenty-nine, upon their poverty and inferiority, upon their frustration and defeat, stands the victory of one — this we call learning!
And the joy of the one who comes first is not really that he has come first; his joy is that he did not let the others come first — he left them behind. We are teaching violence. We are teaching himsa. Violence has only one meaning — to take pleasure in the pain of another. Neither by straining water before drinking nor by not eating at night does one escape violence. Violence has only one essential meaning: joy in another’s suffering.
And what do we teach children? We teach them to rejoice in the pain of others. If there is only one student in a class and he comes first, he feels no happiness. If there are thirty, the happiness grows — to have left twenty-nine behind, to have made them unhappy. If there are three thousand in the class, the joy grows more. If there are three lakhs, the joy knows no bounds. If there are thirty crores, the joy is immense. Becoming president brings the same joy — to be first among forty crores. That is why politics is violence — politics is the race to be first.
Religion is the opposite direction; vidya is the opposite direction.
Jesus Christ has said, Blessed are those who can stand last. A strange statement. Either Jesus is mad, or we all are mad — we who run schools, impart learning, and call ourselves teachers!
Jesus says, Blessed are those who can stand last; we teach, Blessed are those who can stand first. We teach the race to be first. The race to be first can never liberate anyone, for basic reasons. First, the one who enters the race to be first enters duality, enters conflict, enters struggle, begins war. He assumes enmity with others. One who assumes enmity can never be free; he remains bound to his enemies. Only the one who is a friend to all can be free. And only he can be friend to all who is in competition with none, in no rivalry with anyone.
What is the meaning of friendship except this — that I am in competition with no one? And what is enmity except this — that I am a competitor? My victory or your victory — these are the options. Either I, or you. There is no meaning to both together.
We teach competition! From childhood we pour into them the poison of competition, of violence, of ambition. And then we think these are schools! These are a-schools — centers of avidya. Here the poison is poured into the mind of man. Here from childhood the mind is distorted and deranged. Here insanity is taught, and then he runs like a madman his whole life. Whatever the race may be — to get ahead in wealth, to get ahead in position, to reach Delhi — it makes no difference. We teach the race, the fever of racing. From fever no one can become healthy.
I have heard: a dog of Kashi got the idea to travel to Delhi. Seeing people every day going toward Delhi, why should not dogs also get the idea? Times have changed; once people came from Delhi to Kashi. Now everyone goes from Kashi to Delhi. So the dogs decided to send their representative, their leader, to Delhi. They informed the dogs of Delhi: Our dog is coming — reserve a room in the circuit house. It will take a month for a dog to make the journey on foot. The dog must have had an Indian mind, walked in the fashion of the old rishis — on foot. A month it would take.
The dogs of Delhi waited. They were already used to welcoming leaders; daily experience. And now their own leader was coming — they arranged a great ceremony. But the dog arrived in seven days. The Delhi dogs were amazed. They had seen leaders arriving, but no leader reaches Delhi so swiftly — in seven days! It is a long journey; Delhi is far. People reach Delhi at the very end of life; that is why Delhi becomes a grave — few get the chance to return. But the dog arrived in seven days! He must be cleverer than men. They asked, How did you come in seven days?
The dog said, Don’t ask. Our brethren made me complete the journey in seven days. The dogs of Kashi had barely left me when the dogs of the next village set upon me. They chased me to the next village, where those dogs chased me further. I got no chance to rest, nowhere to stay. I came straight, non-stop, to Delhi. But even as he said this, the dog died — because one who travels non-stop goes into death, not into life. Still, the dog completed the journey — the fever of running. And runners-on stand on all sides.
We do the same with our children. We say, Go to Delhi. And then everyone sets upon them. In childhood the parents are after them. When they grow up, the wife is after them. When they grow old, the children are after them — Go ahead, go ahead, go ahead! It is essential to reach Delhi. Without reaching Delhi life has no meaning. We kindle a fever around the child. We initiate him into fever. And the more intense the fever, the more madly the child begins to run. This we call life’s movement!
Will this movement liberate life? This movement can lead to death, not to freedom. Most of us die; we do not become liberated. The path to liberation is wholly other. That learning will liberate which is empty of ambition, which is non-ambitious, which does not generate ambition. You will ask, If learning does not create ambition, how will man move ahead?
First, moving ahead is not itself a value. Second, there are two kinds of moving ahead — one, ahead of the other; two, ahead of oneself. I move beyond where I was yesterday. My competition is with myself, not with you. Where the sun left me last evening, when it rises today it should not find me there. I move beyond myself; I self-transcend; I overpass myself.
That learning liberates which teaches the art of crossing oneself, going beyond oneself. That learning does not liberate which teaches the art of competing with others and outstripping others.
Remember, one who gets caught in outstripping others runs all his life and reaches nowhere, because there are always others ahead to be outstripped. But if someone engages in the movement of crossing himself, in the direction of going beyond himself, he will one day reach where nothing remains to be crossed. Mahavira reaches there; Buddha reaches there; Jesus Christ reaches there; Krishna reaches there — where the ultimate state of self-transcendence is attained. The name of that ultimate state is the experience of Paramatman, the experience of Atman, Moksha — beyond which there is no movement, no direction, no further arriving.
The name of the final goal is Moksha. The name of the final goal is liberation. When a person transcends himself in all ways and nothing remains ahead, then — then liberation is attained.
But those who busy themselves in outstripping others can never reach the final goal, because the others are many — the Other is many. It is not easy, not possible, to surpass them. Has anyone to this day been able to say, I have come first, now there is no one ahead of me? Could any Napoleon, any Alexander, any Nehru dare to say, I am in front and none is before me? No one can. There is a secret here.
There was a scientist named Fourier. He experimented on a species of beetles. They are most strange: they always walk behind their leader, and until the leader keeps going they cannot stop — much like humans. Many diseases of man are in other creatures too — for instance, marching behind a leader. Fourier devised a trick. He put ten or fifteen of these insects into a round plate. They began circling behind their leader. The plate was round — it had no end. Round and round they went. Until the leader stops, the followers cannot stop; and while followers keep going, how can the leader lose face and stop? He too keeps going. Alexander goes, Napoleon goes; followers go. At last they circled for twenty-four hours, without stopping. If the leader stops, those behind say the leader has failed — choose another. If the followers stop, the leader cries, What lazy sluggards! Finally the insects fell from exhaustion — and died. It never occurred to them that the journey had no end, that they were moving in a circle.
If we look closely at man, to this day no one has reached the end of the journey. This suggests that perhaps our journey is in a round plate — we keep circling. Someone is always ahead, someone always behind. We are never entirely ahead, never entirely behind. Someone ahead, someone behind — and the journey goes on, and we die of exhaustion. Not only Fourier’s insects — men too die thus. Those who fall are pushed aside, and others begin their race. But no one looks closely to see whether we too are not going down the same falling path. No one has ever been first in the race of competition — nor will anyone ever be. That journey has no end. It goes in circles.
But there is another journey. And only when the destination arrives does one become free — where the journey ends, there liberation comes. There is another journey: the journey of transcending oneself, of continually crossing oneself, of steadily rising and moving beyond oneself. It has no relation to any other. It has no connection with anyone else.
I call that vidya which does not teach moving ahead of others, but teaches self-transcendence — moving ahead of oneself.
And the day a person is initiated into moving beyond himself, totally new doors of bliss open in his life, doors he did not even know existed. And the one initiated into moving ahead of others finds, day after day, new avenues of suffering, tension, pain, and restlessness opening up.
Remember, to put another behind is to give another pain. And one who gives pain to others can never come to bliss, because what we give to life returns to us. Life is wondrous: whatever we give to it, its echoes begin to come back to us.
I was on a hill where there was an echo-point. If you made a sound there, it returned sevenfold. A friend went with me to that echo-point. He began to bark like a dog. The hills were filled with the barking of dogs; sevenfold the sound returned. I said to him, If you must shout, would it not be better to sing a song? If not a song, at least speak in the voice of a cuckoo. Is it necessary to make the sound of a dog? Then he sang a song, and the valleys resounded with the sweet tones of the song, and the song returned.
Then I said to my friend, Not only this echo-point — the whole of life is an echo-point. If we hurl abuses, abuses return. If we sing songs, songs return. If we scatter thorns, thorns return. If we shower flowers, flowers return.
Life is a great center of resonance — whatever we cry out in the mansion of life, the same returns. So if we are teaching how to give others pain, how to leave others behind, how to sadden others, how to defeat others — remember, the same will return to us, and at the end of life this will be our wealth.
How can such wealth bring liberation near? It will bring hell near, suffering near, pain and bondage near.
It is surprising that if we scatter thorns on another’s path, we become bound; and if we scatter flowers, we do not become bound. Bondage only means this: when thorns return to us, they bring pain; when flowers return, no cause for pain remains.
Blavatsky traveled the whole world. She had a strange habit: she kept a bag in her hand, and again and again, whether on a train or in a carriage, she would put her hand in and throw something out. People would ask, What are you throwing? Blavatsky would say, Flower seeds. I throw them along the roadside. The rains are coming; then these seeds will sprout and the plants will grow. In the rains their flowers will bloom. People would say, You are mad! What is the point of sowing seeds along roads you will never travel again? And suppose flowers do come — what of it? Blavatsky would say, No — along the roads I pass, flowers have come from seeds thrown by someone else, and I am delighted by them. I am in their debt. How shall I repay it? I sow along roads I will not take — but someone will pass and be delighted. And it matters not to me who sees those flowers and who is delighted. I even imagine that flowers have bloomed and someone is delighted, and my heart fills and overflows with joy.
Have you ever imagined that through you someone might come to joy? Even in imagination, if you sense that someone’s being is filling with bliss because of you, that in some dark heart a lamp is lit because of you — even the imagination will make your heart rejoice. And when it actually happens, life becomes established in great joy. But day and night we remain engaged in planning and desiring others’ pain, others’ defeat, to bring others down. Then if in the result our heart and soul are filled with sorrow and darkness, do not be surprised. It is simple arithmetic — like two and two are four. It must be so.
What shall I call vidya? Which learning is it that liberates? That which carries man nearer to the soul, nearer to truth. And who will take you near truth? Will another take you? No — no one else can. You must refine yourself continually. Day by day you must polish the gold within. Day by day you must pass through the fire so that the dross burns away and only the gold remains. Self-refinement, self-sadhana, the constant rising above oneself — the learning that teaches this becomes the giver of liberation.
These few things I have said. In the end, one thing more and I will complete my talk.
Whatever sorrow, darkness, hatred and violence has arisen in the human world has arisen from mistaking avidya for vidya. And if human life is to be transformed, we must make a clear distinction — what is avidya and what is vidya.
That which teaches livelihood, that which gives a living — roti and rozgar — that is avidya.
That which teaches life, that which gives life — not a living, life — that is vidya.
And we should open a-schools and schools — avidyalayas and vidyalayas. Avidyalayas so that people may learn to earn their bread, because man cannot live without bread. But by bread alone man cannot live either. We should open avidyalayas and we should open vidyalayas. Right now we call all the a-schools schools, and we even attach a dear name like Mahavira’s — we say, Mahavira Vidyalaya! As yet there is no school on earth worthy of bearing Mahavira’s name — it is too soon. For now all schools are for men. As yet there is no school of Mahavira. But it is possible — if we wish, it can be. One day it may be — the schools of Mahavira, of Buddha, of Christ, of those who knew and lived and attained. May they be one day; for this I pray to Paramatman and to you.
You have listened to my words with such love and peace — I am deeply obliged. In the end I bow to the Paramatman dwelling in all. Kindly accept my pranam.