Shiksha Main Kranti #3

My beloved!
A fakir was very lonely. In a dream he had the vision of Paramatman, and he found that the divine was even lonelier than he. Naturally he was astonished and asked God, 'Are you also so alone? But you have so many devotees — where are they all?' Hearing this, God said to him, 'I have always been alone, and that is why only those who become utterly alone are able to experience me. As for the devotees and the so‑called religious people — when were they ever with me? Some are with Rama, some with Krishna, some with Mohammed, some with Mahavira. Not a single one of them is with me. I am eternally alone. Therefore, the one who is with no one — simply alone — that one alone is with me.'
The fakir awoke in panic in the middle of the night and came running to me. As soon as he arrived, he woke me and said, 'What is the meaning of my dream?' I said, 'If it were a dream, I might interpret it — but this is truth. And what is there to interpret in truth? Open your eyes and see. The one who is a Hindu, a Muslim, a Buddhist, or a Christian in the name of religion is not religious at all. For there is only one dharma — or, what is one, that alone is dharma. For a religious mind, man‑made boundaries are not truth. In the experience of truth, where are sects, where are shastras, where are organizations? Where can there be a boundary in the boundless? Where a doctrine in the soundless? In that emptiness, where a temple, where a mosque? And what remains beyond all this — that alone is Paramatman.'
And before I say anything to you on education and dharma, it is utterly necessary to say that by dharma I do not mean religions. To be religious is a very different thing from being a Hindu or a Muslim. To be sectarian is not to be religious at all — on the contrary, it is the greatest hindrance to religiousness. As long as one is a Hindu or a Muslim, it is impossible for him to be religious. Most of those who think about religion and education, and who want to link education to religion, mean by religion either the Hindu or the Muslim or the Christian. Such religious education will not bring dharma; it can certainly make man even more irreligious. This sort of education has been fed to humanity for four or five thousand years. But it has produced no better human being, no better society. Yet in the names Hindu, Muslim and Christian, no other cause has produced as much irreligion, as much violence and bloodshed.
It is astonishing to discover that the atheists, those who do not believe in religion, are not responsible for the great sins. The great sins are in the names of the theists. Atheists have neither burned temples nor murdered people. The murders have been committed by the theists. Men have been divided from men by the theists. Those who think themselves religious have erected walls between human beings. Words, doctrines and scriptures have made man the enemy of man. Ideologies and factions have dug unbridgeable chasms and imprisoned the human race on small islands of its own making.
To continue such education in the name of religion is exceedingly dangerous. It is neither religious, nor has it ever been, nor can it ever be. For those who were taught these things did not prove to be good men. And the conflicts raised in their names have filled the whole human mind with bloodshed and violence, anger and hate. Therefore, my first point is that by religious education I do not mean instruction in some sect, its notions and its doctrines. If we want education and dharma to be related, we must want the bond between dharma and the words Hindu, Muslim, Christian to be broken — only then can education and dharma relate. But the relation of sects in the name of religion should never be with education. Better to be irreligious than that. For the irreligious still has the living possibility of becoming religious; whereas the so‑called religious person’s mind‑doors are closed forever. And one whose inner doors are shut can never be religious. In the search for truth, a free and open mind is indispensable.
If a religious civilization is to be born, it will not be Hindu; it cannot be Muslim; it will not be Eastern; it will not be Western. It will be of the whole man — of all, total, integral. Therefore, it cannot be of a part or fragment, for as long as we fragment humanity, we cannot be free of conflict and war. As long as there is a wall between me and you, its very construction makes creation difficult.
How will we build a society that lives in love and joy while walls stand that break man from man? Until now the society we have created is not a society of love. In three thousand years there have been fifteen thousand wars upon the earth. Fifteen thousand wars in three thousand years! The very thought is distasteful! And could fifteen thousand wars in three thousand years be without cause? If five wars occur each year, what does it mean? In the last three thousand years there is only one small fragment of three hundred years when there was no war. That too not three hundred years together — a day here, two days there, ten days sometimes — the earth was free of war. All together, three hundred years of peace.
Three hundred years of peace and three thousand of war! Certainly even such peace cannot be true. It is peace only in name. Even now the peace that is maintained is false. What we call moments of peace are not moments of peace but days of preparing for new wars.
I divide human history into two parts — the period of war and the period of preparation for war. We have not yet known a period of peace. And the basic cause of this condition of humanity is its fragmentation. And who fragmented man? Who? Did not religions? Did not ideologies, theories, doctrines and sects? Did not nations, nationalities and limiting notions? It is the religions that have broken humanity into parts.
Behind all conflict and strife stand isms. Whether the isms are religious or political, they breed arguments that finally lead to wars. Even today Soviet communism and American democracy have become two religions; their fight has become the fight of two creeds. But I ask: can we not end the division of man on the basis of ideas? Is it right that for something as airy as an idea we should kill human beings? Is it right that my idea and your idea make my heart and your heart enemies?
But this is what has happened until now. The organizations raised in the name of religions or nations are not organizations of love, they are organizations of our hate. Hence, you know it well: if the poison of hate is spread strongly, anyone can be organized. Perhaps Adolf Hitler said somewhere that if you want to organize a nation, it is necessary to create hate for another nation. He did not only say it, he did it — and found it effective.
All the mischief‑makers who have poisoned the earth have always found this effective. Shout that Islam is in danger, and Muslims can be gathered. Cry that Hindu dharma is in danger, and Hindus assemble. Danger breeds fear, and toward that which is feared, hate is born. All such organizations and unities are founded on fear and hate. Therefore, all religions do talk of love, but because they need organization, in the end they take support from hate. Then love remains empty talk and hate becomes their foundation.
That is why the dharma I speak of is not an organization. It is sadhana — inner discipline. It is individual experience. It has no use for gathering crowds. In essence, religious experience is utterly personal. And all these organizations we call religions are standing upon someone’s hate. What can hate have to do with dharma? That which brings hate between you and me cannot be dharma. That which brings love between you and me — that alone can be dharma.
Remember: that which breaks man from man — how will it unite man with Paramatman? That which divides human beings can never become the bridge to the divine. Yet what we call religions divide us. Although they all speak of love, of unity, of brotherhood — strangely, their words remain mere words, while their deeds spread hate and enmity. Christianity speaks of love, yet none perhaps have killed as many as Christians. Islam calls itself the religion of peace, but who has been more successful in creating unpeace?
Perhaps lofty words become a way to hide ugly deeds. If one has to kill, it is very easy to kill in the name of love. If one has to be violent, it is easy to do violence to protect nonviolence. And if I have to take your life, it is easiest to do it for your own good — then you will die and I will not even be guilty! You will be killed and yet not be able to complain.
Man is called a rational being, so naturally he finds some rationalization for every act. Perhaps the devil explained to man long ago: if you must do an evil deed, choose a good slogan. The worse the deed, the better the slogan should be — then the evil hides. These organizations in the name of religion have no relation to Paramatman, nor to love, nor to prayer, nor to dharma. What is organized is our inner hate and jealousy. Otherwise how could it be that mosques are razed, temples burned, idols broken, and men slaughtered? How can all this happen? Yet it has happened, it happens, it is happening! If this is religion, then I ask: what is irreligion?
Sectarian mentality is not dharma. It is a disguised form of adharma.
Therefore, the first condition for religious education is total freedom of dharma from sects. But what the so‑called religious want to pour into children is sectarian poison under the cover of dharma. Why do they want this? Why such keenness about religion? Are they really interested in dharma? No — not at all. Not in dharma... their interest is in 'their' religion. And this very interest is irreligious. Wherever there is 'mine' and 'yours', there is no dharma. Dharma is only where there is neither 'mine' nor 'yours'. There begins that which belongs to Paramatman.
Those who are called religious have some other vested interest in religious education. Its roots are deep and old; much exploitation depends on them. If the new generation steps outside the circles in which humanity has been imprisoned so far, a radical revolution in social life becomes possible. Its results will be four‑fold; all vested interests will be hurt. Those who live by making men fight men will lose their livelihood. And all those who have made the net of religions their business will become useless. Class exploitation and selfishness too will be endangered, for the so‑called religions have protected them in many ways.
Under the cover of religious education, the old generation wants to hand over to the new its ignorance, its superstitions, its inertia, its diseases and enmities. Thus their ego is gratified. This ego does not allow man to be freed from morbid enclosures. There is no greater obstacle on the path of growth, because growth is where rebellion is. And the ego of the old cannot accept rebellion; it wants belief, obedience, discipline. In this it initiates the new generation — and wants to destroy all those possibilities within them which might engage them in abandoning the old and exploring the new. But this foeticide is done in most hidden and indirect ways. Perhaps even the doers are not fully aware. It is an unconscious process, for their fathers and teachers did the same to them. Unknowingly they do the same to their sons and disciples. This vicious circle is ancient. But it has to be broken — for it alone is preventing life from being united with the truth of dharma. What is the center of this vicious circle? The center is: planting seeds of belief in tiny children before the awakening of thought — because the mind of belief then becomes incapable of thinking.
Belief and thought move in opposite directions. Belief is blindness; thought is to gain one’s own eyes. By filling children with the blindness of belief we deprive them forever of their own eyes. And for this ominous act the so‑called religious are so eager for religious education. This eagerness is not auspicious. In truth there is no sin greater than the murder of inquiry. Yet parents continually commit this sin with their children — and this is the fundamental reason why dharma has not been able to take birth.
Not belief, teach thought. Not credulity, teach right reasoning. Then dharma is not blind faith; it becomes the supreme science — and only with such a science can education be related auspiciously. Not through superstitions, but through scientific truths tested on the touchstone of thought and discrimination can man’s welfare be served.
Do you not know that those who live in the darkness of belief gradually become incapable of coming into the light of inquiry? Then their eyes can see nothing but darkness. And to avoid having to admit to themselves that they are blind, they initiate their children into the same darkness. Thus they gain the convenience of thinking themselves right. And when a child somehow manages to save his own eyes from their collective conspiracy, it is well‑known what they do to him... the same that was done to Socrates, or to Christ!
Therefore, while thinking about religious education, it is essential to be alert that in the name of light we are not giving initiation into darkness. Remember: in the name of giving eyes, eyes have been gouged out.
Mere belief is ignorance. Mere belief is darkness.
Therefore, save children from beliefs. And this can be done only by awakening in them a keen capacity to think. Awaken in them the power of inquiry; teach them how to think — do not give thoughts, give the power to think. For to give thoughts is to give beliefs. Thoughts are yours, but the power to think is theirs; that power has to be developed. Its fullest flowering alone makes them capable of unveiling life’s truth.
Thought is a path. Belief is a wandering astray.
Hence I say: whoever is bound by belief cannot think. One who is a Hindu cannot think. One who is a Jain cannot think. One who is a Communist cannot think. His belief is his bondage. Since thinking might break belief, the believer chooses not to think. That becomes his armor — but that armor is, in truth, suicide.
Is not belief the murder of thought?
Yet this murder has been done knowingly or unknowingly. The Hindu father wants to make his child a Hindu; the Muslim father, a Muslim. And that too when the child is small, incapable of thinking and understanding. This evil can be done only then; later it becomes very difficult. Once thought and reason are born, dust cannot be thrown into the eyes. The power of reasoning becomes the person’s self‑defense. Therefore it is no wonder that the so‑called religious are against reason! In truth they are against intelligence itself.
Because where there is intelligence, thought, reasoning — there is rebellion: the search for new paths of life; the journey from the known to the unknown; the transgressing of the boundary lines where every old generation leaves the new.
In my view, the capacity for rebellion is the very soul of a religious mind. There is no revolution greater than dharma. Dharma is a radical transformation of life — a change from the roots. Therefore, religious education cannot be the teaching of unintelligence and blindness. It is the teaching of the deepest inquiry. It is the keenest reasoning. It is flaming intelligence. Hence, do not bind innocent children with mind‑opposing doctrines and notions. Give their intelligence such depth and sharpness that they can always keep their inquiry awake and free — and never, at any price, be ready to sell it or chain it. Such free consciousnesses alone can open the door that is truth.
Freedom, in fact, is the door to truth.
Therefore, give children freedom; awaken in them reverence for freedom; and make them alert and aware against all forms of dependence — against all kinds of slavery of mind and consciousness. This, and only this, can be the education of real dharma.
But the education of religions is not like this. It is just the opposite — training in slavery. For it nourishes belief, not inquiry. It supports blindness, not eyes. It is not based on self‑awareness but on following others.
Why are religions so afraid of thought? That fear is not without cause. There are very solid reasons. The most important is this: if thought awakens and becomes active, many religions cannot last for long. Dharma will survive, but the existence of religions is bound to be threatened. For thought has a natural tendency toward universal truth. As rivers flow to the ocean, so thought flows toward universality. In impartial inquiry, that which is truth alone remains in the end. And truths cannot be many; truth is always one.
Science followed thought; hence the mathematics of Hindus and Christians is not different. On the basis of belief there was no possibility of their being one. The puddles of belief cease to flow; they close in upon themselves. With no movement toward the ocean, they never arrive at the one. Closing upon themselves they become many.
Thought is flow. Belief is fixation.
Thought is a continual self‑transcendence. Belief is being closed within oneself. Therefore, wherever thought begins, it leads ultimately to central and ultimate truth. And belief always prevents reaching there.
I have heard that there even existed things like Jain geography — such absurdities are to be found in religions. Can geographies be different? Yes — if belief is their basis. Where there is no thought, there is imagination, imitation, superstition — and these can be different for each person. Truth is one, but dreams are different for everyone. Even if two people wish, they cannot see the same dream together.
Truth is always universal because it is intrinsic; it is not someone’s imagination, dream or conjecture. To attain it, one needs inner receptivity. To see it, one needs open and healthy eyes. Such eyes become available only in the completeness of thought and in the light of discrimination.
Therefore, I say again and again: if you want to give children truth, give them inquiry. Free them from belief and give them vivek — discriminating intelligence. The awakened energy of inquiry will be their capacity; it will become their vision. It will carry them to the ocean of truth which is one and non‑dual.
Do you know that even a man like Aristotle wrote that women have fewer teeth than men? How could he write that? Was there no woman available to him to count her teeth? There is no shortage of women — but he simply believed the prevalent notion, and then the question of inquiry did not arise. He even had not one but two wives. He could have asked Mrs. Aristotle Number One or Number Two to open her mouth and counted. But no — he did not doubt, so how could he inquire? He quietly accepted man’s blind notion that women have fewer teeth. In fact, male ego has never been ready to admit that in anything a woman could be equal to him — even if the question is only of teeth! And when Aristotle did not doubt, who would doubt? Yet doubt is the beginning of all search.
Right doubt is the first step to be taught in the search for truth. Religious education should begin with this. Not belief — doubt is the true foundation of dharma. Doubt is the beginning; trust is the culmination. Doubt is the search; trust is the attainment. Therefore, the one who begins with doubt will, sooner or later, arrive at trust. But the one who begins with trust never arrives anywhere — he has harnessed the cart before the oxen. Only a beginning can be a beginning; how can the end be the beginning?
Where there is no doubt, there is no thinking. Where there is no thinking, there is no discrimination. And where there is no discrimination, there is no truth.
Religions have taught: believe, do not doubt. Do not search — accept. But dharma will teach: doubt, think and search. For only that which is found by one’s own search transforms oneself — and that alone is truth.
Truth is a search... a continuous search! It is a supremely alert inquiry. Truth cannot be given by another; it has to be found by oneself. Truth cannot be borrowed; it is one’s own embodied endeavor. And the preparation for the search for such truth is what religious education is.
Hence, as long as religion is related to belief, there can be no religious education. And even if religion is named, it will be education of the Hindu or the Muslim or the Christian. Such education is not religious — because those educated thus become narrow. Their hearts do not become vast. They become full of prejudices; their discrimination is not freed but deadened. They become old in mind, whereas for any search the mind must be young and fresh. Young is he who is free of prejudice. Young is he who has saved his consciousness from the prison of conditioning. A conditioned mind becomes old; the more conditioned, the more inert.
Samskara is not dharma. A consciousness free of samskaras and the past can enter dharma. Dharma is swabhava — one’s intrinsic nature. Dharma is swarupa — one’s essential form. And samskaras come from without; they are external. As dust covers a mirror, so do they cover consciousness. Do not cover the mirror of consciousness with traditions, samskaras, conventions, notions and ideals in the name of religion — rather, teach it to be free. The real education of dharma leads toward such a direction of sadhana and liberation.
Dharma is that which leads the mind toward freedom from all knots. But the religion that is sold in the marketplace cannot do this. Therefore, before dharma comes into education, it has to shed its old clothes and dwellings. Only with a new soul can it become the soul of the new generations. Dharma must be brought into life — certainly it must. Without it, life is crippled, incomplete, unbalanced.
If we think only in relation to the outer, the inner will remain empty. If our vision remains only on matter, we will be deprived of Paramatman. And that bargain is very costly — throwing away diamonds for pebbles. What is the outer before the inner? What is the wealth of the world before the wealth that is divine? That which is the center and life of all has to be known — and its search must be made central. Without making the search for the center central, it can never be completed.
Therefore I do not want only to relate dharma to education — that is insufficient. I want to see dharma as the very center of education. That which is the center of life must be the center of education. Life does not end with the visible. In truth, the invisible is the foundation. Without being acquainted with it, life has neither meaning nor purpose. Where there is no meaning, how can there be bliss? Bliss is in the attainment of meaning.
Science is the search for utility; dharma is the search for meaning. Science is incomplete, and dharma is incomplete. Their balance and harmony alone are auspicious and complete.
There is a world outside man — but that is not all. There is a world within as well. The outer search is for the sake of the inner. Do not forget the inner in the search for the outer. Otherwise power will come, but not peace. Wealth will be gained, but the soul will be lost. What is the value of gaining the whole world and losing the soul? That is to be defeated even in victory.
There was a fakir‑woman, Rabia. One morning, a friend said to her, 'Rabia, come out. The sunrise is so beautiful, the morning so lovely. Come... come out!' Rabia replied: 'My friend, I invite you to come in. For the sun you see and the morning you praise — I am seeing within the one who makes them. Would it not be better that you come in? I have well seen the beauty outside — but perhaps you are still unacquainted with that which is within.'
There is a world outside — surely very beautiful. Those who want to set man against the outer world are unwise. The outer world is very beautiful; those who condemn it are against man’s well‑being. It is truly beautiful — but there is a far greater world within, and its beauty has no limit. One who stops with the outer stops with the incomplete. He halts too soon, makes a resting place where there should be none. He mistakes the road for the goal, the gate for the palace, and remains on the steps. He must be awakened, made aware; his eyes lifted to where the goal is. Then he will move by himself. That the children keep alive the sense of the goal and do not stop midway — this is the aim of religious education.
Know well: science is only the search of the outside. Alone, the outer search is incomplete. Education must surely be related to the inner search. But the religions we know are not the inner search either. They speak of the inner — but their talk seems utterly false. Their temples are built outside; their mosques are outside; their idols stand outside. Their shastras are outside, their doctrines outside — and for these outer things they are seen to fight. Their insistence too is on the outer; hence they do not lead man within.
A black man went one morning to the door of a church and begged the priest for entry. But how could a man with black skin enter the temple of those with white skin? These who speak of the inner also look at the skin — whether it is black or white. These who speak of God look at whether a man is Brahmin or Shudra. The priest said, 'Friend, what will you do coming into the church? Until the mind is calm and pure, what will you do here? Go, first purify your mind!' The times have changed, so the priest changed his language. Earlier too he used to stop men, only then he would say, 'Away, Shudra! No entry here!' Now the age has changed so his words had to change, but his heart has not. He still stops. He did not say, 'You are Shudra, impure — go away.' He said, 'Friend, what will you do here? Without a peaceful, pure mind, how will you know God? Go and purify your mind first!' He said this to the black man.
But had he ever said it to any white man who came? As if all of them had peaceful minds! That simple man went back. The priest must have smiled to himself: 'He can neither purify his mind nor return.' And indeed he did not return — not because his mind did not become peaceful, but because it did.
Days came and went. Nearly a year passed. One day the priest saw that black man passing by the church. He had become almost another person. There was an unearthly light in his eyes; a halo of peace and music surrounded him. The priest thought he was perhaps coming to the church — and he was afraid. But his fear was baseless. The man did not even glance toward the church and went ahead. The priest ran after him and asked, 'Friend, I did not see you again.' The man laughed and said, 'My friend and guide, many thanks to you! I spent the whole year following your advice. I was waiting for the mind to become peaceful so I could come again to your door. But last night in a dream the Lord himself appeared and said, "Fool! Why do you want to go to that church? To meet me? Then let me tell you: for ten years I myself have been trying to enter that church, but the priest does not let me in. And where I have not been able to go, it is impossible that you can go!"'
And I tell you: not only in that temple — God has never been able to enter any temple. For no temple made by man can be greater than man. These temples are so small that there is no space for the divine in them. In truth, for those whose minds are not temples, all the temples they build are futile. Unless one finds him within, one will never find him without.
He is first revealed in oneself — and then in all. Beyond the self there is no path, no bridge to the all. The self is closest to itself. Hence, before searching far, it is necessary to search near. The one who cannot find him near — how will he find him far? Therefore, not in temples but in the mind has he been known, and is known.
Therefore, temples and mosques can neither be linked to education nor should they be. Such insistence is insistence on the outer. And all insistence on the outer becomes a barrier to going within.
When I hear talk of building temples in universities, I feel like laughing. Does man learn no lesson from history?
Do we not know what temple‑and‑mosque religions have done and not done?
No — there is no need at all of outer religious rituals. If they were only useless, one could still tolerate them; but they are harmful. Dharma is not in the outer; therefore, any prestige given to the outer is adharma.
This truth must become as clear as two plus two equals four.
Paramatman also has a temple, but it is not made of bricks and stones. And that which is made of bricks and stones may belong to a Hindu or a Christian or a Jain or a Buddhist — but not to the divine. That which is 'someone’s' for this very reason is not 'his'. His temple can have no boundary, for he is boundless. His temple can have no adjective, for he is all.
Surely such a temple can only be of consciousness. That temple is not in the sky, but in the soul. And it need not be built — it is, it always is. One only has to unveil it.
Therefore, the dharma related to education cannot be the religion that builds temples and mosques. It will be the dharma that unveils the hidden temple within. That which is in the depths has to be known — for the knowing of it becomes a radical revolution in life.
To know truth is to transform life.
Education that does not unveil truth — inner truth, the truth of Paramatman — is utterly incomplete and harmful. The failure of education up to now is due to this incompleteness. The youth we send out from universities is utterly incomplete. He has no clue of what is central in life. He has no acquaintance with that which is true, good and beautiful. He learns only the trivial, and lives in it. Such living does not bring joy; gradually a meaninglessness, emptiness, futility surrounds the mind. Life’s current is lost in this desert of futility; as a result, a blind anger remains toward all. This anger I call the fruit of an irreligious mind. The fruit of a religious mind is blessedness and gratitude — thankfulness toward the whole. But that is possible only when life attains bliss and fullness. And this fullness and bliss are impossible without knowing and finding oneself.
Therefore, right education cannot be without dharma. For to know the basis of life — consciousness, the inner being, Atman — to be acquainted with it, is indispensable to bring life to its wholeness.
What is dharma?
The education of the human interior — that alone is dharma.
Then what shall we teach? Shall we teach religious scriptures? Religious doctrines? Shall we tell children that God exists, that Atman exists, that heaven and hell exist, that there is Moksha?
No — absolutely not. No such teaching is religious education. Such education does not take man within. It becomes man’s prejudice. It is only teaching of words. From it arises that false knowledge which is more dangerous than ignorance.
Knowledge is only that which comes from self‑experience. Knowledge learned from others is not knowledge — it is an illusion of knowledge. And this illusion hides ignorance and stops the search for knowledge. Clear awareness of ignorance is auspicious, for it leads to the search for knowledge. But taking learned knowledge to be knowledge is very dangerous, because the satisfaction it gives chains one’s feet and the journey is blocked.
I went to an orphanage. There were about a hundred children. The managers said to me, 'We give religious education here.' Then they asked the children questions. 'Is there God?' — the little children raised their hands and said, 'There is God!' 'Where is God?' — they pointed to the sky. 'Where is the soul?' — they put their hands on their hearts and said, 'Here!' I watched the whole drama. The managers were very pleased. They said, 'You also ask something.' I asked a small child, 'Where is the heart?' He looked here and there and said, 'We have not been told that.'
Can there be such religious education? And is repeating learned phrases the same as knowing? If only it were so easy, would the world not have become religious long ago?
I told the managers and teachers that what you are teaching is not religion at all. On the contrary, you will make them parrots who recite by rote for life. One who learns to repeat mechanically suffers a fatal damage to intelligence. When life presents them with questions — questions that could have led them toward truth — they will repeat the learned answers and be silent. Your teaching murders their inquiry. They know neither Atman nor Paramatman — and the hands placed upon their hearts are utterly false. And you call this religious education?
Then I asked them: is your own knowing not of the same kind? Are you also not repeating learned things? They looked around just as that little child did when asked about the heart. Alas! Generation after generation we teach hollow words and call it knowledge. Can truth be taught? Can it be repeated?
In the world of matter, taught information has some value — because concerning the outer, there is not much beyond information. But in the world of the divine it has no meaning or value, for that realm is not of information but of experience.
Experience can be had, one can be and live in it — but it cannot be learned. Learning it becomes mere acting. Can anyone learn love? And if someone acts from learning, it is not love, only an imitation of love. The learned things about God — doctrines, worship and prayer — have become acting for this reason. When love itself cannot be learned, how can prayer be learned? Prayer is the deepest form of love. And when love cannot be learned, how can God be learned? The fullness of love is God.
Truth is the unknown — therefore through that which is known — doctrines, shastras, words — one cannot reach it.
To enter the unknown, the known must be dropped. The moment one is free of the known, the unknown stands before him. Hence, rather than learning, dharma is more of un‑learning. Not remembrance but forgetfulness.
Do not write on the mind; wipe away all that is written. When the mind is emptied of words, it becomes a mirror for truth. The mind has to be made a mirror of truth, not a storehouse of doctrines. Then certainly the meaning of religious education becomes less education and more sadhana.
The preparation for religious sadhana is religious education. The education of dharma is not like education in other subjects; thus, it cannot have examinations. Its examination is in life; life itself is its test.
Three youths were returning from a gurukul with their education complete. They had been examined in all subjects; only 'dharma' remained. They were puzzled — why no examination in dharma? And now there was no question of any examination — they had already been declared passed. They had gone a little distance from the gurukul when the sun began to set, and night was falling. Near a bush on the path many thorns were scattered. The first youth leapt and crossed them. The second left the path and went around. But the third stopped; he picked up the thorns and threw them back into the bush, then moved on. The other two said, 'What are you doing? Night is deepening; we must quickly cross the forest.' He laughed, 'That is why I am removing them — because night is falling and those who come after us will not see the thorns.' As they spoke, their master emerged from behind the bush. He had been hidden there. He said to the third, 'My son, go — you have passed the examination in dharma as well.' And he took the other two back to the gurukul. Their religious education was not yet complete.
What other test is there for life but life itself? And dharma is life. Those who think that merely by passing examinations they are educated are in illusion. In truth, where examinations end, real education begins — for there life begins.
Then what shall we do for religious education?
The seed of dharma is in everyone — for truth is in everyone, for life is in everyone. We have to provide the opportunity for that seed to grow and remove the obstacles from its path. If that can be done, the seed becomes a sprout by its own power, its own aliveness. We do not have to make it sprout. The sprout becomes a plant; the plant fills with leaves, flowers and fruits. We only provide the opportunity — the rest happens on its own.
What will religious education be? Yes — for the seed of dharma to develop, schools can certainly provide opportunity, and remove the obstacles from its path. In providing the opportunity, three elements are very important.
The first element is courage. One must have indomitable courage. In the search for truth, in the ascent to the divine, courage is primary. The courage needed to climb the Himalayas or to go into the depths of the Pacific is less than what is needed in the search for Paramatman — for there is no peak higher, no ocean deeper.
But the so‑called religious are not courageous. Their religiosity is a cover for their cowardice. Behind their religion and their God stands their fear.
I say: a fearful mind can never be religious — fearlessness is the very life of dharma.
Courage comes from fearlessness. Therefore first: do not teach fear — of any kind. And second: initiate into fearlessness. Ah! What power is fearlessness, what radiance, what splendor! Upon the rock of fearlessness alone can the temple of dharma stand.
But our so‑called religions have exploited fear; therefore, the temple of religion has not yet been built. Can any house be built upon the sands of fear? And if built, for how long can it stand?
I go into temples, mosques, churches — I find people gathered, trembling with fear. Their prayers are the materialization of their fear. The God before whom they kneel is a projection of their inner fear. That is why man runs to God in sorrow — because then he is more afraid. In old age he runs toward God — because approaching death frightens him. Go and see in temples and churches — you will find people who have either died or are close to death.
We must not teach such fear. We must teach fearlessness. Only then can dharma be the religion of the living. What is the fear in teaching fearlessness? One fear is that the youth may deny God. This fear is there because our God stands upon fear. What is wrong if such a God is denied? In truth, it is wrong to accept him.
I am eager to bring fearlessness to such a point that even that Paramatman whom we do not know can be denied. Where there is no rejection of the false, there is no fearlessness. Without rejecting the false, how can there be a search for truth?
Atheism born of fearlessness I call the other side of theism. Such atheism becomes an essential step to true theism. One who cannot be an atheist — how will he be a theist? Theism is far more difficult than atheism. One who is afraid to be an atheist — his theism will be false. He becomes a theist out of fear of becoming an atheist. What value can such theism have?
I respect atheism rooted in fearlessness more than theism based on fear. Where there is fear, there can never be dharma; where there is fearlessness, there is the door of dharma. Passing through atheism born of fearlessness is a joy, an experience — the soul becomes strong. One who lives his atheism transcends it and is freed of it.
Atheism means: the period of rejection. If society is opposed to God and religion, then passing through the rejection of that too is atheism. Passing through the rejection of the accepted and believed is atheism. For the maturing of personality, this phase is invaluable. One who does not pass through it remains forever immature. This passage can be only through courage and fearlessness.
And what is the greatest courage? The greatest courage is to reject false knowledge. If you do not know that God is, do not agree to believe. Even if one bows you down, tempts you with heaven, or frightens you with hell — do not agree to accept what you do not know. It is better to risk losing heaven or going to hell than to become afraid. Only one with such courage can search for truth. What can a fearful mind do? Out of fear he agrees to believe anything: in a theist society he becomes a theist; in Soviet Russia, an atheist. He is only a dead limb of society, not a living individual. Aliveness in personality comes only from fearlessness.
A man met me yesterday. He said, 'I believe in the immortality of Atman.' On his face everything spoke of fear of death. I asked, 'Is this belief not perhaps because of fear of death? Those who are afraid of death are greatly consoled to hear that the soul is immortal.' He became uneasy: 'Is Atman not immortal?' I said, 'That is not the question. The question is not whether Atman is immortal or not; the question is: can one who is afraid of death search for or know the soul? For the search for truth, fearlessness is essential.'
This I say to you too: the more a person is afraid of death, the more he believes in the immortality of Atman. The degree and intensity of his belief is proportionate to his fear. Can such a person open his eyes to the truth of life? The path of truth goes only through fearlessness. The immortality of Atman is not the belief of a frightened mind, but the realization of a totally fearless consciousness.
A fearful mind seeks not truth but security.
A fearful mind seeks not truth but consolation.
Then whichever notion seems to provide security and consolation, he clings to that.
But can notions, mere beliefs, unexperienced creeds, give security or consolation? Apart from truth there is no security, no consolation, no peace. To attain truth, the mind must dare to drop false securities and consolations. Therefore I call courage the greatest religious virtue.
A religious teacher was explaining courage to children. They said, 'Give an example.' The teacher said, 'Imagine, in a mountain inn, twelve boys are staying in one room. The night is very cold. After the day’s journey they go to sleep tired. Eleven boys pull up their blankets and slip into their beds; but one boy, even in that cold, kneels in a corner to say his evening prayer. I call this courage. Is it not courage?' Then a child stood and said, 'Consider, in an inn twelve priests are staying. Eleven kneel to say their night prayers; but one priest pulls up his blanket and goes to sleep. Is this not courage too?'
I do not know what happened to that priest afterwards, or how he extricated himself from the children — but I do know one thing: the name of courage is the strength to be oneself. The capacity to be a person free of the crowd — that is courage.
To make a person a person is to give him courage. Courage is trust in oneself — self‑confidence. Along with courage, teach vivek — awareness. That is the second important element in religious education. Without vivek, courage can be dangerous; it can be not self‑confidence but deranged ego. Courage is power; vivek is eyes. Courage moves; vivek sees.
You have heard the story of the blind and the lame. A forest caught fire. A blind man and a lame man had to run to save their lives. The blind could run, but could not see; in a burning forest, to run without eyes was nothing but death. The lame could see, but could not run; without legs, what was the value of seeing eyes? Then they found a device and saved themselves. What was it? Very simple: the blind man took the lame upon his shoulders.
That tale is not of the blind and the lame, but of courage and discrimination. To save life from the forest of ignorance on fire, one has to seat vivek upon the shoulders of courage.
Ordinarily, man lives in a swoon — as if asleep. It is the sleep of self‑forgetfulness. Through self‑remembering — becoming conscious and aware of oneself — the sleep breaks and vivek is born. Children can be educated toward self‑remembering, toward right memory of oneself, toward self‑awareness.
The arrow of consciousness ordinarily points outward. We are awake only toward that which is outside ourselves. This arrow can be turned toward oneself as well. Then what is known becomes our very being. With that knowing, the passage opens from the dark, somnambulant life to the awakened, conscious life.
But the prayers and hymns and kirtans that go on in the name of religion do not bring self‑remembering; rather, they bring self‑forgetfulness. Their pleasure is the pleasure of sleep and stupor; they are mental intoxicants.
I call not sleep, stupefaction or trance, but total awareness and wakefulness, the sadhana of dharma. For this awareness, schools can prepare the ground and provide opportunity. On the plane of the body, of the mind, and of the soul, awareness can be taught. The method of doing each act with continuous alertness gradually fills life with consciousness. The practice of being aware and witnessing every mental process awakens the mind extraordinarily. Moment to moment, the sense of 'I am' finally becomes self‑awakening.
The third key is: silence.
Words, words, words fill the mind with great unrest and tension. Thought upon thought — and the mind loses all rest.
Silence means: rest for the mind.
Only by knowing and living silence does the mind remain ever fresh and young. In silence — utter silence — the mind becomes a mirror in which truth is reflected.
What can a restless mind know? What can it search for? It gets entangled within itself and cannot turn in any other direction. For truth there is needed deep peace, total silence — the full rest of a thought‑free mind. This state of mind is called meditation.
Children can be led toward rest of the mind.
The basic rule of mental rest is to leave the mind wholly relaxed and free — as if one is floating in a river, not swimming, simply floating; to drift upon the waves of the mind, just drifting... not swimming at all. Such effortlessness leads into that peace with which man is wholly unacquainted.
Whatever meaning and bliss are hidden in life are revealed in this peace. Whatever truth there is in life becomes available. In truth it was always available — but in restlessness it was not visible; in peace it is unveiled and stands before oneself.
Religious education is education in courage, discrimination and peace.
Religious education is education in fearlessness, awareness and thought‑free silence.
Such education can indeed become the foundation of a new humanity.
I hope you will reflect on what I have said. Do not accept my words — contemplate and ponder. Consider them impartially. Test them on the touchstone of experiment. Truth comes out of every ordeal more gold than before.