Tao Upanishad #62

To understand this sutra, a few preliminaries must be grasped.

The first thing: scientists say that the whole evolution of man has happened through weapons; all of human progress has been due to violence. And if man has triumphed over all animals, it is not because of intelligence, but because of a greater capacity for violence. There are even scientists who say that human intelligence itself developed because of the need to commit violence.

Let us understand this a little, because Lao Tzu’s statement is exactly the opposite. Only then, standing right face-to-face with it, will Lao Tzu be easier and more fitting to understand.

You may not know, but from Darwin to J. B. S. Haldane, those who have studied evolution in depth have arrived at a very strange conclusion. And that conclusion is that man’s entire evolution has happened because of the thumb. It sounds surprising, but there is truth in it. Man alone is the animal whose thumb can work in opposition to the fingers. Your big toe, for example, cannot work against the other toes; hence you cannot grasp anything with your foot. And if you cannot grasp, you cannot throw. The human thumb works opposite to the fingers—fingers from one direction and the thumb from another. Because of this opposition you can hold something in the hand. And because of this very opposition you can throw. The power to throw becomes the basis for the making of weapons.

No animal can use weapons; because it cannot grasp. And when it cannot grasp, it cannot throw. Those animals who can use a kind of thumb—like monkeys, chimpanzees, baboons—are the simian tribes. That is why scientists say that man and monkey are of kindred stock. They too have a thumb that can work somewhat against the fingers; not much. Not as mobile as man’s, but enough to grasp a little; enough to throw a short distance.

Man’s thumb is the base of his violence. Otherwise, man is weak. Let us also understand clearly why man came to need to be so violent. For there is no animal more violent than man. No animal commits violence for sport; only man hunts and practices violence as play. No animal is violent toward its own kind; man takes great relish in killing man. No animal commits violence without cause; man commits causeless violence and afterwards invents a cause. Among animals there are no great wars, no world wars. There is no possibility of it.

What is the reason that man became so violent? And what is the reason that man discovered weapons?

The reason is very strange—it does not occur to the mind—because man is weak. Among all animals man is the weakest of the weak. Unarmed, you could not even fight a dog. You have neither such strong teeth nor such sharp claws. For animals, teeth and claws are their weapons, their tools. Man is utterly weak. Unarmed, man cannot defeat any animal. This very weakness became the search for violence. Because man had no claws, he had to make knives and swords. They are substitutes for claws. Man did not have the great teeth that animals have, so he had to make toothed tools that could enter an animal’s chest and pull out its heart.

Man is weak; therefore he became violent. This is most amusing. It would mean that until man’s inner weakness disappears, he cannot be nonviolent. And it would also mean that the more violent a man is, understand that the more he is weak within. And it would further mean that the more powerful a man becomes, the more nonviolent he will be.

From fear, violence was born. Man, being afraid, sought violence. And he had hands, a thumb, a weak inner psyche—so he began to kill by throwing things. The search for weapons began. Then man journeyed from stone tools to the atom bomb.

It is also worth understanding that as stronger and stronger weapons were made available to man, in the same proportion man grew weaker. If you look at graves from ten thousand years ago, those men were physically stronger than we are. We have atom bombs. If we were to wage war with men of ten thousand years ago, they could not defeat us. But physically they were stronger than us. If we put weapons aside and fight unarmed, we cannot defeat men of the past. Even today, if you encounter a tribal in the jungle, you cannot defeat him. Physically he is stronger. Why?

There is a vicious circle. The weak man, because of his weakness, seeks weapons of violence. Then, the more weapons he acquires, the less he needs his own strength; so he grows weaker. The day we possess every sort of automatic device, man will be utterly weak.

Compared with those who walked on foot, our legs are weaker. They must be. Because we have hardly any occasion to walk. The leg has no use. Whatever is unused grows weak. Now we have discovered the computer. Soon the greater part of man’s brain will be unnecessary, and man’s brain will also grow weak. Whatever we invent a machine for is no longer needed in our own body.

Out of weakness man became violent. And by becoming violent he has been growing weaker and weaker. On the one hand we have in our hands a great power—to wipe out millions in a second; on the other hand we are so helpless that if a small animal were to attack us, we could not straightforwardly win against it. Even our greatest general, unarmed, cannot defeat a common wild beast.

These facts must be kept in mind. All violence is a complement of weakness.

A very great Western thinker, Adler, proposed a most important idea in this century. And that was: life continuously seeks compensations. Therefore those who have any deficiency invent some way to compensate it. Often it happens—often—that people who feel inferior in some respect compensate by trying to be superior in another direction. A man may be ugly; he will seek to compensate for his ugliness in some other direction—he will become a great poet, or a great painter, or a great musician, or a great leader—he will become something, so that he does not feel inferior.

If we probe into the lives of the world’s politicians, we will be amazed. In one way or another they were afflicted with deep inferiority. Lenin’s legs, when he sat on a chair, did not reach the ground. His legs were short, the upper body long. From childhood people kept telling him, “What will you do in life? You cannot even sit properly on an ordinary chair!” So he demonstrated by sitting on the throne of Soviet Russia that an ordinary chair is nothing—I can sit on the greatest throne.

Psychologists say that those legs which did not touch the ground—that very inferiority—Lenin always sat hiding his legs. When he sat on the throne—even then—he could not abruptly sit on a chair before anyone, because his legs would hang up. For him it was an embarrassment—a difficulty.

Regarding Hitler, what scientists have now uncovered tells many things. He was plagued by many kinds of illnesses, and the torment and inferiority of all those illnesses drove him mad. He would prove in some other direction that he was not inferior.

Whoever suffers from inferiority tries to prove himself superior in some direction. In this sense, man is the most inferior of animals—physically. And in trying to prove himself superior to all animals, he has indeed succeeded in establishing that he is superior. Whatever was lacking, he compensated. The hands were weak, he made weapons. The body was weak, he built houses, built forts. He has secured himself in every possible way. Scientists say that it is on the strength of this very violence that man has become what he is. But now there are dangers. It is true: whatever man has become, he has become because of violence. Had Lao Tzu or Mahavira or Buddha taught nonviolence twenty thousand years ago and had man accepted, man would not be anywhere today. If the jungle man had been met by teachers of nonviolence, wild animals would long ago have finished him off.

Therefore twenty thousand years ago no Mahavira was born. He could not have been. Remember, for Mahavira to be born the condition is necessary that violence is no longer necessary. Only then can nonviolence be spoken of. Hence there was no way for Mahavira or Lao Tzu to be born earlier. Consider: Lao Tzu, Mahavira, Buddha, Socrates, Aristotle, Plato—all are from around the same time. Across the earth they appeared about twenty-five hundred years ago. They cannot be pushed further back. Earlier, talk of nonviolence could have had no meaning; earlier, violence was life’s inevitability.

But what was inevitable yesterday later becomes a difficulty.

Today scientists say that in about a million years man declared himself the victor through violence; he defeated the animals and became the sole master. In a million years his very cells have become habituated to violence. Now there is no longer any need for violence; but the habit of violence remains. This is today’s trouble.

The greatest suffering today is that the very route through which you have been made is now finished. You are no longer fighting wild animals; nor do you sit in a dark cave at night. Your teeth and claws are not needed today. And their extensions are of no use. But in man’s cells, in his body, a built-in program remains. What your cells learned in a million years cannot be forgotten in your lifetime. They will take a million years to forget.

Those who think as scientists—like Skinner and other thinkers—say there is no way to make man nonviolent unless we change his genetic base, the very foundation of his cells. Until then, there is no way. Because man is born with a program of violence hidden within, the blueprint is inside. The jungle is gone, the struggle is gone, the use of violence is gone; but the design of the body is for violence, his glands are for violence. His whole structure is violent. And hence the great suffering in life.

The suffering is this: you want to be violent and you cannot be. Then you boil within, you are tormented as if a volcano burns inside. Then this volcano poisons your whole life. Because even where there is no need, fire drops from your hand. Or, if it does not drop, it burns within.

Two things occur. First, you become molten lava. Do not think that you sometimes get angry. The truth is the reverse; you are always in anger—sometimes it shows more, sometimes you keep it hidden. It is difficult for you to be peaceful; you are, in fact, unpeaceful. But only when you become too unpeaceful do you notice it. Actually, you have the habit of fever.

If you watch carefully you will find that you are angry twenty-four hours, and you are on the lookout for where anger can escape. The juice of violence is within you for twenty-four hours—from the small child to the old. Even a small child—if an ant is crawling, he will twist and crush it. On the way to school he will throw a stone at a dog. What is happening inside him?

This child should have been born in the jungle. The cells within him have no news that he is no longer in the jungle. The inner cell is utterly unfamiliar with your education and culture. It is simply fulfilling its program. It is of no concern to it that the world around has changed. It is because of that very violence that it has changed; but that violence has sunk deep. Skinner says, there is no hope until we change man’s reproductive process and enter his basic cell to remove the elements of violence.

But that will not be easy. We have only just entered the atom; it is a dead particle. It will take much time yet to enter the living particle. Because the moment you break the living particle, it dies. Until we discover a science by which the living particle can be broken and yet not die, we will not be able to change it.

But it will not take too long—one hundred years at most, and perhaps twenty at the least. Before this century ends, there are signs that we will split the human germ-cell as we split the atom.

But even that will not solve it. Then great dangers arise. If we can change the germ-cell, we will destroy man. Because to change the cell means: we will produce the kind of human beings we desire. Who will desire? Who will decide what kind of men there should be?

Certainly, politicians will decide; the power is in their hands. Politicians will not prefer the birth of intelligent people. The more stupid the society, the bigger the politician appears. The politician will not want people of very independent thought—because independent thought is the womb of rebellion. The politician will want obedient, disciplined slaves. And if the genetic cell can be changed, the politician will produce a herd of his followers—slaves without any soul. More efficient, but the very thing called man will have dissolved. They will be mechanical.

We may not agree to allow this. Then what is the way?

Lao Tzu, Mahavira and Buddha, who speak of nonviolence, have substance in their words. Because man rose above the animal and became human through violence. Now there is no way to rise further through violence. The war with animals is finished. There is no longer any struggle between man and animal. Now the struggle is between man and man. That is why man is violent with man. Because he must be violent. There is no struggle with animals, and the urge to struggle is within him, so man fights man. He invents excuses—Hindu against Muslim, Christian against Muslim, Communist versus non-Communist, India versus Pakistan, America versus Vietnam—these are all excuses. From the scientific viewpoint, man wants to fight. For without fighting he finds no relief. He is restless within. And whom should he fight? Either he should go on fighting animals...

Hence you will notice a funny thing: animal hunters are generally good men. If you befriend a hunter you will find him very friendly and good-natured. Because he spends all his violence on animals; there is no need to express violence with people. Those we call respectable—who would not crush even an ant—do not feel like good men. To live with them feels painful. An hour with them brings boredom, weariness. If you had to live a month with them you would begin to think of suicide. Better to keep away from the respectable. They weigh heavy; they weigh heavy. Why?

Boiling violence fills them within. That is their burden. And they release it by devices. They will not hit you with a stick, but with thoughts they will keep attacking you. They will not stab your chest with a dagger, but will thrust words that go deeper than daggers. They will not abuse you; but they will contrive to make you feel you are not yet a man.

All so-called sadhus keep telling people that you are fallen, you are sinners, you are criminals. Their entire game is to prove the other guilty. In making the other small their violence is finding an outlet. Violence can take many forms. Hurting the other can be done in many ways. A single condemning glance—and violence has happened. Go smoking a cigarette to a sadhu-mahatma; then see his look. That look will tell you a sword does not cut so cruelly.

I have heard: a man went to meet the Shankaracharya of Puri. I read this in an essay written in praise of the Shankaracharya. The writer did not think at all what he was writing. Twenty or twenty-five devotees were sitting nearby. The man asked the Shankaracharya how Brahman could be realized—show some way. The Shankaracharya looked him up and down. The man was wearing trousers and a shirt—that was a crime. In reply the Shankaracharya asked, “Are you wearing the janeu, the yajyopavita?”

The man was frightened; he was not. So the Shankaracharya said, “Then you think our rishis and munis were fools? Without the yajyopavita you begin the search for Brahman-knowledge!”

Those twenty-five simpletons sitting there would have rejoiced; for they were wearing yajyopavita. And that man was suddenly condemned... He must have wished the earth would split and swallow him. Where has he got stuck! Why did I ask this question!

But this was only the beginning. The Shankaracharya said, “I also want to ask: do you urinate standing or sitting? Because you wear trousers; to sit would be difficult. You urinate standing—and you attempt Brahman-knowledge?”

What would you call this? Can there be any violence greater? Only a respectable man can do such misbehavior! But we do not see that the gusto in making another look bad—that very relish is violence. The relish in showing the other low—that is violence.

Man conquered animals through violence. And if violence remains, man will be defeated by himself. The danger today is because of violence. We possess so many means that if our tendency to violence continues, man will not remain on this earth for long. We are writing the last chapter. History is standing at the final shore. We won by violence, but now that very violence will be our death. Because the habit we have learned has two results.

First, we need a war every fifteen years. In ten to fifteen years we collect so much violence that unless a great war happens there is no release. And every person needs an outlet for anger and violence every two, four, or eight days. Otherwise the fire begins burning and man becomes feverish. An outlet is needed! So we keep letting it out. See how this accumulated violence is releasing in many forms today. Names, excuses; students releasing it on teachers; sons on fathers. Men have always released it on women; now in the West women are releasing it on men. It seems that even if there is no cause...

I was just reading a hippie-thinker’s book. Its name is: Do It. The author suggests: whatever the law is, break it. Don’t bother why you are breaking it. Breaking is the goal. Whatever is forbidden—do it; don’t bother what its consequence will be. The author suggests: burn the books, burn the Bible, set fire to churches, blow up the universities! Why? He says: there is no “why.” Fire is revolution. And we must burn everything, so that we may start again afresh.

He has said a very amusing thing. He says: people have not left us any chance to begin anything. The old have done everything. We have no chance to do anything. Burn it all! So that we can begin again.

What this youth says is not the statement of one youth. Today in Europe and America millions of youths agree. Very strange things!

I was looking at a small pamphlet suggesting that the first nun you meet, commit adultery with her. The first nun—commit adultery with her immediately. Why?

The author says: the world has seen the revolutions of the poor so far. Naturally, the poor make revolution to get something. America will see the revolution of the sons of the rich. They do not make revolution to get anything; they make revolution to erase, to lose, to destroy.

So in the campus of the University of California they bought a brand new Rolls-Royce and set it on fire—made a holi of it. When reporters asked, “What are you doing?” they said, “We are only burning your symbol—your Rolls-Royce.” In the New York Exchange boys set dollar notes on fire and threw dollars around. People asked, “What are you doing?” They said, “We are destroying your symbol.” For what? “We are enraged—we are simply enraged.”

We cannot understand this now; but we will soon. For if anger goes berserk and finds no cause, what will it do? Children are breaking schools, smashing furniture, breaking glass. We think there must be a reason. There is none. Man is violent. And man now has no avenues for violence.

Psychologists say: those who cut wood in the forest, who break stones—their violence is exhausted in cutting and breaking. When such a man returns in the evening after eight hours of chopping wood, he meets his wife with love and chats with his children. He has left his violence in the forest. But a man who sits in an office eight hours returns home—his violence has not been released; he comes full. He will release it at home. He will search for ways from the moment he steps in—this violence must come out. The man who breaks stones—his violence is being released. Should the stone-breaker suddenly not break stones, he will break something else. He will not enjoy unless he breaks.

So one result is that violence boils up—pointless, causeless, breaking. And the second result is that because this causeless violence is present, all the inner streams of nectar are poisoned. Even when a man loves, violence gets mixed in it. Even when he embraces someone, there is included in it a feeling to twist the other, to crush him. Because whatever is hidden within will spread everywhere.

Therefore, if you watch two lovers loving—and if they are a little honest and understand themselves—they too will see that their love also carries a little violence. While kissing each other, they begin to bite as well; they sink their teeth. Vatsyayana has even written: he who has not sunk his teeth has not loved. Until there are marks of teeth left on the beloved or the lover, is it even love yet! Vatsyayana has written how the lover should keep his nails, so that when he sinks them into the flesh, marks remain, blood appears. Nakh-dansh—nail-bites—he has included among the processes of love.

These days Vatsyayana’s book is much read in the West. In the East, no one reads it now. There is a reason. That book was written in the East when we too were prosperous—and our violence found no occasion; so even in love we released violence. Today Vatsyayana and Pandit Koka’s books are translated into all languages and widely circulated. Westerners, reading Vatsyayana, become ecstatic—“Amazing people these Hindus! What techniques of love they discovered thousands of years ago!”

But how can sinking nails be love? Only in this sense: under the pretext of love, a little violence has passed out. Man is clever. In France arose Marquis de Sade—he thought: if sinking nails is so blissful, then why not prepare iron nails! He kept a small kit with him—whip, iron nails, other instruments—the tools of love. And the great fun is that he had many mistresses; he was a marquis. And his mistresses said: whoever has received the love of Marquis de Sade will find everyone else’s love insipid. Of course. Because he would strip them naked and whip, and sink iron nails into the body. Women have said: at first it seemed very frightening, but later we began to relish it. And from his violence—from his whip, from his iron nails—passion was aroused, lust rose and went wild.

Marquis de Sade is deranged, mad. But everyone is that way in small doses. Someone invents iron nails—that is only an inventive mind. Someone else manages with his own nails—that is a less inventive mind. And if people block this violence in love, then it finds other routes. Hence husband and wife quarrel day and night. Mother and son, son and father—day and night they quarrel. This conflict is for the same reason: the violence within has no outlet; it flows anywhere. The spring bursts anywhere and flows.

Man will not become truly man until he is free of this inner violence. There are two ways. One is what Skinner and the other scientists say: change the human cell. That does not seem very beneficial. Even if it can be done, it is not worth doing—because with that, man will die.

The most significant event in man happens through his own will. When there is no possibility for will, whatever happens has no value. If you let go of anger with your own will, compassion arises in you. And if the cell and hormones of anger are removed and glands are cut away, compassion does not arise; you become only impotent with respect to anger.

Understand this difference well. If someone rises above anger by his own will, the very energy of anger becomes compassion. If someone merely cuts anger off at the bodily level, then at the level of mind and Atman the knot of anger remains. Cutting it at the bodily level only makes you like a man who wants to attack but whose hands have been cut off—he cannot attack. Your condition becomes like someone we call a brahmachari because we have cut all his seminal apparatus away. He is not a brahmachari; his brahmacharya has no meaning. And even if he wants to become a brahmachari now, it is very difficult—because the very ground on which he could rise and declare his will no longer exists.

Therefore Buddha, Mahavira and Lao Tzu say: it is possible that man rises above by his own will. And the day man rises above his violence by his own will, that day truly man is born. So long as we are filled with violence we are a kind of animal, fighting animals. The day we become empty, free of violence, that day we step outside animality. That day we are no longer animals.

Now let us try to understand Lao Tzu’s sutra.

Lao Tzu says, “Soldiers, above all, are instruments of ill omen.”

Why call the soldier an instrument of ill omen? Because violence is animality. Only if violence is animality does the soldier become an ill-omened instrument. If violence is not animality, then the soldier is not an ill-omened instrument but a means of the noble.

Nietzsche says so—because Nietzsche thinks in exact reverse. Nietzsche thinks the soldier is the supreme flower of human life. He says: when I see the soldier, my soul expands; when I see the monk, it shrinks. Nietzsche says: the most sublime music I have heard in this world is when soldiers, with naked swords glittering in the sun, pass with the rhythmic sound of their marching feet. That rhythmic sound of feet is the highest music. Because with it manliness awakens, virility awakens, the will to power awakens. Nietzsche says: the aspiration to power is the very soul of man.

If we enter Nietzsche’s personality, it is astonishing. He was a weak man, yet wrote a philosophy of power. Nietzsche was utterly weak, but he talks of the will to power. He says: to attain power is the only goal of life. And he himself was weak; he spent most of his life ill.

Adler is right that people compensate their inferiority. Nietzsche is weak, and he talks of power. And we have not seen men more powerful than Mahavira, Buddha and Lao Tzu—and they speak of nonviolence. In truth, why should the powerful talk of power? Only the weak talk of power. We desire what we do not have. We ask for what we lack.

In Nietzsche’s view the soldier is the highest. And the outcome of Nietzsche’s philosophy was that Hitler could arise and the whole world went through the Second World War. The real credit or discredit of that war is not Hitler’s; its root is in Nietzsche. Hitler always kept Nietzsche’s book by his pillow—the book called The Will to Power. Hitler said: whenever my mind starts to fear or waver, I immediately pick up Nietzsche, read any page at random—breath fills again within, energy returns, strength stands by my side.

Nietzsche says: the soldier is the supreme flower, and violence is man’s duty. He who turns away from violence is no longer a man. Therefore Nietzsche calls Jesus and Buddha effeminate. “Are these men,” he says, “who talk of love and compassion! They are weak people,” says Nietzsche, “creating a philosophy to cover their weakness. They do not want to admit.”

Nietzsche says: Jesus says, if someone slaps your one cheek, offer the other. Nietzsche says: this is only a device to hide your weakness. You will have to offer the other anyway—you are so weak. If you do not, your enemy will turn it for you. So, Nietzsche says, the weak too construct their philosophy. And they console themselves: you did not hit me; I gave you the opportunity. I myself presented my face. Thus he seeks consolation.

For Nietzsche this sutra would be bewildering. If he had read the Tao Te Ching he would have torn and burnt it—because Lao Tzu says: soldiers are instruments of ill omen. A soldier means one we have prepared for violence—a professional violent man. We have trained him for one business alone, one specific task: to commit violence.

We prepare the soldier in such a way that no human quality remains in him. The entire training of the soldier is so that within him no mind remains, no heart remains; he becomes a machine. Therefore for years we do not take any other work from him. What do we make him do? We make him do left-right parade. For hours—“Left turn! Right turn! Left turn! Right turn! Raise the left leg! Lower the right!” What are we making him do? For years why do we make him do this?

There is a whole psychology behind it. A man who for years does “left turn, right turn” will gradually become conditioned. Command—and between command and act there will be no thought. Command and act—no thought in between. “Left turn!” The soldier does not think: shall I turn or not? Is there any benefit in turning? Why this futile turning? He has no such freedom. He simply turns. So when he is told: “Fire!” he fires. He cannot think: why should I fire? Is it just to kill the one in front? Who am I to kill? And what do I gain by killing?

For a salary of one or two hundred a month. For his bread he is in the business of murder. He can cut down thousands. The man who dropped the atom on Hiroshima—when asked later, he said: I only obeyed orders. I have no other responsibility. When asked, “Were you able to sleep at night after dropping the atom on Hiroshima?” he said, “I slept in complete bliss—because I had completed my duty. My duty was done, so I slept.”

There, one hundred and twenty thousand people were burned to ash—because this man dropped the bomb. If this man were to think, “What am I getting—three hundred a month? Five hundred a month? I am only earning bread. Beggars on the street earn bread too—should I become the cause of one hundred and twenty thousand murders to earn bread?” perhaps he would say, “No, I refuse to obey this order.” But such a moment will not arise. If we send a man directly to drop an atom bomb, perhaps it would. That is why for years we put him through left-right, killing his capacity to think, weakening the intelligence inside him. He becomes mechanical.

William James used to joke that once he was sitting in a hotel, talking with friends. He was a great American psychologist. He was saying how man becomes conditioned. Just then a retired soldier was passing on the road with eggs on his head. To give a live example, William James shouted, “Attention!”

That man—retired for ten years—the basket of eggs fell and he stood at attention. When he had stood, then he understood: oh! He became very angry: “What kind of joke is this? All the eggs are broken.”

William James said: you had the right not to attend. He replied: that right we have lost. Ten years since leaving the job, but mechanically—you said it and there was no opportunity to think... There is no question of not doing. And to say we did it is not right—“attention happened”—mechanically.

So the soldier’s preparation is mechanical.

The greatest fall possible for man is to become a machine. The animal is not man’s great fall. Man can fall two steps down—he can become an animal. But the animal has a certain dignity. For the animal too thinks a little, experiences a little, sometimes decides. Your dog—even if hungry—if you throw bread with contempt, he will not be ready to eat. Your contempt becomes a wall; he will refuse. He too experiences something, thinks something, decides. A greater fall than that is to become mechanical. Then there is no question of decision.

Therefore Lao Tzu says: the soldier is an instrument of ill omen—because he is the maximum degeneration of man. This is very bad, what Lao Tzu says. For then what of our generals? Our Napoleons, our Alexanders—our whole history is the history of soldiers. The dazzling names in history are soldiers’ names.

But our whole history is the history of violence. Our whole history is not of humanity; it is the history that man is still an animal. Naturally, in it the soldier appears supreme. On his arms the colored stripes become rainbows—over the whole of history.

Lao Tzu says: soldiers are instruments of ill omen—because they are professional violent men. Even nonprofessional violence is better. If someone insults you and you are filled with anger, there is a certain dignity even in that anger. But the professional violent man is not even angry and he kills. The soldier has no reason for anger. He is only in the trade—doing his job.

There is a great kinship between the soldier and the prostitute. The prostitute gives her body without any feeling. There is no love, no hate; great neutrality. That is why the body can be sold for money. We call the prostitute a sinner. But what is her fault? That she sells her body for money—that is all. What is the soldier doing? He too sells his body for money. And if one had to choose between the two, the prostitute is better. Because she sells only her body; she does not murder another’s body. The soldier sells his body in order to kill others. Yet the prostitute is insulted and the soldier is honored. Whom has the prostitute harmed?

Thoughtful people say: because of prostitutes many families have been saved; she has harmed no one. In fact, without prostitutes, the existence of chaste wives would become very difficult. Where there is a prostitute, in the home the wife remains sati. Even the wife does not fear her husband going to a prostitute; she fears him going to the neighbor woman. Why? Because there is no danger from the prostitute; there is no attachment, no involvement. The man will go and come back. Going to a prostitute is a completely neutral process; it is only a monetary relationship. But if he goes to the neighbor, returning is not easy—because money is not the relationship; feeling will arise.

Therefore no one is worried about prostitutes. The queens of old kings would sit nearby while prostitutes danced for the king—they too would watch. There was no obstacle in being a sati because of that. Rather, those who delve into the depth of society say the presence of prostitutes creates convenience. The convenience is that society flows in an orderly way. Some women’s bodies keep getting sold; the wound of society does not burst everywhere; some women take that wound upon themselves. The disease that would spread everywhere does not spread; channels are formed.

Like the dirty water of our house flows away through drains. Drains are necessary for your house to remain clean; otherwise filth will spread on the streets. Prostitutes serve as drains. The filth that accumulates in every house flows out there. As long as there is filth in the home, the prostitute will remain. The day the relation of husband and wife becomes a deep love-relationship, no filth will be produced—only then will the prostitute disappear. Otherwise she cannot be eliminated—because she is a necessity.

But we call the prostitute sinful. Let a prostitute appear—immediately condemnation arises in our mind. But the soldier—what is he doing? He is also selling his body for bread—and along with it murdering other bodies.

Lao Tzu says, “Soldiers are instruments of ill omen. And people abhor them.”

But understand this a little: ordinarily people do abhor soldiers; ordinarily the policeman is not viewed kindly. As long as you are safe and peaceful, you do not view the police or the soldier kindly. But as soon as trouble arises, the police becomes your protector. As soon as unrest spreads, as soon as war is in the air, the soldier becomes your everything. Therefore soldiers are always eager that war continues. And policemen are always eager that some disturbance remains. For when disturbance is there, they are respected. As soon as it ends, they vanish.

You saw recently: for a few days India and Pakistan went to war; the names of generals became headlines. Slowly those names diminish; but they are still going. Let a year or six months pass without disturbance—you will forget who the general is.

The soldier’s prestige exists only when disturbance runs; otherwise people abhor him. Because deep down people do experience that the trade of violence, the business of murder, is wrong in every way. Yet sometimes we consider it right. If a man kills someone, he is a criminal and is hanged. And if in war a man kills thousands, he is honored. Death is the same; killing is the same. But sometimes it is a crime, and sometimes the same thing becomes honor. Deep down we know the soldier is no auspicious sign.

Therefore Lao Tzu says, “And people abhor them. The religious man endowed with Tao keeps away from them.”

We have heard that the religious man stays away from the prostitute. But have you ever heard that the religious man stays away from the soldier? No—it would not have occurred to you. But Lao Tzu is right. More necessary than avoiding the prostitute is for the religious man to avoid the soldier. Because the soldier’s very purpose is proof that man is not yet man; hence his necessity. He is proof of our animality.

You need prisons, policemen, courts, magistrates. These are symbols of our being thieves and dishonest. Magistrates sit puffed up on their chairs; they are symbols of our dishonesty. There is no need for them the day we are not dishonest. The soldier standing at the crossroads is proof that you are thieves, deceivers, lawless. If he were not there, you would not bother how you drive your car—left, right, whatever. He stands there as a symbol of what is wrong within you. The day man becomes better, there should be no need for a policeman at the crossroads. The day man truly becomes man, the courts should disappear.

But we see that in our states the courthouse is the most splendid building. Go see the High Court! Those who come later will write in history: what kind of criminals must these people have been to build such grand courthouses! What need is there for such big court buildings? Is the court a glory? Is a court an artistic creation? Is a court a symbol of culture? The court is a necessity for the animal hidden within us.

Yet if a man becomes a justice, a chief justice, we think—what more remains to become! So-and-so became Chief Justice! He does not know that he is the other end of our thieves, criminals and murderers—and stands only because they stand. The day they disappear, he disappears.

Law tells that people are not good. The more the law, the worse the society! The greater the need for law, the more absurd the society! Laws increase every day—and that frightens: is man becoming worse? Yesterday there were ten laws; today there are twenty; tomorrow there will be thirty. Laws keep increasing. The growing law tells that man keeps deteriorating.

Lao Tzu says: the religious man endowed with Tao keeps away from the soldier. Because the soldier is man’s past—the episode of struggle with animals. The soldier is not man’s future—he is the past. In the future there should be no soldier.

“In civil life the gentleman leans to the left—toward the auspicious sign.”

In China, the left is taken as a symbol of the auspicious.

“The gentleman in civil life leans to the left, toward the auspicious; but in times of war he leans to the right—toward the inauspicious.”

Ordinarily you do not like killing, but in wartime you do. Not only do you like it; the more someone kills, the more you honor him. The killer is revered. In ordinary life you oppose murder; in war your whole stance changes. You become a different kind of man.

So Lao Tzu says: in peaceful life the gentleman is inclined to the auspicious; in restless times, in war—even he tilts to the inauspicious. The inauspicious remain inauspicious; but in war even the respectable tilt toward the inauspicious.

Therefore war, in the life of man and society, is—seen from the angle of religion—a time of fall. In war many evils are easily accepted which we otherwise never even imagine. In the last world war, when thousands of soldiers left their homes for the front—just as in India we began to welcome soldiers at stations, garlanding them, offering sweets, sweaters, woolens—some of us went to offer. But you may not know that in the last world war women, girls, went to the stations and offered their bodies to soldiers. In one sense, if you have to offer, what are you offering—a sweater! Women offered their bodies; because the one who goes to kill and die should be given everything. Women who could never even imagine—because they were ordinary housewives, not prostitutes—women who could never imagine union with a stranger—offered their bodies to unknown men. What happened?

War reverses all values. Values honored till yesterday fall down; the dishonored rise up. War is a state of upheaval. Therefore the more wars happen, the less the society’s movement toward religion.

In the last five thousand years there have been fifteen thousand wars. If one calculates, it is difficult to find a day when somewhere on earth a war was not happening. War is happening, war is ongoing. Somewhere we are killing and dying. Is man meant to kill and die?

Then we erect grand goals. Because of such goals even the respectable tilt toward the soldier in war. Then violence goes hidden. Understand this well. It is a delicate thing in the arrangement of our life: whenever we want to do evil, we hide it behind very fine, colorful curtains. Because to do evil nakedly is difficult. If we shout great slogans and talk of great ideals, doing evil becomes easy. Therefore no war happens without ideals. It can be said: as long as there are ideals in the world, it is difficult to avoid war. Ideals change; war does not. War continues. See how easy it is to do evil behind the veil of ideals.

If you are burning a mosque—and this is taken as a religious act; or you are breaking a temple—and this is a jihad; then setting the temple on fire, breaking it, cutting down the innocent priest will cause not a trace of remorse in you. Why? Because what you are doing is not visible; the ideal is visible. Muslims burned so many temples, broke so many idols, murdered so many innocents—jihad! Their religious leaders told them this is a holy war! If you win, you will find bliss here. If you die in battle, then in heaven—Bahisht—you will receive God’s blessing. Then the matter is easy. With the Quran in hand, or the Bible in hand, or the Gita in hand, thrusting the dagger becomes very easy. Why? Because then the dagger is a small thing; the Quran is big, the Bible is big. Now there is no fear. Now it can be done.

After our country’s independence, millions were cut down. Hindus cut, Muslims cut. Those who cut—people like us. You could never have imagined that this shopkeeper, this schoolteacher, this student, this woodcutter, this grass-seller—this man could ever kill! You could never even imagine. The same man killed. How could he do it? Because we never imagined he could cut anyone. He did—how?

A great ideal! Then there is no difficulty for a man to go mad. Wars run behind ideals.

The Second World War was fought. Hitler fought his people for the sake of producing superior men in the whole world—the superman. He created a surge in German blood. German blood became mad behind this ideal—that we will transform the whole earth into heaven, save the Nordic race—the supreme—and eliminate the inferior. It was a surgical operation—removing the wrong, establishing the right. This was a high goal. For this, if some died or killed, all was justified. So the Germans fought.

England, America and Russia fought to save the world from fascism and Nazism. Fascism murders democracy, murders socialism, murders freedom; it must be stopped. So the English youth fought, the American youth fought, the Russian youth fought—to save the world from a pit of sin.

High ideals! Then a man can do anything. If there were no ideals, if naked truth stood before us, man could not wage war. Hence no war is straightforward. Doctrine, scripture, ideology is necessary in between.

Therefore, so long as people in the world are divided by doctrines, a war can be manufactured anytime. So long as people say, “My view is right and yours wrong,” a sword can be drawn anytime. For how to decide whose view is right? Reason cannot decide. Years pass and reason proves nothing. The sword proves quickly. Whoever loses—his doctrine is wrong. Whoever wins—his doctrine is right.

It is a strange thing. You have heard the formula—we have made it the emblem of our nation: Satyameva Jayate—truth always triumphs. But the condition appears reversed. Whoever triumphs appears to be truth; whoever loses appears to be untruth. That truth always triumphs—there is no solid evidence. But whoever has triumphed—you cannot call him untrue; that is certain. He becomes the truth.

Think a little. If Hitler had won the Second World War, where would Churchill, Stalin, Roosevelt be today? They would be counted among the mad. Churchill, Stalin, Roosevelt won; Hitler lost—so Hitler is counted among the mad. Though both are mad. Whoever wins seems right; whoever loses seems mad. In truth, without being a little mad it is difficult to be a politician. A few nuts and bolts inside must be loose—only then does the fever of politics arise. And among them the greater madmen win; the lesser lose. But the losers do not write history; the winners do.

Therefore all history is false. Because the loser cannot write it. Think a little: if Ravana had won and Rama had lost—would you have the Ramayana? Never could be. Because Ravana would have found a Valmiki, a Tulsidas to glorify Ravana. The whole story would have been different. Because around the victorious gather flatterers, poets, sycophants—they create history. For the defeated, not a hand is raised. Therefore history is all false. It cannot be true—because it depends on who writes it.

Stalin shaped all of Russia. And as soon as he died, Khrushchev erased Stalin’s name from history. In Russian history books, Stalin’s name is no more. There is no photo. Wherever Stalin’s photo was with Lenin, Lenin’s remains; Stalin’s is cut out. You may know or not know—Lenin’s “tomb”—not exactly a tomb—the place where his body is still kept, at the Kremlin square—beside it Stalin’s body was also kept. When Khrushchev came to power, he had that body removed. The name was cut from history. Russian children in school do not even know a Stalin ever was.

It is very difficult. This is exactly what Stalin did. When he came to power, wherever Trotsky’s pictures were, they were removed. Because after Lenin the number two was Trotsky. So his photos were at many places, he was mentioned in books, newspapers, histories. All that was erased. What Stalin did to Trotsky, Khrushchev did to Stalin. And now those who are there are doing the same with Khrushchev. To determine history is very difficult. A thousand years later, those who find the books in whose pages there is no Stalin—how will they understand what he did? Or the books that will exist will say: Stalin was mad, deranged, a murderer. That is what they will understand.

The British wrote of Shivaji that he was a bandit. Had the British remained in India, Shivaji would have remained a bandit—there was no other way. The British left; Shivaji is no longer a bandit. We now raise Shivaji’s statues everywhere; he is Maharashtra’s hero.

But the difficulty is: who is speaking truth? Who is writing history? Whoever wins keeps writing history. Defeat wipes all out.

Lao Tzu says: even the gentleman leans to the untrue, to the wrong, in a time of war. Because propaganda, the climate, the ideals entangle even the respectable. Those we call good men— they too begin to pray. And sometimes the prayers become very amusing. Because in the Second World War both sides were Christian, the Pope faced a great difficulty—whom to pray for? The German Church split, and the German Primate prayed for Germany: “May God grant victory to Hitler.” The Church of England prayed for England: “May God grant victory to England; for England is on the side of truth.” And the German prelate said: Hitler will win—because he is in truth the messenger of God.

If there were two Gods, it might do. This was prayer to the same God. And even if it were the Hindu’s or the Muslim’s God, we might understand. But Christians pray to the one God. Yet even good men... This priest is not a bad man; he will not kill anyone. He will not hurt anyone; if a thorn enters someone’s foot, he will rush to remove it. He is a good man. But he too gets entangled. He too gets entangled.

Here in India, when the wind of war blows, even those we call nonviolent get inflamed. Then their nonviolence dissolves. Then they do not see that blood is surging stronger than intelligence; intelligence stands aside and blood leaps. And they speak of war.

Lao Tzu says: war is so evil that even the good become like the evil in it. All values are inverted.

“Soldiers are instruments of ill omen; they cannot be the weapons of the gentleman. When their use becomes unavoidable, then calm restraint is the highest policy.”

“Soldiers are instruments of ill omen.”

This is worth thinking. Because we never think so. We think quite differently.

I was in a village. There was a wind of riots; tension between Hindus and Muslims. The Hindus came to me: they said, in your talk please say that Bhagwan himself, Krishna himself, commanded that the assailants, the atatayis, must be destroyed.

I said: I am not sure who is an atatayi. Krishna did say that atatayis should be destroyed. But do you have any criterion by which you know who the atatayi is? They said: is there any need to ask? Muslims are atatayis.

If it is already proved that Muslims are atatayis, then fine. But who is proving it? The Hindus are proving it.

I asked them: have you asked the Muslims? They said: what is there to ask them! I said: if Muslims came to me—since I am neither Hindu nor Muslim—and if they said: the Quran commands that kafirs must be destroyed. I would ask: who is a kafir? If it is proved that Hindus are kafirs, then, of course, there is no issue. But have you asked the Hindus? They too will not agree to ask: what is there to ask kafirs! We assume. Then fine—the Muslim thinks you are wrong; the Hindu thinks the Muslim is wrong. Who will decide?

One thing is certain: whoever always sees that the other is wrong and I am right—he is wrong. That is truly the sign of a wrong man. The right man thinks deeply, and before calling another wrong, considers all possibilities that he himself might be wrong. The bad man does not enter this trouble. He assumes the other is wrong. “Muslims are wrong”—not “they might be wrong”—“Muslims are wrong as such; nothing else needs thought.” Their being Muslim is enough to make them wrong. Likewise, the Hindu’s being Hindu is enough to make him a kafir.

So when the Muslim is violent, he will not admit that violence is inauspicious in every case. He will say: when Hindus are violent, it is inauspicious. When we are violent, is the destruction of kafirs inauspicious? It is auspicious.

Therefore all war-mongers take their own violence as auspicious, the other’s violence as inauspicious.

Lao Tzu says: the soldier in every case, violence in every case, is an instrument of ill omen. Who uses it is not the issue; in every case it is ill-omened. If a good man uses it, ill comes of it; if a bad man uses it, ill comes. The instrument itself is ill. Then what should a good man do?

Violence cannot be his weapon. Soldiers cannot be the gentleman’s weapon. Therefore as long as a nation has not truly renounced all military power, it has no right to call itself cultured. A nation that still keeps soldiers has no right to be called cultured.

But no nation can muster the courage to bid farewell to the soldier. There are compulsions. Because the people surrounding will at once rush in, at once devour the country. There is this fear. So what can the gentleman do? Even if he does not take the soldier as his means, if an ungentleman attacks him, what can he do? He must resist. Because if he does not resist, he cooperates with the ungentleman—he supports evil.

Understand: Jesus said, offer the other cheek. But if the man in front is bad, I am becoming his accomplice. And it may be that I spoil his habit; tomorrow he will slap another with the same expectation that another cheek will come.

I have heard that Mulla Nasruddin used to sit every evening gossiping in front of a coffee house. A naughty boy made a daily habit of running by and knocking off Mulla’s turban. The turban would fall; Mulla would put it back. Many told him: “Mulla, scold this boy once. What nonsense! He has no strength. Give him one strong slap; he will never return.” Mulla said: wait, we too have our ways.

Then one day it happened—this had become a rule of years—that the boy would knock the turban off—one day a Pathan soldier was sitting at that spot in the evening where Mulla sat. Mulla sat in another place and watched. The boy came, knocked the turban. The Pathan drew his sword and cut off the boy’s head. Mulla said: “See! I was waiting for this. The habit had become fixed; this was bound to happen one day.”

In that murder the Pathan’s hand is less responsible than Mulla’s. The Pathan will appear the criminal; but the poor fellow is only the last link of a long chain. He has little part. The greater part belongs to the man who for a year kept getting his turban knocked off and trained the habit.

So it may be—life is complex, and fixed rules do not work—that if you slap me on one cheek and I offer the other, it is not necessary this is beneficial. I may be spoiling your habit. And some day your head may be cut off. And the responsibility will be mine as well.

So what should the gentleman do? If he relies on soldiers and the sword, he becomes a helper of ill. If he does nothing, he still becomes a helper of ill.

Lao Tzu says: he has only one way. In this bad world he has only one way.

“The best policy is calm restraint.”

Calm, restrained resistance is his only means. He must resist—if needed, even take up the sword, even take recourse to violence, even employ soldiers; but remain calm. This is the condition. The sword is in the bad man’s hand and in the good man’s hand—the sword is the same. But the bad man is not calm within; the good man will be calm within. And if he is not calm, let him not prattle philosophies—let him understand he too is a bad man.

One story, and I will complete today’s talk.

A Muslim Caliph ascended—the Caliph Umar. There is a sweet incident in his life. For ten years a war continued with an enemy. In ten years—who knows how many murders, how many villages burned, how many died, how much loss of wealth and people! After ten years, in one encounter, Umar and his enemy came face to face. In one stroke Umar cut down the enemy’s horse. The enemy fell. Umar leapt, sat on his chest, pulled out his spear to thrust into his heart. The enemy lay below—helpless. One moment more and death would happen! The enemy did not miss his last chance—before the spear entered his chest, he spat on Umar’s face. Umar withdrew the spear and stood up.

His enemy said: I do not understand. What is the matter? Such a chance I would not miss.

Umar said: the matter is finished. Anger arose in me. Your spitting brought anger. And I have sworn that I will fight only if I am calm. I became uncalm today. Tomorrow morning we will fight again.

But it was finished. Because the enemy fell at his feet. He said: I could never imagine—such a chance cannot be left. For ten years, the enemy behind whom you were, and I behind you; ten years of long havoc—and today the decision was imminent. What are you saying, Umar—that you felt anger? Was this war running without anger?

Umar said: I had no anger—a calm resistance. You were mad to fight; there was no other way, so I fought. But there was no relish in fighting. Today fighting became personal relish. When you spat, for a moment I felt, “Thrust!” But then it was Umar thrusting. Ten years were dissolved. “You are a bad man—therefore kill you. You are harming people—therefore kill you”—all these questions were gone. You spat on my face; all settled on this small stain of spit. Then it became necessary to stop. Because I have taken a vow that I will only fight if I am calm. For if I fight uncalmly, what gain is there? If two bad men fight, what solution? Whoever wins—in all cases, evil wins. Then I have no eagerness.

Lao Tzu says, “Calm resistance is the supreme policy.”

If such a situation arises that one has to enter war, become a soldier, raise the sword, then even so the truly religious person will go to war ever impersonal, ever calm, ever empty, ever detached from his own side, taking no relish in fighting.

This is Krishna’s effort with Arjuna—that he become such: a sannyasi and a soldier together. Only then does the poison of the soldier, the venom, dissolve.

If the sannyasi’s nectar falls upon the soldier, his poison dissolves.

Enough for today. Let us sing the kirtan; and then disperse.