Titles

Why do you give us these religious titles? They seem absurd. Outside the ashram indians seldom call me swami with a straight face.

You must be hankering for it. I have not called you swami to be swami for others. The word 'swami' means lord. Don't hanker for others to call you lord. I have called you swami just to indicate your path -- so that you become lord of yourself. It is not to make others slaves to you, it is just to make a master of you. The word 'swami' is intended for self-mastery. So don't feel frustrated if nobody calls you swami. In fact, if somebody calls you swami, be alert, because there is danger. You may start thinking that you are a swami, you may start thinking that you are some holy man or something. Don't carry that type of nonsense. I am not here to make you holy or saintly or anything. You ask why I give you these religious titles, because they seem absurd. They are. Really…

Beloved Osho, indian people particularly ask the question again and again, that just as you have dropped the religion of rajneeshism -- freed the sannyasins from the mala and red clothes -- are you one day going to drop the title of "Osho" too? It prevents many people from coming to you.

It has been raised in many articles and many books written against me, so it is good to go into it in a little detail. First, "Bhagwan" is not a title. Nobody can give that title. Nor is "Bhagwan" a degree, that you can pass an examination and the degree can be conferred on you. Nor is "Bhagwan" some position that can be appointed by a committee or by some people. Nor is "Bhagwan" an elected post, that you fight an election and whosoever has the majority of votes becomes Bhagwan. The critics who have been writing against me, they have always made it a point that I am "self-appointed" Bhagwan. And I have always wondered, do they have anybody -- Rama, Krishna, Buddha, Mohammed -- appointed by somebody else? If Rama is appointed by somebody else as Bhagwan, then certainly the appointing authority is higher -- and if you…

Osho, do you accept the title of Acharya? You could negate this label if you wish, so that emotional people don’t take you as “religious” in a narrow sense. We were just discussing this a moment ago. Your dress and appearance also reinforce the image of a religious acharya—that’s why I say this.

Yes. I have nothing to do with “Acharya.” Is it an imposition? Even “imposition”—what is it? It’s just convention. When I was a professor in a college, in that region they called a professor “acharya” in Hindi. Don’t they say adhyapak–pradhyapak? No! Here “acharya” means the principal. There the principal is called “pracharya.” There the principal is “pracharya” and the professor is “acharya.” Because of that, “Acharya” got attached after my name. It’s neither an imposition nor any such issue; it’s simply convention. It should be ended altogether. We should find a way to drop it. Because, as you say, it creates confusion—so it should be dropped. To explain the glory and importance of silence, for an entire hour… Yes, and your point about dress and appearance remains—that part of your question was left. I wear the kind of clothes that feel blissful to me. I should wear only what…

Osho! Basically, you are a herald of religion—of the original, essential religion. You yourself seem to be religion. But the surprising thing is that right now your strongest opposition comes from the religious establishment itself! The recent statements by two Shankaracharyas are fresh examples. Would you kindly shed some light on this?

The death of his father shook Shankaracharya utterly. But the mother, already in grief, would be left alone if Shankara took sannyas. She refused. The story says: Shankara went to bathe in the river, and a crocodile caught his leg. A crowd gathered on the ghat; the mother came running. Shankara said, “The crocodile says it will let go if you allow me to take sannyas.” What could the mother do? With tears she said, “All right, then become a sannyasin—at least live. If you live, even as a sannyasin, I will see you some day.” And the story says the crocodile let go. That is just a story; crocodiles were not that wise then, nor now! If man is not so wise, what of crocodiles! I spoke of Mulla—he did marry. Fourteen-year-old girl, eighty-year-old groom. The next day friends asked, “How was the wedding night?” “Don’t ask—great joy! Only…