My beloved Atman! I would like to begin with a small story. On a new-moon night an old blind friend was a guest at someone’s home. He had to leave around midnight. As he rose to go, his hosts said, It would be good if you took a lantern with you. The night is very dark—and you have no eyes. The blind man laughed and said, What meaning can light in my hand have? I am blind. Day and night are the same to me. The sun of day is as it is; the amavas night is as it is. Light in my hand means nothing to me. But the family would not agree, and they said, It may make no difference to you—but when others see light in your hand, they will avoid bumping into you in the dark; take the light. This argument seemed sensible, and the blind man set out with a lantern. But he had not gone even two hundred paces when someone crashed into him. He was amazed—and began to laugh—and said, I had thought that argument was wrong; yet it has turned out right after all! To the man who had collided with him he said, Brother, can’t you see there is a lantern in my hand? Are you blind too? The man replied: I am not blind, but the lantern in your hand has gone out. If a lantern is in the hands of a blind man, it is hard to know when it goes out! But even a blind man comes to know one thing—that someone has run into him. Humanity seems to me even more blind. We collide every day, yet it doesn’t occur to us that the light in our hand may have gone out. We are blind—of that the whole history of the human race will testify—as if we have no eyes. For we keep falling into the very same pits today into which we fell yesterday—and the day before—and before that, and before that. Blindness seems almost the hallmark of the human race. And yet some place lights in our hands—some Buddha, some Mahavira, some Krishna, some Christ—in the hope that even if we are blind, others will not crash into us, and light will keep being seen. But we collide day after day, and still the thought does not arise: Perhaps the light in my hand has gone out. I begin with this story because, as I see it, the light in man’s hand went out long ago. And we are walking through life carrying extinguished lamps. Extinguished lamps are more dangerous than no lamps at all. For the one with an unlit lamp believes a light is in his hand. The one with no lamp, no light—he walks carefully, thinking, There is no light in my hand, the path is dark, and I am blind. But we carry dead lamps—and if we mistake these dead lamps for living ones, man’s future is very perilous. In the name of religion, what man holds in his hand is nothing but the dead lamps of sects. In the name of religion, what lies in our hands are only extinguished scriptures. In the name of Dharma there is certainly no Paramatma. But there are priests, temples, prayers—and all of them extinguished, all ash—no radiance in them, no light. I say this because if temples truly held light, if our prayers were alive, aflame, it would have been impossible for the earth to become what it has become—a hell. And the wonder of wonders is that in making the earth hellish, those we call religions have played the leading role. They are the chief culprits. What Hindus, Muslims, Christians, Jains, Buddhists have made of the human race is frightening. We had hoped to receive light from them—and the result is the reverse. In setting man against man, religions have done what the irreligious and so-called atheists never did. One could have imagined that the atheists, the irreligious, the materialists—those whom the religious abuse—might have divided humanity; that would have been forgivable. But those who day and night remember Paramatma, love, and prayer—these very people have fragmented humanity. They have spread such injustice, such adultery of the spirit, such murder, such bloodshed that if we open the pages of history, what has happened in the name of religion—if that be called religion—then it will be hard to say what should be called irreligion. Before understanding anything about Dharma—before I say anything—it is necessary to declare: I do not call religions Religion. I do not call releases religion. Religions have murdered Dharma. And today, if there is no Dharma, if a dead lamp sits in man’s hand, the ones who extinguished this lamp are neither politicians, nor atheists, nor scientists, nor materialists. Those who blew it out are the so-called religious themselves. And precisely for this reason we cannot see it—because into whose hands we had entrusted the lamp for safekeeping, if they turn out to be the extinguishers, then it becomes very hard to detect. It becomes hard to discover who stole from human life its light, its bliss, its intelligence, life’s flame, its meaning—everything. The moment Dharma is organized, it turns poisonous. The moment Dharma becomes a sect, it becomes irreligious. In truth, no organization can ever be of Dharma—no organization. Dharma is not organization; Dharma is sadhana, inner practice. Organization belongs to crowds, to groups. Sadhana belongs to the one alone, to solitude. Dharma is fundamentally a phenomenon of aloneness—what a person does with himself in his own solitude, that. Dharma has nothing to do with the crowd, with group, with the other. And the moment it is organized, Dharma becomes politics. Islam and Hindu, Jain and Christian—these are names of politics; Dharma has nothing to do with them. But as long as we go on calling these Dharma, it becomes difficult to seek what Dharma is. Because as long as we believe that organizations which break mankind can be religions, we cannot even raise our eyes toward real Dharma. Dharma can only be one. Truth can only be one. Falsehoods can be many. Diseases can be many; health is not of many kinds. If we all fall ill, we will fall ill in different ways. But if we all become healthy, health is not of different types—health is one. It is of one flavor. Falsehoods may be many; Truth cannot be many. Irreligions may be many; Dharma cannot be many. And as long as we think there are many religions, the birth of Dharma is impossible. We would never even imagine that Hindus could have one chemistry and Muslims another; that the West could have one physics and the East another; that whites could have one mathematics and blacks another. If the laws of matter are universal and one, if science is one, how can the laws of the soul be different? The law of Atman will also be universal, and one. But because of religions, man has been unable to evolve that one Dharma. For the growth of that one Dharma—that universal religion, that scientific Dharma—every business standing in the name of each religion would have to perish. They will have to bid farewell. And none of them is ready to go. They have exploited man immeasurably. And from that exploitation none of them wants to withdraw their hands. Religions together have given such advantage to the spread of irreligion in the world—because that which separates man from man cannot be that which unites man with Paramatma. I have heard: one night a black man knocked at a church door. The door opened and the priest came out. He had not imagined it might be a black man. That church belonged to whites—a church for white people. Temples too are different for different people. Perhaps nothing more laughable has ever happened on earth. He saw—a black man standing at the door. In ancient days he would have said, Shudra, get away from here; these steps are defiled by your presence. In ancient days perhaps his neck would have been cut, or molten lead poured into his ears. But times have changed—though the heart of man has not. The priest thought within, How has this one come here? The steps are defiled. But today such a thing cannot be said loudly, so softly he said, My friend, what brings you? The black man said, I have come to have the Lord’s darshan. Allow me in, open the door. I have become thirsty for a glimpse of God. Open the door, let me come inside. The priest held out both hands and stood in the doorway, and said, My friend, I will surely let you in—but until the mind becomes pure, until the mind becomes peaceful, until the mind is perfectly free of sin, how can there be any vision of God? First go—free your mind from sin—and then come. Then surely the doors of God’s darshan will be open for you. The black man turned back. The priest thought, He will never fulfill this condition; he will never be free of sin; he will not come again; we will not have to open the door. A year passed; the man did not come. The priest became carefree—certain the condition had worked. The man will not return. But one early morning he was seen approaching. The priest grew anxious—but no, he was mistaken. The man came as far as the church door, yet did not even raise his eyes toward the church. He went on his way by another path. The priest, afraid he might come into the church, watched him closely. And on looking carefully he saw that the man seemed changed—there was a different peace in his eyes, a different patience in his feet, the very air around him seemed altered. The priest rose and ran after him, stopped him, and said, My friend, you did not come? The black man laughed and said, I was coming—and for a whole year I prayed for only this, begged God for only this. From morning to evening my tears flowed, in the night in my dreams I did the same, and in the day the same—I tried to quiet the whole mind, to be free of sin—and day by day my steps went forward. I felt one day the good fortune would arrive, that I would become worthy to enter the church. Last night it seemed that hour had come. The mind was so quiet, so pure, so full of prayer, I thought: at sunrise I will go to the church door. But in the night all was overturned. In sleep God appeared to me and said, Why are you praying? For what are you doing austerities? Why are you weeping? Why such thirst? What do you want? I said, Nothing else—the church in our village, I want to enter that church. Then God stood there sadly and said, Give up that thought. For ten years I myself have been trying to go into that church, but the priest does not let me in. The pastor himself does not allow me to enter—so how will he let you in? Abandon the idea. And if you want some other boon, ask—but that boon is not in my hands. Temples are in the hands of priests, not in the hands of God. And if this were about a single temple, it would be alright. But it is about all temples. And if it were about only ten years, it would still be alright—this is about the entire ten-thousand-year history of man: God has never been able to enter any temple—and never will. Because a temple that has not yet become a temple for all human beings cannot be a place for the entry of the Divine. A temple that accepts boundaries cannot be a door for the Boundless. A temple that is a business cannot be a place of love and prayer. Where there is a priest, there remains no possibility of Paramatma—because in the love of two there is no place for a third. Between man and Paramatma there is no place for any agency, any priest. Between the love of two there is no room for a third. Prayer is the supreme flowering of love—there too there is no need for anyone in between. But the priest stands in between. Organizations stand in between. Scriptures stand in between. Words and doctrines stand in between. And they do not allow man to meet even That without which no man can ever have a light in his hand; without which no man can ever have love in his life-breath; without which no man can ever know joy. In the name of Dharma, religions have played this game with man and his life. Therefore I would say: until we free mankind from religions, we will not be able to make man religious. The Hindu should be bid farewell—and the Muslim, and the Christian—so that man may become religious. As long as there is a crowd of religions, there is no possibility of being religious. Is this possible? Until now it has not been possible. Because some very clever devices, some deep formulas, have been used to bind man. Such a net has been cast that we cannot even see that these things should go. And when our very chains begin to look like our security, then liberation from them becomes impossible. And those very clever makers of slaves—those factories that cast the human soul into bondage—have learned many cunning arts in thousands of years. They have learned one great cunning above all: to call the chains security itself. To persuade you that that which binds is the very liberator. About two or three such things I must speak—chains which, till today, have been preached as the means of liberation. The first chain is faith. For thousands of years man has been told: have faith, believe, bring belief. And it has been said: the one who does not have faith will go astray. It has been said: without belief there can be no Dharma in your life. Faith and Dharma have been made into synonyms. This is among the greatest untruths ever spoken to man. Dharma has nothing to do with belief. Dharma is related to vivek—to discernment. And between discernment and belief there is no enmity greater. The person who believes becomes incapable of thinking. He is striking his own legs with his own axe. The one who blindly accepts cannot set his feet upon the journey of knowing. But we were all told—the Hindu certainly says, believe in this; the Muslim says, believe in that; the Jain says, believe in something else. They quarrel among themselves about what to believe—but on one point they are all agreed: believe. The sects of the whole world are agreed on one point: believe. Disputes may exist about the content of belief; but they have no quarrel about believing itself. That is their secret formula. This is the basic trick for binding the human mind. Because the person who will think cannot be enslaved, nor can he be exploited. Thought is basically rebellious. Thought is basically a demand for freedom. Deep in the heart of thought the call for ultimate freedom is hidden. So thought and discernment cannot be enslaved. But blindfolds have been tied over our eyes: believe—do not think. Because if you think, you will go astray. And what has happened is: the more we believed, the more astray we went; the less we thought, the more we wandered. And the more we wander, the more the religious leaders shout: Look—you are wandering because you believe too little; believe more. A vicious circle has arisen. We believe—and we go astray. We go astray—and they cry: See, you are lost; you do not believe enough; believe more. We believe more—and we go still farther astray. Belief will mislead—because belief is a counsel to be blind. It advises: do not see with your own eyes; see through another’s eyes. I have heard: in a small village lived a Bengali thinker. One morning he went to a village oilman’s shop to buy oil. As he was buying, he saw the shop running—the oilman conducting his trade—and behind, his mill turning; his bullock was pressing the oil. He was astonished. No one was driving the bullock—the bullock was walking by itself, turning the mill. The thinker asked the oilman, I am amazed—this bullock seems very religious. No one drives him and yet he moves—so faithful! The oilman said, Don’t you see? The bullock is not religious. He is not a man to become religious so quickly. The bullock is clever and intelligent—he is not foolish and stupid like man. But I have tied blindfolds over his eyes—don’t you see? His eyes are covered; he cannot see whether anyone is driving him or not. If he were to see, he is not like man who, even after seeing, believes the opposite—he would stop at once. But he cannot see. The thinker said, If the bullock is as intelligent as you say, he could stand still for a moment and test whether someone is behind him or not. The oilman said, You don’t understand. I have tied a bell around his neck. The moment he stops, the bell stops ringing—and I quickly come and set him going. He never gets the thought that no one was there behind him. The bell stops—and I get him moving again. As long as the bell rings, I know the bullock is moving. The thinker said, But brother, even while standing, the bullock could shake his head so the bell keeps ringing. The oilman said, Forgive me—buy your oil somewhere else. If the bullock hears you, I will be in trouble. Please buy oil elsewhere—having such people even near here is dangerous. Blindfolds have also been tied over man’s eyes. And letting such talk come near has been considered dangerous—lest man get a hint of what has been done to him. So it has not been said: think, reflect. It has been said: come blindly into surrender and accept everything. Whoever doubts what is said will go to hell. If you want heaven, moksha, bliss, then belief is the only path. And this falsehood has committed such violence against the human race, such a great sin—there is no accounting for it. That humanity today appears so blind, stupid, insensate—behind it stands this faith. And when others began to use this same faith—so long as the religious leaders used it, there was no obstacle—but when Stalin and Hitler and Mussolini began to use it, the trouble began. When film actors began to use it, the trouble began. When politicians began to use it, the trouble began. Slowly the secret was known to all: if man believes, he can be exploited in any way. In every way. Today, throughout the world, on the basis of belief, man is being exploited in many forms—religious, political, economic, intellectual—every sort of exploitation. This world has become so degraded because of belief. In each individual, the energy of thought, the energy of revolution, must be kindled. Dharma must be rescued from belief. And Dharma must be grounded on thought—on the keenest inquiry. The day Dharma stands upon inquiry, many religions will cease to be. Because thought has an inborn urge to become universal—thought cannot remain local. Science became universal because it freed itself from belief and laid its foundations upon inquiry. Dharma too will become science—and the supreme science—for nothing can be higher than Dharma. But bound to belief, it cannot be so. When traditions of science were bound to belief, there was alchemy, not chemistry; there was astrology, not astronomy. And as long as Dharma is bound to belief, it will be scripture-ism, not Dharma. The day Dharma relates itself to inquiry, the science of Dharma will be born. If Dharma is to be brought into the world, scientificness must be given to Dharma. And the first sutra is: freedom from belief—and initiation into inquiry. One more point, and then I will conclude. Another essential point: up to now, religion in the world has not created individuals—it has created followers. A follower is not a person—he is not an individual. In fact, the more he becomes a follower, the more his individuality is lost. His personhood fades; he becomes meek and flat; he becomes a part of a crowd. A follower is a crowd. The dignity of man is attained through individuality—through the attainment of a unique selfhood. Until today, religions have taught belief—and, as a corollary, following: go after someone, become someone’s follower, try to become like someone—be like Rama, be like Buddha, be like Gandhi. This teaching is so toxic—so poisonous—there is no measure to it. Because whenever someone tries to become like someone else, two consequences follow. First, no one can ever become like someone else. It is utterly unnatural, impossible, that anyone become another. Second, pouring all one’s energy into becoming another, one fails to become that which one was born to be. If I walk into a garden of flowers and say to the jasmine, Become a rose—and to the rose, Become a lotus—the first thing is, the flowers will not listen to me. Flowers are not as foolish as humans, to gather to hear anyone’s sermon. But it may be that some flowers, living in human company, have been spoiled. In human company even animals get spoiled; plants get spoiled. Perhaps the flowers have been spoiled in man’s garden—and have begun to listen to sermons—and obey me. Then a quake will seize the garden, a chaos will come; no flowers will bloom. Because a rose can never become a jasmine, nor jasmine a rose. But if a rose starts trying to become a jasmine, then even roses will cease to bloom on the rosebush. All its energy will be spent trying to be jasmine, and the possibility of being rose will end. True Dharma will teach each person to be himself. And this teaching of being oneself is what I call the education of the soul. Until now, the education of the soul has been false, because it is an education in following. And the one who becomes a follower can never attain to any soul. To attain the soul means: I discover and realize that which is hidden within me. And the one who, in trying to become like someone else, begins to mold himself, becomes an imitation—a counterfeit—a mere actor...
Osho's Commentary
I would like to begin with a small story.
On a new-moon night an old blind friend was a guest at someone’s home. He had to leave around midnight. As he rose to go, his hosts said, It would be good if you took a lantern with you. The night is very dark—and you have no eyes. The blind man laughed and said, What meaning can light in my hand have? I am blind. Day and night are the same to me. The sun of day is as it is; the amavas night is as it is. Light in my hand means nothing to me. But the family would not agree, and they said, It may make no difference to you—but when others see light in your hand, they will avoid bumping into you in the dark; take the light.
This argument seemed sensible, and the blind man set out with a lantern. But he had not gone even two hundred paces when someone crashed into him. He was amazed—and began to laugh—and said, I had thought that argument was wrong; yet it has turned out right after all! To the man who had collided with him he said, Brother, can’t you see there is a lantern in my hand? Are you blind too? The man replied: I am not blind, but the lantern in your hand has gone out.
If a lantern is in the hands of a blind man, it is hard to know when it goes out! But even a blind man comes to know one thing—that someone has run into him.
Humanity seems to me even more blind. We collide every day, yet it doesn’t occur to us that the light in our hand may have gone out. We are blind—of that the whole history of the human race will testify—as if we have no eyes. For we keep falling into the very same pits today into which we fell yesterday—and the day before—and before that, and before that. Blindness seems almost the hallmark of the human race. And yet some place lights in our hands—some Buddha, some Mahavira, some Krishna, some Christ—in the hope that even if we are blind, others will not crash into us, and light will keep being seen. But we collide day after day, and still the thought does not arise: Perhaps the light in my hand has gone out.
I begin with this story because, as I see it, the light in man’s hand went out long ago. And we are walking through life carrying extinguished lamps. Extinguished lamps are more dangerous than no lamps at all. For the one with an unlit lamp believes a light is in his hand. The one with no lamp, no light—he walks carefully, thinking, There is no light in my hand, the path is dark, and I am blind. But we carry dead lamps—and if we mistake these dead lamps for living ones, man’s future is very perilous.
In the name of religion, what man holds in his hand is nothing but the dead lamps of sects. In the name of religion, what lies in our hands are only extinguished scriptures. In the name of Dharma there is certainly no Paramatma. But there are priests, temples, prayers—and all of them extinguished, all ash—no radiance in them, no light.
I say this because if temples truly held light, if our prayers were alive, aflame, it would have been impossible for the earth to become what it has become—a hell. And the wonder of wonders is that in making the earth hellish, those we call religions have played the leading role. They are the chief culprits. What Hindus, Muslims, Christians, Jains, Buddhists have made of the human race is frightening. We had hoped to receive light from them—and the result is the reverse.
In setting man against man, religions have done what the irreligious and so-called atheists never did. One could have imagined that the atheists, the irreligious, the materialists—those whom the religious abuse—might have divided humanity; that would have been forgivable. But those who day and night remember Paramatma, love, and prayer—these very people have fragmented humanity. They have spread such injustice, such adultery of the spirit, such murder, such bloodshed that if we open the pages of history, what has happened in the name of religion—if that be called religion—then it will be hard to say what should be called irreligion.
Before understanding anything about Dharma—before I say anything—it is necessary to declare: I do not call religions Religion. I do not call releases religion.
Religions have murdered Dharma. And today, if there is no Dharma, if a dead lamp sits in man’s hand, the ones who extinguished this lamp are neither politicians, nor atheists, nor scientists, nor materialists. Those who blew it out are the so-called religious themselves. And precisely for this reason we cannot see it—because into whose hands we had entrusted the lamp for safekeeping, if they turn out to be the extinguishers, then it becomes very hard to detect. It becomes hard to discover who stole from human life its light, its bliss, its intelligence, life’s flame, its meaning—everything.
The moment Dharma is organized, it turns poisonous. The moment Dharma becomes a sect, it becomes irreligious. In truth, no organization can ever be of Dharma—no organization. Dharma is not organization; Dharma is sadhana, inner practice. Organization belongs to crowds, to groups. Sadhana belongs to the one alone, to solitude.
Dharma is fundamentally a phenomenon of aloneness—what a person does with himself in his own solitude, that. Dharma has nothing to do with the crowd, with group, with the other. And the moment it is organized, Dharma becomes politics. Islam and Hindu, Jain and Christian—these are names of politics; Dharma has nothing to do with them. But as long as we go on calling these Dharma, it becomes difficult to seek what Dharma is. Because as long as we believe that organizations which break mankind can be religions, we cannot even raise our eyes toward real Dharma.
Dharma can only be one. Truth can only be one. Falsehoods can be many. Diseases can be many; health is not of many kinds. If we all fall ill, we will fall ill in different ways. But if we all become healthy, health is not of different types—health is one. It is of one flavor. Falsehoods may be many; Truth cannot be many. Irreligions may be many; Dharma cannot be many. And as long as we think there are many religions, the birth of Dharma is impossible.
We would never even imagine that Hindus could have one chemistry and Muslims another; that the West could have one physics and the East another; that whites could have one mathematics and blacks another. If the laws of matter are universal and one, if science is one, how can the laws of the soul be different?
The law of Atman will also be universal, and one.
But because of religions, man has been unable to evolve that one Dharma. For the growth of that one Dharma—that universal religion, that scientific Dharma—every business standing in the name of each religion would have to perish. They will have to bid farewell. And none of them is ready to go.
They have exploited man immeasurably. And from that exploitation none of them wants to withdraw their hands. Religions together have given such advantage to the spread of irreligion in the world—because that which separates man from man cannot be that which unites man with Paramatma.
I have heard: one night a black man knocked at a church door. The door opened and the priest came out. He had not imagined it might be a black man. That church belonged to whites—a church for white people.
Temples too are different for different people. Perhaps nothing more laughable has ever happened on earth.
He saw—a black man standing at the door. In ancient days he would have said, Shudra, get away from here; these steps are defiled by your presence. In ancient days perhaps his neck would have been cut, or molten lead poured into his ears. But times have changed—though the heart of man has not. The priest thought within, How has this one come here? The steps are defiled. But today such a thing cannot be said loudly, so softly he said, My friend, what brings you? The black man said, I have come to have the Lord’s darshan. Allow me in, open the door. I have become thirsty for a glimpse of God. Open the door, let me come inside. The priest held out both hands and stood in the doorway, and said, My friend, I will surely let you in—but until the mind becomes pure, until the mind becomes peaceful, until the mind is perfectly free of sin, how can there be any vision of God? First go—free your mind from sin—and then come. Then surely the doors of God’s darshan will be open for you.
The black man turned back. The priest thought, He will never fulfill this condition; he will never be free of sin; he will not come again; we will not have to open the door.
A year passed; the man did not come. The priest became carefree—certain the condition had worked. The man will not return. But one early morning he was seen approaching. The priest grew anxious—but no, he was mistaken. The man came as far as the church door, yet did not even raise his eyes toward the church. He went on his way by another path. The priest, afraid he might come into the church, watched him closely. And on looking carefully he saw that the man seemed changed—there was a different peace in his eyes, a different patience in his feet, the very air around him seemed altered. The priest rose and ran after him, stopped him, and said, My friend, you did not come?
The black man laughed and said, I was coming—and for a whole year I prayed for only this, begged God for only this. From morning to evening my tears flowed, in the night in my dreams I did the same, and in the day the same—I tried to quiet the whole mind, to be free of sin—and day by day my steps went forward. I felt one day the good fortune would arrive, that I would become worthy to enter the church. Last night it seemed that hour had come. The mind was so quiet, so pure, so full of prayer, I thought: at sunrise I will go to the church door. But in the night all was overturned. In sleep God appeared to me and said, Why are you praying? For what are you doing austerities? Why are you weeping? Why such thirst? What do you want? I said, Nothing else—the church in our village, I want to enter that church. Then God stood there sadly and said, Give up that thought. For ten years I myself have been trying to go into that church, but the priest does not let me in. The pastor himself does not allow me to enter—so how will he let you in? Abandon the idea. And if you want some other boon, ask—but that boon is not in my hands.
Temples are in the hands of priests, not in the hands of God.
And if this were about a single temple, it would be alright. But it is about all temples. And if it were about only ten years, it would still be alright—this is about the entire ten-thousand-year history of man: God has never been able to enter any temple—and never will.
Because a temple that has not yet become a temple for all human beings cannot be a place for the entry of the Divine. A temple that accepts boundaries cannot be a door for the Boundless. A temple that is a business cannot be a place of love and prayer. Where there is a priest, there remains no possibility of Paramatma—because in the love of two there is no place for a third.
Between man and Paramatma there is no place for any agency, any priest. Between the love of two there is no room for a third. Prayer is the supreme flowering of love—there too there is no need for anyone in between.
But the priest stands in between. Organizations stand in between. Scriptures stand in between. Words and doctrines stand in between. And they do not allow man to meet even That without which no man can ever have a light in his hand; without which no man can ever have love in his life-breath; without which no man can ever know joy. In the name of Dharma, religions have played this game with man and his life.
Therefore I would say: until we free mankind from religions, we will not be able to make man religious. The Hindu should be bid farewell—and the Muslim, and the Christian—so that man may become religious. As long as there is a crowd of religions, there is no possibility of being religious. Is this possible?
Until now it has not been possible. Because some very clever devices, some deep formulas, have been used to bind man. Such a net has been cast that we cannot even see that these things should go. And when our very chains begin to look like our security, then liberation from them becomes impossible.
And those very clever makers of slaves—those factories that cast the human soul into bondage—have learned many cunning arts in thousands of years. They have learned one great cunning above all: to call the chains security itself. To persuade you that that which binds is the very liberator. About two or three such things I must speak—chains which, till today, have been preached as the means of liberation.
The first chain is faith. For thousands of years man has been told: have faith, believe, bring belief. And it has been said: the one who does not have faith will go astray. It has been said: without belief there can be no Dharma in your life. Faith and Dharma have been made into synonyms. This is among the greatest untruths ever spoken to man.
Dharma has nothing to do with belief. Dharma is related to vivek—to discernment. And between discernment and belief there is no enmity greater. The person who believes becomes incapable of thinking. He is striking his own legs with his own axe. The one who blindly accepts cannot set his feet upon the journey of knowing.
But we were all told—the Hindu certainly says, believe in this; the Muslim says, believe in that; the Jain says, believe in something else. They quarrel among themselves about what to believe—but on one point they are all agreed: believe. The sects of the whole world are agreed on one point: believe. Disputes may exist about the content of belief; but they have no quarrel about believing itself. That is their secret formula. This is the basic trick for binding the human mind. Because the person who will think cannot be enslaved, nor can he be exploited. Thought is basically rebellious. Thought is basically a demand for freedom. Deep in the heart of thought the call for ultimate freedom is hidden.
So thought and discernment cannot be enslaved. But blindfolds have been tied over our eyes: believe—do not think. Because if you think, you will go astray. And what has happened is: the more we believed, the more astray we went; the less we thought, the more we wandered. And the more we wander, the more the religious leaders shout: Look—you are wandering because you believe too little; believe more. A vicious circle has arisen. We believe—and we go astray. We go astray—and they cry: See, you are lost; you do not believe enough; believe more. We believe more—and we go still farther astray.
Belief will mislead—because belief is a counsel to be blind. It advises: do not see with your own eyes; see through another’s eyes.
I have heard: in a small village lived a Bengali thinker. One morning he went to a village oilman’s shop to buy oil. As he was buying, he saw the shop running—the oilman conducting his trade—and behind, his mill turning; his bullock was pressing the oil. He was astonished. No one was driving the bullock—the bullock was walking by itself, turning the mill. The thinker asked the oilman, I am amazed—this bullock seems very religious. No one drives him and yet he moves—so faithful! The oilman said, Don’t you see? The bullock is not religious. He is not a man to become religious so quickly. The bullock is clever and intelligent—he is not foolish and stupid like man. But I have tied blindfolds over his eyes—don’t you see? His eyes are covered; he cannot see whether anyone is driving him or not. If he were to see, he is not like man who, even after seeing, believes the opposite—he would stop at once. But he cannot see.
The thinker said, If the bullock is as intelligent as you say, he could stand still for a moment and test whether someone is behind him or not. The oilman said, You don’t understand. I have tied a bell around his neck. The moment he stops, the bell stops ringing—and I quickly come and set him going. He never gets the thought that no one was there behind him. The bell stops—and I get him moving again. As long as the bell rings, I know the bullock is moving. The thinker said, But brother, even while standing, the bullock could shake his head so the bell keeps ringing. The oilman said, Forgive me—buy your oil somewhere else. If the bullock hears you, I will be in trouble. Please buy oil elsewhere—having such people even near here is dangerous.
Blindfolds have also been tied over man’s eyes. And letting such talk come near has been considered dangerous—lest man get a hint of what has been done to him. So it has not been said: think, reflect. It has been said: come blindly into surrender and accept everything. Whoever doubts what is said will go to hell. If you want heaven, moksha, bliss, then belief is the only path. And this falsehood has committed such violence against the human race, such a great sin—there is no accounting for it.
That humanity today appears so blind, stupid, insensate—behind it stands this faith. And when others began to use this same faith—so long as the religious leaders used it, there was no obstacle—but when Stalin and Hitler and Mussolini began to use it, the trouble began. When film actors began to use it, the trouble began. When politicians began to use it, the trouble began. Slowly the secret was known to all: if man believes, he can be exploited in any way. In every way.
Today, throughout the world, on the basis of belief, man is being exploited in many forms—religious, political, economic, intellectual—every sort of exploitation. This world has become so degraded because of belief. In each individual, the energy of thought, the energy of revolution, must be kindled. Dharma must be rescued from belief. And Dharma must be grounded on thought—on the keenest inquiry.
The day Dharma stands upon inquiry, many religions will cease to be. Because thought has an inborn urge to become universal—thought cannot remain local. Science became universal because it freed itself from belief and laid its foundations upon inquiry.
Dharma too will become science—and the supreme science—for nothing can be higher than Dharma. But bound to belief, it cannot be so. When traditions of science were bound to belief, there was alchemy, not chemistry; there was astrology, not astronomy. And as long as Dharma is bound to belief, it will be scripture-ism, not Dharma. The day Dharma relates itself to inquiry, the science of Dharma will be born. If Dharma is to be brought into the world, scientificness must be given to Dharma.
And the first sutra is: freedom from belief—and initiation into inquiry.
One more point, and then I will conclude. Another essential point: up to now, religion in the world has not created individuals—it has created followers. A follower is not a person—he is not an individual. In fact, the more he becomes a follower, the more his individuality is lost. His personhood fades; he becomes meek and flat; he becomes a part of a crowd. A follower is a crowd. The dignity of man is attained through individuality—through the attainment of a unique selfhood.
Until today, religions have taught belief—and, as a corollary, following: go after someone, become someone’s follower, try to become like someone—be like Rama, be like Buddha, be like Gandhi.
This teaching is so toxic—so poisonous—there is no measure to it. Because whenever someone tries to become like someone else, two consequences follow. First, no one can ever become like someone else. It is utterly unnatural, impossible, that anyone become another. Second, pouring all one’s energy into becoming another, one fails to become that which one was born to be.
If I walk into a garden of flowers and say to the jasmine, Become a rose—and to the rose, Become a lotus—the first thing is, the flowers will not listen to me. Flowers are not as foolish as humans, to gather to hear anyone’s sermon. But it may be that some flowers, living in human company, have been spoiled. In human company even animals get spoiled; plants get spoiled. Perhaps the flowers have been spoiled in man’s garden—and have begun to listen to sermons—and obey me. Then a quake will seize the garden, a chaos will come; no flowers will bloom. Because a rose can never become a jasmine, nor jasmine a rose. But if a rose starts trying to become a jasmine, then even roses will cease to bloom on the rosebush. All its energy will be spent trying to be jasmine, and the possibility of being rose will end.
True Dharma will teach each person to be himself. And this teaching of being oneself is what I call the education of the soul. Until now, the education of the soul has been false, because it is an education in following. And the one who becomes a follower can never attain to any soul.
To attain the soul means: I discover and realize that which is hidden within me. And the one who, in trying to become like someone else, begins to mold himself, becomes an imitation—a counterfeit—a mere actor...