Birthday of Dutch Painter Vincent Van Gogh

Vincent van Gogh was a Dutch post-impressionist painter, born on 30^th of march who become posthumously the most popular and influential figure in the history of western art. In a decade he created 2100 art works with 860 oil paintings. They include landscapes, still lifes, portraits and self-portraits, and are characterised by bold colour and dramatic, impulsive and expressive brushwork that contributed to the foundations of modern art. Van Gogh was unsuccessful during his lifetime, and he was considered a madman and a failure. He became famous after his suicide and exists in the public imagination as a misunderstood genius.

Osho says, Vincent Van Gogh was kept for one year in a madhouse; and I don’t think he was mad, he was painting things the way we don’t know things are. During that one year in the madhouse he had painted his best paintings. And that is proof that he was perhaps in a higher state than the ordinary mind. Perhaps he had reached the super-conscious. In that one year he painted one painting in which the stars are spirals. And everybody laughed, “This is absolutely mad! Who has seen stars as spirals?” And just recently, a few days ago, physics has come to the same conclusion, that stars are spirals. It is because of the distance that we cannot see it. A hundred years after Van Gogh…

Osho Says…..

OSHO,

IS THERE ANY POINT IN LIVING?

MAN has been brought up by all the traditions in a schizophrenic way. It was helpful to divide man in every possible dimension, and create a conflict between the divisions. This way man becomes weak, shaky, fearful, ready to submit, surrender; ready to be enslaved by the priests, by the politicians, by anybody. This question also arises out of a schizophrenic mind. It will be a little difficult for you to understand because you may have never thought that the division between ends and means is a basic strategy of creating a split in man. Has living any meaning, any point, any worth? The question is: Is there some goal to be achieved by life, by living? Is there some place where you will reach one day by living? Living is a means; the goal, the attainment, somewhere far away, is the end. And that end will make it meaningful. If there is no end, then certainly life is meaningless; a God is needed to make your life meaningful. First create the division between ends and means. That divides your mind.

Your mind is always asking why? For what? And anything that has no answer to the question, “For what?” slowly, slowly becomes of no value to you. That’s how love has become valueless. What point is there in love? Where is it going to lead you? What is going to be the achievement out of it? Will you attain to some utopia, some paradise? Of course, love has no point in that way. It is pointless. What is the point of beauty? You see a sunset — you are stunned, it is so beautiful, but any idiot can ask the question, “What is the meaning of it?” and you will be without any answer. And if there is no meaning then why unnecessarily are you bragging about beauty?

A beautiful flower, or a beautiful painting, or beautiful music, beautiful poetry — they don’t have any point. They are not arguments to prove something, neither are they means to achieve any end. And living consists only of those things which are pointless. Let me repeat it: living consists only of those things which have no point at all, which have no meaning at all — meaning in the sense that they don’t have any goal, that they don’t lead you anywhere, that you don’t get anything out of them. In other words, living is significant in itself. The means and ends are together, not separate.

And that is the strategy of all those who have been lustful for power, down the ages: that means are means and ends are ends. Means are useful because they lead you to the end. If they don’t lead to your end, they are meaningless. In this way, they have destroyed all that is really significant. And they have imposed things on you which are absolutely insignificant. Money has a point. A political career has a point. To be religious has a point, because that is the means to heaven, to God. Business has a point because immediately you see the end result. Business became important, politics became important, religion became important; poetry, music, dancing, love, friendliness, beauty, truth, all disappeared from your life.

A simple strategy, but it destroyed all that makes you significant, that gives ecstasy to your being. But the schizophrenic mind will ask, “What is the point of ecstasy?” People have asked me, hundreds of people, “What is the meaning of meditation? What will we gain out of it? First, it is very difficult to attain — and even if we attain it, what is going to be the end result?” It is very difficult to explain to these people that meditation is an end in itself There is no end beyond it. Anything that has an end beyond it is just for the mediocre mind. And anything which has its end in itself is for the really intelligent person. But you will see the mediocre person becoming the president of a country, the prime minister of a country; becoming the richest man in the country, becoming the pope, becoming the head of a religion. But these are all mediocre people; their only qualification is their mediocrity. They are third rate and basically they are schizophrenic. They have divided their life in two parts: ends and means.

My approach is totally different: To make you one single whole. So I want you to live just for life’s sake.

The poets have defined art as for its own sake, there is nothing else beyond it: art for art’s sake. It will not appeal to the mediocre at all because he counts things in terms of money, position, power. Is your poetry going to make you the prime minister of the country? — then it is meaningful. But in fact your poetry may make you just a beggar, because who is going to purchase your poetry? I am acquainted with many kinds of geniuses who are living like beggars for the simple reason that they did not accept the mediocre way of life, and they did not allow themselves to become schizophrenic. They are living — of course they have a joy which no politician can ever know, they have a certain radiance which no billionaire is going to know. They have a certain rhythm to their heart of which these so-called religious people have no idea. But as far as their outside is concerned, they have been reduced by the society to live like beggars.

I would like you to remember one great, perhaps the greatest, Dutch painter: Vincent van Gogh. His father wanted him to become a religious minister, to live a life of respect — comfortable, convenient — and not only in this world, in the other world after death too. But Vincent van Gogh wanted to become a painter.

His father said, “You are mad!”

He said, “That may be. To me, you are mad. I don’t see any significance in becoming a minister because all I would be saying would be nothing but lies. I don’t know God. I don’t know whether there is any heaven or hell. I don’t know whether man survives after death or not. I will be continually telling lies. Of course it is respectable, but that kind of respect is not for me; I will not be rejoicing in it. It will be a torture to my soul.” The father threw him out.

He started painting — he is the first modern painter. You can draw a line at Vincent van Gogh: before him painting was ordinary. Even the greatest painters, like Michelangelo, are of minor importance compared to Vincent van Gogh, because what they were painting was ordinary. Their painting was for the marketplace. Michelangelo was painting for the churches his whole life; painting on church walls and church ceilings.

He broke his backbone painting church ceilings, because to paint a ceiling you have to lie down on a high stool while you paint. It is a very uncomfortable position, and for days together, months together…. But he was earning money, and he was earning respect. He was painting angels, Christ, God creating the world. His famous painting is God creating the world.

Vincent van Gogh starts a totally new dimension. He could not sell a single painting in his whole life. Now, who will say that his painting has any point? Not a single person could see that there was anything in his paintings.

His younger brother used to send him money; enough so that he did not die of starvation, just enough for seven days’ food every week — because if he gave him enough for a whole month he would finish it within two or three days, and the remaining days he would be starving. Every week he would send money to him. And what Vincent van Gogh was doing was for four days he would eat, and for the three days in between those four days he was saving money for paints, canvasses. This is something totally different from Michelangelo, who earned enough money, who became a rich person. He sold all his paintings. They were made to be sold, it was business. Of course he was a great painter, so even paintings that were going to be sold came out beautifully. But if he had had the guts of a Vincent van Gogh, he would have enriched the whole world.

Three days starving, and van Gogh would purchase the paints and canvasses. His younger brother, hearing that not a single painting had sold, gave some money to a man — a friend of his not known to Vincent van Gogh — and told him to go and purchase at least one painting: “That will give him some satisfaction. The poor man is dying; the whole day he is painting, starving for painting but nobody is ready to purchase his painting — nobody sees anything in it.”

Because to see something in Vincent van Gogh’s painting you need the eye of a painter of the caliber of van Gogh; less than that will not do. His paintings will seem strange to you. His trees are painted so high that they go above the stars; stars are left far behind.

Now, you will think that this man is mad… trees going up higher than the stars? Have you seen such trees anywhere? When Vincent van Gogh was asked, “Your trees always go beyond the stars…?” he said, “Yes, because I understand trees. I have felt always that trees are the ambition of the earth to reach the stars. Otherwise why? To touch the stars, to feel the stars, to go beyond the stars — this is the desire of the earth. The earth tries hard, but cannot fulfill the desire. I can do it. The earth will understand my paintings, and I don’t care about you, whether you understand or not.”

Now, this kind of paintings you cannot sell. The man his brother had sent came. Van Gogh was very happy: at last somebody had come to purchase. But soon his happiness turned into despair because the man looked around, picked one painting and gave the money.

Vincent van Gogh said, “But do you understand the painting? You have picked it up so casually, you have not looked; I have hundreds of paintings. You have not even bothered to look around; you have simply picked one that was accidentally in front of you. I suspect that you are sent by my brother. Put the painting back, take your money. I will not sell the painting to a man who has no eyes for painting. And tell my brother never to do such a thing again.”

The man was puzzled how he managed to figure it out. He said, “You don’t know me, how did you figure it out?”

He said, “That’s too simple. I know my brother wants me to feel some consolation. He must have manipulated you — and this money belongs to him — because I can see that you are blind as far as paintings are concerned. And I am not one to sell paintings to blind people; I cannot exploit a blind man and sell him a painting. What will he do with it? And tell my brother also that he also does not understand painting, otherwise he would not have sent you.”

When the brother came to know, he came to apologize. He said, “Instead of giving you a little consolation, I have wounded you. I will never do such a thing again.”

His whole life van Gogh was just giving his paintings to friends: to the hotel where he used to eat four days a week he would present a painting, or to a prostitute who had said once to him that he was not a beautiful man. To be absolutely factual, he was ugly. No woman ever fell in love with him, it was impossible. This prostitute out of compassion — and sometimes prostitutes have more compassion than your so-called ladies, they understand men more — just out of compassion she said, “I like you very much.” He had never heard this. Love was a far away thing. Even liking….

He said, “Really, you like me? What do you like in me?” Now, the woman was at a loss.

She said, “I like your ears. Your ears are beautiful.” And you will be surprised that van Gogh went home, cut off his ears with a razor, packed them beautifully, went to the prostitute and gave his ears to her. And blood was flowing….

She said, “What have you done?”

He said, “Nobody ever liked anything in me. And I am a poor man, how can I thank you? You liked my ears; I have presented them to you. If you had liked my eyes, I would have presented my eyes to you If you had liked me, I would have died for you.”

The prostitute could not believe it. But for the first time, van Gogh was happy, smiling; somebody had liked at least a part of him. And that woman had just said jokingly — otherwise who bothers about your ears? If people like something, they like your eyes, they like your nose, your lips — you won’t hear lovers talking about each other’s ears, that they like them…

Van Gogh lived his whole life in poverty. He died painting. Before dying he went mad, because for one year continually he was painting the sun: hundreds of paintings, but nothing was coming to the point he wanted. But the whole day standing in the hottest place in France, in Arles, with the sun on the head — because without the experience how can you paint? He painted the final painting, but he went mad. Just the heat, the hunger… but he was immensely happy; even in madness he was painting. And those paintings which he did in the madhouse are now worth millions. He committed suicide for the simple reason that he had painted everything that he wanted to paint. Now painting was finished; he had come to a dead end. There was nothing more to do. Now to go on living was occupying space, somebody’s place; that was ugly to him.

That’s what he wrote in his letters to his brother: “My work is done. I have lived tremendously — the way I wanted to live. I have painted what I wanted to paint. My last painting I have done today, and now I am taking a jump from this life into the unknown, whatever it is, because this life no longer contains anything for me.” Will you consider this man a genius? Will you consider this man intelligent, wise? No, ordinarily you would think he is simply mad. But I cannot say that. His living and his painting were not two things: painting was his living, that was his life. So to the whole world it seems suicide — not to me. To me it simply seems a natural end. The painting is completed. Life is fulfilled. There was no other goal; whether he receives the Nobel prize, whether anybody appreciates his painting….

In his life nobody appreciated his work. In his life no art gallery accepted his paintings, even free. After he died, slowly, slowly, because of his sacrifice, painting changed its whole flavor. There would have been no Picasso without Vincent van Gogh. All the painters that have come after Vincent van Gogh are indebted to him, incalculably, because that man changed the whole direction.

Slowly, slowly, as the direction changed, his paintings were discovered. A great search was made. People had thrown his paintings in their empty houses, or in their basements, thinking that they were useless. They rushed to their basements, discovered his paintings, cleaned them. Even faked paintings came onto the market as authentic van Gogh.

Now there are only two hundred paintings; he must have painted thousands. But any art gallery that has a Vincent van Gogh is proud, because the man poured his whole life in his paintings. They were not painted by color, but by blood, by breath — his heartbeat is there.

Don’t ask such a man, “Is there any meaning in your painting?” He is there in his painting, and you are asking, “Is there any meaning in your painting?” If you cannot see the meaning, you are responsible for it.

The higher a thing rises, the fewer the people who will recognize it. When something reaches to the highest point, it is very difficult to find even a few people to recognize it. At the ultimate omega point, only the person himself recognizes what has happened to him; he cannot find even a second man. That’s why a Buddha has to declare himself that he is enlightened. Nobody else can recognize it, because to recognize it, you will have to have some taste of it. Otherwise, how can you recognize it? No recognition is possible because the point is so high.

But what is the meaning of Buddhahood? What is the meaning of becoming enlightened? What is the point? If you ask about the point, there is none. It itself is enough. It needs nothing else to make it significant. That’s what I mean when I say that the really valuable things in life are not divided into ends and means. There is no division between ends and means. Ends are the means, means are the ends — perhaps two sides of the same coin inseparably joined together — in fact, they are a oneness, a wholeness. You ask me, “Is there any point in life, in living?” I am afraid that if I say there is no point in living, you will think that means you have to commit suicide, because if there is no point in living, then what else to do? — commit suicide! I am not saying commit suicide, because in committing suicide also there is no point.

Living: live, and live totally. Dying: die, and die totally. And in that totality you will find significance.

I am considerately not using the word meaning, and using the word significance because “meaning is contaminated. The word meaning — it always points somewhere else. You must have heard, you must have read in your childhood, many stories…. Why are they written for children? — perhaps the writers don’t know, but it is part of the same exploitation of humanity.

The stories are like this: a man is there whose life is in a parrot. If you kill the parrot, the man will be killed, but you cannot kill the man directly. You can shoot, and nothing will happen. You can swing your sword and the sword will pass through his neck, but the neck will remain still joined to the body. You cannot kill the man — first you have to find where his life is. So in those stories the life is always somewhere else. And when you find out you just kill the parrot and wherever the man is, he will die immediately.

Even when I was a child, I used to ask my teacher “This seems to be a very stupid kind of story because I don’t see anyone whose life is in a parrot or in a dog or in something else, like a tree.” It was the first time I heard that story, that type of story; then I came across many. They were written specially for children. The man who was teaching me was a very nice and respectable gentleman. I asked him, “Can you tell me where your life is? Because I would like to try… “

He said, “What do you mean?”

I said, “I would like to kill that bird in which your life is. You are an intelligent man, wise, respected. You must have put your life somewhere else so nobody can kill you. That’s what the story says — that wise people keep their life somewhere else, so that you cannot kill them, so that nobody can kill them. And it is impossible to find where they have kept their life unless they tell the secret, nobody can figure it out. This world is so big, and there are so many people and so many animals, and so many birds, and so man trees… nobody knows where that man has put his life.

“You are a wise man, respected, you must have kept it somewhere; you can just tell me in private. I will not kill the bird completely; just give him a few twists and turns, and see what happens to you.”

He said, “You are a strange boy. I have been teaching this story my whole life, and you want to give me a twist and turn. This is only a story.”

But I said, “What is the point of the story? Why do you go on teaching this story and this kind of things to children?”

He could not answer. I asked my father, “What can be the meaning of this story? Why should these things be taught, which are absolutely absurd?”

He said, “If your teacher cannot answer, then how can I answer? I don’t know. He is far more educated and intelligent and wise. You harass him, rather than harassing me.”

But now I know what the meaning of the stories is and why they are being taught to the children. They enter in their unconscious and they start thinking life is always somewhere else — in heaven, in God, always somewhere else — it is not in you. You are empty, just an empty shell. You don’t have meaning in your life herenow. Here you are only a means, a ladder. If you go up the ladder, perhaps someday you will find your life, your God, your goal, your meaning, whatever name you give to it.

But I say to you that you are the meaning, the significance, and living itself is intrinsically complete. Life needs nothing else to be added to it. All that life needs is that you live it to its totality. If you live only partially, then you will not feel the thrill of being alive.

Source:

This is an excerpt from the transcript of a public discourse by Osho in Buddha Hall, Shree Rajneesh Ashram, Pune.

Discourse Series: From Ignorance to Innocence

Chapter #23

Chapter title: Conscience: a coffin for consciousness

22 December 1984 pm in Lao Tzu Grove

References:

Osho has spoken on many painters and artists like Picasso, Michaelangelo, Salvador Dali, Vincent Van Gogh, Rembrandt, Cezanne and many more in the course of His talks. More on this subject can be referred to in the following books/discourse titles:

Tao: The Three Treasures, Vol 1, 2
The Dhammapada: The Way of the Buddha, Vol 9
Beyond Psychology
Come Follow to You Vol.1-4
Sermons in Stones
The Last Testament, Vol 2, 3
The Book of Wisdom
Sufis: The People of the Path, Vol 2
A Sudden Clash of Thunder
From the False to the Truth
From Ignorance to Innocence
From Bondage to Freedom
Zarathustra: A God That Can Dance