Walking in Zen Sitting in Zen 08

Eighth Discourse from the series of 16 discourses - Walking in Zen Sitting in Zen by Osho.
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The first question:
How is it possible that Gurdjieff needed another head, an Ouspensky, to work on a third psychology – the psychology of the buddhas – while you work by yourself and can be both in the state of mind and no-mind?
There have been two kinds of masters in the world. The first kind, has always needed somebody else to express, to interpret, to philosophize, to communicate what the master has experienced. Gurdjieff is not alone in that; he needed P. D. Ouspensky. Without Ouspensky he would not have been known at all. Ramakrishna comes in the same category; he needed a Vivekananda. Without Vivekananda, Ramakrishna would have remained absolutely unheard-of.
This has been the case with many masters, for the simple reason that their whole work concerned the heart center. They became crystallized in the heart center – so much so that it was impossible for them to move to the head and to use their own head. It appeared far easier for them to use somebody else’s head rather than their own.
But there was a difficulty in it. One thing was good about it: the master himself was not constantly moving between two extremes; from mind to no-mind, from no-mind to mind. There was no movement in his being; he was absolutely crystallized. But there was another kind of trouble: the man who was being used as a medium – Ouspensky, Vivekananda, or others – was himself not an enlightened person. Gurdjieff could use Ouspensky’s head, but not exactly the way he would have liked to. Ouspensky’s own mind was bound to color Gurdjieff’s experience; he was bound to bring his own prejudices, his own philosophy, his own understanding to it. He had no experience of his own, he was simply a medium. But the medium is not just an empty vehicle. He has his own mind and anything passing through his mind is going to be changed a little bit here, a little bit there.
Ouspensky introduced Gurdjieff to the world, but he introduced Gurdjieff in his own way. One cannot blame Ouspensky. What could he do? He tried his best. I think he was one of the best interpreters that any master has ever been able to find. But still an interpreter is an interpreter. It can’t be the same; it is impossible to be the same. Hence, sooner or later they had to part from each other.
In the last days of Ouspensky’s life, he became almost an enemy to Gurdjieff. He started saying, “Now Gurdjieff has gone mad. At first he was moving in the right direction, but the later Gurdjieff has gone astray.” He could not say that the whole of Gurdjieff’s teaching was wrong because his own teaching was based on Gurdjieff’s teaching. He divided Gurdjieff in two. The first part of Gurdjieff – when Ouspensky was with him – was right and the later part was wrong. In fact, the later part was the culmination of the first part.
Why did this happen? It was bound to happen because sooner or later Ouspensky’s own mind was going to become a barrier. When he first came to Gurdjieff he was absolutely surrendered to him – surrendered in the sense that he was fascinated by his personality, fascinated intellectually – because he was a great intellectual. Absolutely surrendered in the intellectual sense, not in the existential sense. If he had been existentially surrendered, he would have been of no use because Gurdjieff needed a head, he was in search of a head. He had many other followers who were devoted to him from their very innermost core, but they were not going to become his interpreters to the world.
When Ouspensky came to Gurdjieff, he was already a world-famous mathematician, a philosopher. His own book, Tertium Organum, had already been translated into almost all the great languages of the world. And that book, Tertium Organum, is really something tremendous; coming out of a man who was unenlightened, it is almost a miracle. Intellectually he managed something which nobody has ever been able to manage. He knew nothing, he had not experienced anything, but his intellectual grasp… His intellect was really sharp. He belongs to the topmost intellectuals of the whole history of humanity. There are very few competitors to rival him. Only once in a while…
Socrates had such a man, Plato. Socrates was the heart of the teaching, Plato was the head. In the case of Gurdjieff, exactly the same was repeated; Gurdjieff was the heart, Ouspensky became the head. If I have to choose between the two, my choice would be Ouspensky, not Plato. Ouspensky is simply unbelievable; his insight, without any self-realization, is so accurate that anybody who has not experienced will think that Ouspensky was a buddha, a christ. Only a buddha would be able to detect the flaws, otherwise not. The flaws are there, but ordinarily undetectable.
He started writing books on Gurdjieff. He wrote one of his greatest contributions: In Search of the Miraculous. And then wrote: The Fourth Way. These two books introduced Gurdjieff to the world; otherwise, he would have remained an absolutely unknown master. Maybe a few people would have come in personal contact with him and would have been benefited, but Ouspensky made him available to millions.
But as those books spread all over the world and thousands of people started moving toward Gurdjieff, Ouspensky became very egoistic – naturally because he was the cause of the whole thing. In fact, he started thinking: “Without me, what is Gurdjieff? Who is Gurdjieff without me? Who was he? When I met him he was just a refugee living in a refugee camp in Constantinople, almost starving. Nobody had ever heard of him. I have made him world famous; the whole credit goes to me.” This idea went to his head – it became too much for him. He started, in subtle ways, to dominate the movement. And you cannot dominate a man like Gurdjieff, you cannot dictate to a man like Gurdjieff. They had to part.
In the last days of his life, Ouspensky was so against Gurdjieff that he would not tolerate anybody mentioning Gurdjieff’s name to him; in his presence Gurdjieff’s name was not mentioned. Even in his books Gurdjieff’s name was reduced to only “G”; the full name disappeared. After the break just “G” remained – somebody anonymous: “‘G’ said…,” not “Gurdjieff.” And he made it clear, very clear: “We have parted and I have developed my own system.” He started gathering his own followers. Those followers were not allowed to read Gurdjieff’s books; those followers were not allowed to go and see Gurdjieff. While Ouspensky was alive he was very suspicious of anybody who wanted to go to Gurdjieff, or even wanted to study his books.
Gurdjieff was aware that this was going to happen. Still, there was no other way; a head had to be used. Gurdjieff’s work was such that he was absolutely crystallized in his heart; he could not move to the head.
So was the case with Ramakrishna. Vivekananda was an ordinary intellectual, not even of the caliber of Ouspensky, but he made Ramakrishna world famous. Ramakrishna died very early, that’s why Vivekananda and Ramakrishna never parted; otherwise the parting would have been absolutely certain. Ramakrishna died and Vivekananda became his whole and sole representative. He dominated all the followers, he dominated the whole movement. He became the representative of Ramakrishna for them. If Ramakrishna had lived, the same thing would have happened sooner or later because Vivekananda was just head and nothing else, nothing of the heart. Even if he talks about the heart, it is head-talk: the head talking about the heart – it is not heart-full. There is no love in it; there is no meditation in it; there is no prayer in it, just intellectual analysis. He knew the scriptures and he forced his ideas on Ramakrishna’s ideas. And Ramakrishna died so there was nobody to say no to it.
Vivekananda destroyed the whole beauty of Ramakrishna. But that was going to happen because Ramakrishna was not a man of the head at all.
But this has not always been the case. Buddha never depended on anybody else. He was capable of moving from mind to no-mind, from no-mind to mind; that is his greatness. That is a far greater achievement than that of Gurdjieff or Ramakrishna because their achievements are in a way limited. Buddha is very liquid. He is not solid like a rock, he is more fluid – like a river.
So was the case with Lao Tzu; he never depended on anybody else, he said whatever he had to say. He said it himself and as beautifully as it could be said. Their philosophies are bound to be far more pure because they come from the original man. They come from the original realization, from the very source; there is no via media. So is the case with Zarathustra, Jesus, Krishna, Mahavira.
This is the second category of masters. The first category is easier in a way; it is easy to be crystallized at one center. It is a far more complex process, a longer and far more arduous journey, to remain alive at both extremes. These are the two extremes: the head and the heart. But it is possible. It has happened before. It is happening right now in front of you.
I live in silence, but my work consists of much intellectual communication. I live in silence, but I have to use words. But when I use words, those words contain my silence. I don’t need anybody else to interpret me, hence there is a far greater possibility that whatever I am saying will remain pure for a longer period of time.
And now, since Buddha, many scientific developments have happened…
We don’t know what Buddha actually said; he never used anybody like Ouspensky, Plato or Vivekananda. He was his own interpreter. But when he died, a problem arose. He spoke for forty-two years – he became enlightened when he was about forty and then he lived to eighty-two. For forty-two years he was speaking morning, afternoon, evening. Now there were no scientific methods for recording what he was saying. When he died, the first question was how to collect it all. He had said so much – forty-two years is a long time and many had become enlightened in those forty-two years. Those who became enlightened had become crystallized in the heart because that is easier, simpler and people tend to move to the simplest process, to the shortcut. Why bother? If you can reach a point directly, straight, why go roundabout? When Buddha was alive there was no need for anybody else to interpret him; he was his own spokesman, so the need was never felt.
There were thousands of arhats and bodhisattvas; they gathered together. Only those who had become enlightened were called to the gathering – obviously, because they would not misinterpret Buddha. And that’s true, they could not misinterpret him – it was impossible for them. They had also experienced the same universe of the beyond, they had also moved to the farther shore.
But they all said: “Since we became enlightened we have never bothered much about his words. We have listened to him because his words were sweet. We have listened to him because his words were pure music. We have listened to him because just listening to him was a joy. We have listened to him because that was the only way to be close to him. Just to sit by his side and listen to him was a rejoicing; it was a benediction. But we did not bother about what he was saying; once we attained there was no need. We were not listening from the head and we were not collecting anything in our memory; our own heads and memories stopped functioning long ago.”
Somebody became enlightened thirty years before Buddha died. Now, for thirty years he sat by the side of Buddha listening as one listens to the wind passing through the pine trees; as one listens to the song of the birds; as one listens to the rain falling on the roof. They were not listening intellectually. So they said, “We have not carried any memory of it. Whatever he must have said was beautiful, but we cannot recollect what he said. Just to be with him was such a joy.”
It was very difficult now – how to collect his words? The only man who had lived continuously with Buddha for forty-two years was Ananda; he was his personal attendant, his caretaker. He had listened to him; almost every word that he had uttered was heard by Ananda. Even if he was talking to somebody privately, Ananda was present. Ananda was almost always present, like a shadow. He had heard everything – whatever had fallen from his lips. And he must have said many things to Ananda when there was nobody there. They must have talked on going to bed at night. Ananda used to sleep in the same room, just to take care of him – he may need something during the night. He may feel cold, he may feel hot; he may like the window to be opened or closed; he may feel thirsty and may need some water or something, or – he was getting old – he may feel sick. So Ananda was there continuously.
All of them agreed, “We should ask Ananda.” But there was a great problem: Ananda was not yet enlightened. He had heard everything that Buddha uttered publicly, uttered privately. They must have gossiped together; there was nobody else who could have said, “I am friendly with Buddha,” except Ananda. Ananda was also his cousin-brother and not only a cousin-brother, but two years older than Buddha. So when he came to be initiated, he asked for a few things before his initiation. In India the elder brother has to be respected just like your father. Even the elder cousin-brother has to be respected just like your father.
So Ananda said to Buddha, “Before I take initiation… Once I become your bhikku, your sannyasin, I will have to follow your orders, your commandments. Then whatever you say I will have to do. But before that I order you, as your elder brother, to grant me three things. Remember these three things. First: I will always be with you. You cannot say to me, ‘Ananda, go somewhere else, do something else.’ You cannot send me to some other village to preach, to convert people, to give your message. This is my first order to you. Second: I will be always present. Even if you are talking to somebody privately, I want to hear everything. Whatever you are going to say in your life, I want to be an audience to it. So you will not be able to say to me, ‘This is a private talk, go outside.’ I will not go, remember it! And thirdly: I am not very interested in becoming enlightened, I am much more interested in just being with you. So if enlightenment means separating from you, I don’t care a bit about it. Only if I can remain with you even after enlightenment, am I willing to be enlightened, otherwise forget about it.”
And Buddha nodded his yes to all these three orders – he had to, he was younger than Ananda – and he followed those three things his whole life.
The conference of the arhats and the bodhisattvas decided that only Ananda could relate Buddha’s words. And he had a beautiful memory; he had listened to everything very attentively. “But the problem is he is not yet enlightened; we cannot rely on him. His mind may play tricks, his mind may change things unconsciously. He may not do it deliberately, he may not do it consciously, but he still has a great unconscious in him. He may think he had heard that Buddha said this and he may never have said it. He may delete a few words, he may add a few words. Who knows? We don’t have any criterion because many things that he has heard, only he has heard; there is no other witness.”
Ananda was sitting outside the hall. The doors were closed and he was weeping outside on the steps. He was weeping because he was not allowed inside. An eighty-four-year-old man weeping like a child! The man who had lived for forty-two years with Buddha was not allowed in. Now he was really in anguish. Why had he not become enlightened? Why did he not insist on it? He made a vow, a decision: “I will not move from these steps until I become enlightened.” He closed his eyes, he forgot the whole world. And it is said that within twenty-four hours, without changing his posture, he became enlightened.
When he became enlightened he was allowed in. Then he related… All these scriptures were related by Ananda. But who knows? He became enlightened afterward. All those memories belong to the mind of an unenlightened person; even though he had become enlightened, those memories were not those of an enlightened person. It is not absolutely certain that what is reported is exactly what Buddha said.
But now science has given us all the technology. Each single word – not only the word but the pauses in between – the very nuances of the words, the way they are uttered, the very gestures, can all be recorded. The words can be recorded; the gestures can be photographed; films can be made, tapes can be made.
Now the best way for any enlightened person is not to depend on anybody else, although that path is difficult. It is far more difficult because you have to do two things together. You have to constantly shuttle back and forth, back and forth. You have to constantly go into wordlessness and come out from that emptiness into the world of words. It is a difficult phenomenon. The most difficult phenomenon in the whole of existence because when you enter into silence it is so beautiful that to come back to the universe of words looks absurd, meaningless. It is as if you have reached to the sunlit peaks and you come back to the dark holes where people live in the valley, the slums. When you have touched the sunlit peaks; when you can live there and can float like a cloud in the infinite sky, to come back to the muddy earth, to crawl again with people who are living in mud seems to be very absurd. But there is no other way. If you have enough compassion, you have to go into this difficult process.
It depends on many things too. It depends on the whole process by which a master has reached through many lives. Ramakrishna was never an intellectual in any of his lives. A simple man – in this life he was a simple man. Even if he had wanted to, it would have been impossible for him to become a Vivekananda too. It was easier to find somebody who could do that work.
When Gurdjieff was very young, only twelve years old, he became part of a group of seekers: thirty people who made a decision that they would go to the different parts of the world and find out whether truth was only talk or if there were a few people who had known it. Just a twelve-year-old boy, but he was chosen to join the party for the simple reason that he had great stamina, he had great power. One thing was certain about him: whatever he decided, he would risk all for it. He wouldn’t look back, he would never escape, even if he had to lose his life, he would lose his life. He was almost shot dead three times – but he pulled himself back into life somehow; the purpose was still unfulfilled.
Those thirty people traveled all over the world. They came to India, they went to Tibet and the whole Middle East; to all the Sufi monasteries and to all the Himalayan monasteries. They had decided to come back to a certain place in the Middle East and to relate whatever they had gained; after each twelve years they were going to meet. At the end of the first twelve years almost half of them did not return; they must have somehow died, or forgotten the mission, or become entangled somewhere. Somebody could have got married, fallen in love. A thousand and one things could have happened – people are accident-prone. Only fifteen people returned. After the next twelve years only three people came back. And after the third twelve year period, only Gurdjieff returned. All the others had disappeared. What happened to them nobody knows.
But this man had very great decisiveness; if he had made a decision, nothing was going to deter him. He was almost killed three times; the only thing that saved him was his mission, that he had to go back. He pulled himself out of his death. It needed great inner power.
He had no time to become an intellectual. He was moving with mystics – from one monastery to another; from one cave to another; from one country to another. He came to India, he went to Tibet and he went up to Japan; he gathered knowledge from all over the world. By the time he became enlightened there was no time left for him to intellectualize it, to put it into words. He knew the taste, but the words were not there. He needed a man like Ouspensky.
My own approach has been totally different. I began as an intellectual – not only in this life, but in many lives. My whole work in many lives has been concerned with the intellect – refining the intellect, sharpening the intellect. In this life I began as an atheist with an absolute denial of God. You cannot be an atheist if you are not supra-intellectual. And I was an absolute atheist. People used to avoid me because I was doubting each and every thing and my doubt was contagious. Even my teachers would avoid me…

One of my teachers was dying; I went to see him. He said, “Please… I am happy that you have come, but don’t say a single word because this is not the time. I am dying and I want to die believing that God is.”
I said, “You cannot die… Seeing me, the doubt has already arisen.”
He said, “What do you mean?”
And the thing started. Before he died, just after twelve hours, he died an atheist. I was so happy. I had to work continuously for twelve hours. Out of desperation he said, “Okay, let me die peacefully. I say that there is no God. Are you happy? Now leave me alone!”

My university professors were always in difficulties with me. I was expelled from one college, then another, and thrown out of one university. Finally, a university admitted me with the condition – I had to sign a written condition – that I would not ask any questions and I would not argue with the professors.
I said, “Okay.” I signed it and the vice-chancellor was very happy. I then said, “Now, a few things. What do you mean by ‘argument’?”
He said, “Here you go!”
I said, “I haven’t written that I wouldn’t ask for any clarification. I can ask for a clarification. What do you mean by an ‘argument’? If I cannot ask a question, what is the point of your whole department of philosophy? – all your philosophers ask questions. The whole of philosophy depends on doubt; doubt is the base of all philosophy. If I cannot doubt your stupid philosophers, your stupid professors, how am I going to learn philosophy?”
He said, “Look at what you’re saying! You are calling my professors stupid in front of me!”
I said, “They are stupid, otherwise why these conditions? Can you think of anybody being intelligent and asking his students not to question him? Is this a sign of intelligence? A professor will invite questions. An intelligent professor will be happy with a student who can argue well.”

That remained a problem. From the very beginning, my whole approach was not that of a Ramakrishna. I am not a devotional type, not at all. I have arrived at godliness through atheism, not through theism. I have arrived at godliness not by believing but by absolutely doubting. I have come to a certainty because I have doubted. I went on doubting till there was no possibility to doubt anymore, till I came across something indubitable. That has been my process.
That was not the process of Gurdjieff. He was learning from masters; moving from one master to another, learning techniques and methods and devices. He learned many devices, but he learned in a very surrendered spirit – that of a disciple.
I have never been anybody’s disciple; nobody has been my master. In fact, nobody was ready to accept me as a disciple because who would like to create trouble?

One of my professors, who is now dead, Dr. S. K. Saxena, loved me very much. The only man out of all my professors… Because I came across many professors and I had to leave many colleges and many universities. Rarely does one come across as many professors as I came across. He was the only man that I had some respect for because he never prevented me from doubting, from questioning; even though a thousand and one times he had to accept defeat. I respected him because he was capable of accepting defeat even from a student. He would simply say, “I accept defeat. You win. I cannot argue anymore. I have put forward all the arguments that I can muster and you have destroyed them all. Now I am ready to listen to you, if you have something to say.”
He was very afraid… When I was doing my final MA examination in philosophy he was very afraid because he loved me so much. He wanted me to get through the examination, but he was afraid – afraid that I might write things which were not according to the textbooks or were against the textbooks. I might say things which were not acceptable to the ordinary professors. Just to save me he gave the papers to people all over the country who were his friends and informed them: “Please take care of this young man, don’t be offended by him; that is his way. But he has great potential.”
There was only one thing he couldn’t manage; that was something to be decided by the vice-chancellor himself – the verbal examination. That was the last thing. The vice-chancellor invited a Mohammedan professor from Aligarh University, the head of the department of philosophy there, a very fanatic Mohammedan. My professor was very worried. He said to me again and again, “Don’t argue with this man. In the first place, he is a Mohammedan – Mohammedans don’t know what argument is. He is very fanatical; if he cannot argue with you he will take revenge. I know he cannot argue – I know him, I know you. But just remain quiet because this is the last thing. Don’t destroy all the effort I have made for you.” He said to me, “It is not your examination – it seems that I am being examined!”
I said, “I will see.”
The first question the Mohammedan professor asked was: “What is the difference between Indian and Western philosophy?”
I replied, “This is a stupid question. The very idea! This is nonsense. Philosophy is philosophy. How can philosophy be Indian? How can philosophy be Eastern or Western? If science is not Eastern nor Western, then why philosophy? Philosophy is a quest for truth. How can the quest be Eastern or Western? The quest is the same!”
My professor started pulling my leg underneath the table. I said, “Sir, stop. Don’t pull my leg! Forget about the examination – this thing has to be decided!”
The Mohammedan professor was at a loss. What was going on? He said, “What is the matter?”
I said, “He is pulling my leg. He is telling me that you are a Mohammedan – and a fanatic Mohammedan. He says that if you cannot argue well with me, you will take revenge! So do whatever you want, but I have to say what I feel. I don’t believe in all these distinctions. In fact, to me the very idea of somebody being a philosopher and yet a Mohammedan is simply illogical, it is ridiculous. How can you be a real inquirer if you have already accepted a certain dogma, a certain creed? If you start from a priori assumptions, if you start from a belief, you can never reach the truth. Real philosophy starts in a state of not-knowing. That is the beauty of doubt; it destroys all beliefs.”
For a moment he was shocked and felt almost dumb, but he had to give me ninety-nine marks out of a hundred. I asked him, “What happened to the last one?”
He said, “This is something! In the whole of my life, I have never given anybody ninety-nine marks out of a hundred. And you are asking me, ‘What happened to the last one?’”
I said, “Yes! Since you are giving me ninety-nine, I have every right to ask why you are so miserly. Just one! Make it a hundred – at least be generous for once!”
He had to make it a hundred.

My whole approach has been a totally different one to that of Ramakrishna and Gurdjieff. I have arrived through doubt, I have arrived through deep and profound skepticism. I have arrived, not through belief, but through the denial of all belief and disbelief too, because disbelief is belief in a negative form.
A moment came in my life when all beliefs and all disbeliefs disappeared and I was left utterly empty. In that emptiness the explosion happened. Hence, it is not so difficult for me, so I can argue easily. I can even argue against argument; that’s what I am going to continue to do. I can argue against intellect because I know how to use intellect.
Ramakrishna had never used his intellect; he started from the heart. The same is the case with Gurdjieff. Buddha could use the intellect because he was the son of a king, well educated, well cultured. All the great philosophers of the country were called to teach him; he knew what the intellectual approach was. And then he became fed up with it.
The same happened with me. I know what can be achieved through intellectual effort – nothing can be achieved through it. When I say it, I say it through my own experience.
But it has been beautiful in one way. It did not result in giving me truth – it cannot give truth to anybody – but in an indirect way it has cleansed the ground, it has prepared the ground. It has not helped me to realize myself, but it has helped me to communicate whatever I have realized.
I can communicate with you very easily, with no problem. You can ask all kinds of questions – you can ask, you can doubt – because I know that all these questions and doubts can be quashed, they can be destroyed. It is good that you should ask because then I can destroy your questions. Once all your questions are destroyed, the answer arises in your own being. In that utter emptiness something wells up; it is already there.
I am not in favor of repressing doubt by believing. You are not here to believe in me, you are here to bring out all your disbelief. Your doubts, your questions, all are respected, welcome, so that they can be taken out from you. Slowly, slowly a silence, a state of not-knowing arises. The state of not-knowing is the state of wisdom, is the state of enlightenment.

The second question:
I belong to the legal profession and have a very legal mind. Can I also become a sannyasin?
Sannyas makes no conditions on you. Everybody is welcome – sinner and saint, legal experts, lawbreakers, virtuous people, criminals – all are welcome. Sannyas makes no precondition, although it will be a little difficult for you. But that is your problem, not mine. If you belong to the legal profession and have a very legal mind, it is going to be a little difficult for you. So what? Accept it as a challenge. Let it be difficult. In fact, the more difficult it is, the more challenging; the more interesting, intriguing it should be; the more attractive it should be. When something is very simple, who wants to do it? When something is difficult it provokes a challenge in you, it provokes intelligence in you.
It is difficult – and certainly difficult for a person who has a legal mind because a legal mind means a cunning mind. It is not necessarily intelligent; in fact, if it is intelligent it will not be cunning. Cunningness is a poor substitute for intelligence. The legal profession is the most cunning profession in the world.
It is known that Jesus moved with drunkards and gamblers and even a prostitute, but I have not heard that he moved with legal experts. In fact, the Jewish rabbi is nothing but a legal expert because the Jewish religion is more or less law and less of a religion. It is more or less a legal code. It does not have much metaphysics, it does not have great flights; it is very earthly. It tells you in detail what to do and what not to do. Those ten commandments – that may have been the beginning of the legal profession.
You can become a sannyasin. If even the desire has arisen in you, there seems to be a spark of intelligence. Behind all your cunningness there must be a little fire still left.
Don’t be worried. Come into this orange fire – it burns everything; it will burn you too. It consumes everything; it will consume the legal expert too. But only if you are ready to be consumed, if you are ready to drop your cunningness, because that will have to be dropped. Not that I say it is a condition, but as you become a sannyasin and as you move into meditation, you will start becoming more and more intelligent and, naturally, as a by-product, cunningness disappears.
If the legal profession disappears from the world, ninety percent of the cunningness will disappear with it. It is the people who know the law who go on creating confusion.

One of my vice-chancellors was a great law expert, a world-renowned law expert. He used to relate again and again that once he was fighting a case for an Indian maharajah in the Privy Council. He was such a drunkard… On the last night he had drunk too much and he still had a hangover, so he forgot whether he was for or against the maharajah. So for one hour he spoke against the maharajah! The maharajah was perspiring, his assistants were trembling: “What is he doing?” In the tea break they said to him, “What have you done? You have destroyed our client! Now there is no way to save him.”
He replied, “What has happened?”
“You have been speaking against our own client!”
He said, “Don’t be worried, there is still time.”
When the court started again he said, “You heard me, Your Honor, for one hour. Thank you for your patience because I was only giving all those arguments that are possible from the opposite side. Now I will defend my client.”
And he destroyed his own arguments and won the case!

The legal expert has no dedication to truth, he does not care about truth; he simply cares about whoever pays him. He is far worse than a prostitute. The prostitute only sells her body; the legal expert sells his mind. He is ready to be purchased by anybody – whoever is ready to pay the price. He does not care about what is right and what is wrong.
But if you become a meditator, you will start caring about what is right and what is wrong. Not that you will have to, not that it is a commandment, not that it is something like a character that has to be cultivated. It happens naturally that cunningness starts disappearing. So you have to be alerted to that.
You can become a sannyasin, there is no problem for me. I never ask anyone, “Who are you?” If you want to take sannyas I give you sannyas, unconditionally. Out of my love I give you sannyas, out of my respect for you I give sannyas. I respect each and every individual because to me each and every individual represents God, godliness. Even if the god has fallen very low and has become a legal expert, still the god is a god! Even in your fallen state I respect you, I will give you sannyas. It is for you to decide because this is risky – risky for you, for your profession.

In the days of the Raj in India, a British soldier was expected to do his duty and very little else. Any display of human weakness by the troops was regarded as letting the side down in front of the natives.
So naturally, the new commanding officer was very worried when an angry crowd of Hindus approached the barracks, complaining that one of their sacred cows had been outraged by an infantryman. They demanded an immediate court martial.
“Don’t worry, sir,” said an experienced law expert. “Our man is bound to get off. This cow has a very bad reputation – it has already been cited in seven previous cases.”

You get the idea? You will have to drop such legal expertise, you will have to drop such cunning approaches. You will have to become more human. But these are the consequences of meditation; nothing is imposed here.
Just the other day I was reading an article written by a bishop in The Times against me. He says: “Beware of this man.” He quotes me: “This man says, ‘Character is the concern of the stupid. The really intelligent people are only concerned with consciousness.’” He is quoting me to make people beware because this is a dangerous statement. He says: “Rather than publishing articles on this man, The Times should publish more articles on Mother Teresa of Calcutta, who teaches character. And character is the only thing, the real thing.”
Character is not the real thing at all. But the poor bishop has not understood what I have been saying. He does not understand the consequences of consciousness. Character is a consequence of consciousness. If character comes out of your consciousness, it has a beauty of its own; if it is just imposed from the outside, it is ugly. But that’s what Christians are doing all over the world – Hindus and Mohammedans too, they are all in the same boat.
My whole concern is consciousness. I teach you how to be more conscious because I know one thing for certain: that if you are more conscious your character will change of its own accord. A conscious person lives in a totally different way; he is more compassionate. Mother Teresa of Calcutta is not compassionate – she behaves compassionately, but is not compassionate. All her compassion is nothing but a means to reach heaven. To reduce compassion to a means is ugly; compassion is an end unto itself.
An ancient Taoist parable says…

A man fell into a well. He started shouting loudly, “Save me! I am drowning!”
A Buddhist monk passed by. He looked in the well and said, “Be calm, be quiet, don’t be disturbed. Life is a flux. It comes, it goes. Remember what Gautam the Buddha has said: ‘It is all dream.’ Your drowning is a dream, my seeing is a dream. Don’t shout. And even if you are saved, what is the point? Sooner or later you will have to die, so why not now? Why postpone it? Die silently, peacefully, so that you are not born again. Get out of the wheel of birth and death!”
The man was aghast. He said, “What nonsense are you saying! You can sermonize later on. First get me out! This is no time to teach me great philosophy.”
But the Buddhist said, “I cannot be distracted by things. The Buddha has said: ‘Walk on undistracted.’ Goodbye.” And he walked on, undistracted.
Then a Confucian monk looked in the well and the man said, “Now please save me. Don’t waste time!”
The Confucian monk said, “Do you know what the master has said? Confucius has said that each well should have a protective wall around it. Don’t be worried. I will create a great movement all over the country so that no well is unprotected like this.”
The man said, “But that is not going to save me!”
The Confucian monk said, “It is not a question of individuals. The master says that the question is always of the society, the question is of the future. Think of the future and think of the society. Don’t be so selfish!”
And he went into the marketplace and started teaching the people: “Look at this example of what is happening. Our master has already said that each well should have a protective wall. He is always right, but people have not listened to him and they are suffering.”
Then a Christian missionary looked into the well and the man said, “It seems my death is certain. Today no layman is coming to the side of the well! Now you will teach me your gospel!”
But the Christian said, “Don’t be worried.” Out of his bag he pulled a rope, threw the rope in, told the man to tie the rope around his waist and he would pull him out. The man was surprised – no metaphysics, no religion. He was pulled out, he was very thankful. He fell at his feet and he said, “You are the only really religious person! But I’m curious – how come you were carrying a rope in your bag?”
He said, “We always keep all kinds of arrangements with us. Who knows when the opportunity will arise to serve? Service is religion and it is through serving people that one can reach to heaven. I am not concerned with you,” said the missionary, “my concern is with my own place in heaven. Now I have scored! In fact, I am grateful to you. Go on falling in! Help us poor missionaries to serve you. Go on teaching that to your children and don’t listen to these Confucian people who say that every well needs a wall to protect it. If every well has a wall, nobody will fall in and how are we going to save people? And without saving people there is no way to heaven. Go on falling into wells, go on making wells without walls. Teach your children to fall in, because unless we serve you there is no way to God!”

Don’t laugh at it – this is the real situation. Just think: if there was no poverty in India, no orphans, no paralyzed people, no people suffering from leprosy, where would Mother Teresa of Calcutta be? Then no Nobel Prize either. These people are needed to create a Mother Teresa. These missionaries will not like a world where all are rich, happy.
Bertrand Russell used to say – and I agree with him absolutely – that much of religion will disappear if the world becomes rich and people are healthy, if people live long lives and their lives are joyous. It is true because much of religion depends on all these things, particularly Christianity.
Now, that bishop in London is saying that Mother Teresa is doing great work. But how will you be able to do great work if there are no longer any poor people; if there are no blind people, if there are no lepers? What are you going to do? The missionaries will be at a loss. You have to keep this world in the same misery and mess as it is still in. Otherwise, just think of the poor missionaries – they will be nowhere.
My concern is certainly with consciousness, not with character. My concern is to make you more aware, more alert, and out of that alertness whatever happens is good. If out of that alertness service happens, it is good; if love happens it is good; if compassion happens it is good; if sharing happens it is good because out of that awareness evil is impossible.
You are welcome. I am not concerned with what you are doing. My whole concern is with your being, not with your doing.

The last question:
No! No! I don't get it! Breeches? Roar? What? Am I just dumb or something?
You are neither dumb nor “something.” Either you are British or you must have been British in your past life!

A seventy-five-year-old British field marshal tells his adjutant to bring his brigade to attention and announces: “Gentlemen, I am proud to tell you that at 08:30 hours, Greenwich Mean Time, my wife gave birth to a seven-and-a-half-pound baby boy! Gentlemen, I thank you!”

Get it?

This very proper Englishman walks into a pet shop. As he closes the door behind him he hears a voice welcoming him, “I know something about you! I know something about you!”
Embarrassed, he looks around and finds that it is a parrot. Impressed, he asks to buy the bird.
“So sorry, sir,” replies the owner, “I cannot sell it. But I can sell you a couple of eggs which after incubation will give you the same breed.”
The man buys the eggs, takes them home and puts them in the incubator. After ten days two little ducklings crawl out of the eggshells. Furious, he goes back to the shop to complain. As he enters he hears, “I know something about you! I know something about you!”
He hurries over to the parrot, looks it straight in the eyes and says, “Shut up! I know something about you too!”

Get it? Or not yet.

An Englishman and a Scotsman are sharing a train compartment with a lady and her pretty daughter. On entering a pitch black tunnel, a smacking kiss and a slap is heard. As they come out into daylight, the Englishman thinks, “Damn it, the Scot kissed her and I got paid off.”
The lady thinks, “God Almighty, one of these fellows kissed my daughter, but the good girl knew what to do. Whoever it was, he got his punishment.”
The girl thinks, “Pity, one of these fellows tried to kiss me and got my mother instead.”
Thinks the Scot, “When it comes to the next tunnel, I will kiss my hand again and give that English prick another whacking slap.”

Enough for today.

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