Questions & Answers_

8 August 1972 in the p.m.

Question 2:

THERE ARE THREE STATES – ignorance, knowledge, and the transcendence of knowledge that is wisdom. These three states are basic to all dimensions, whether science or religion. A religious man is ignorant: he is in the first state. He doesn’t know anything higher than the body, higher than the world. He lives like a child.

Then the second state is of knowledge. He begins to think. He gathers knowledge, information; he becomes knowledgeable. But this knowledge is borrowed. It is not his own; he has not known it. Then he throws it. Everything that is borrowed is thrown. Now he jumps into himself, to the very source of his being. Then he becomes wise. He passes through ignorance, learning, unlearning, then he becomes wise.

The same happens with science also The first stage is ignorance; then one becomes a scientist. This is a knowing about the outer world. This knowing is also borrowed. This knowing is technological. If one clings to this knowing, then he remains in the second stage. But if he can throw this scientific knowledge also and can take a jump into the Existence, the unknown Existence, then he becomes wise. So whatsoever the dimension may be, these three states will be relevant.

Whatsoever you know through others – from others, from tradition, from scriptures, from someone else – whatsoever is not immediate, without any medium, whatsoever is not known directly by you, is knowledge. Whatsoever is known by you directly, immediately, is wisdom. So whether it is religion or science, it makes no difference. Learning must be unlearned; then there is the jump. And one can take the jump from any place, from wheresoever one is standing. Even if it is art, one must take the jump from the knowledge of art. Only then does wisdom flower. In Zen there has been training in meditation through many thing through painting, through archery, through flower arrangement. This remains a basic principle.

Bokuju was learning with his teacher. He became a great painter, the greatest ever known. And then, one day, his teacher said. ”Now stop painting.” When he was at the height, at the peak, the pinnacle, when his name was penetrating far and wide, when emperors had become interested in him, when everyone had started talking about his painting, his teacher said, ”Now you stop painting. For twelve years forget painting completely. Throw it!”

How difficult it was! He was just at the peak. Bokuju followed his teacher. He became just an ordinary gardener in his teacher’s garden. For twelve years there was no painting, no talk of painting, then one day, the teacher said, ”Now you can paint again.”

Bokuju said, ”Now I know. That time I simply trusted you. Now I know, because now whatsoever I paint will be mine.”

This was learning, then unlearning. He said, ”Now I can paint like a child without knowing anything of painting. I have forgotten everything; now I can paint like a child.” And then it is reported that Bokuju would paint like a child. Then his paintings became of another world – OF ANOTHER WORLD! They were not of this world. They were not even painted. He was just a child playing when he would paint.

Then his teacher said, ”Now you are wise. There is no effort now – no training, no art, no knowledge. You have become innocent. You cannot paint in the old way now.”

One has to learn first and then unlearn. When art is forgotten, only then is the artist born. If you know that you cannot be totally in it, your knowledge will be a disturbance.

I will relate to you another story.

In Thailand one temple was being built, and the greatest painter was called to plan for the great gate. The emperor said, ”This gate, this temple gate, must be something unique in the world. There must be no comparison, so work hard.”

This painter was a teacher, a monk. He tried hard. Whenever he would make something. it was his habit to ask his greatest disciple, who was just by his side, ”Do you say it is okay?”

If the disciple approved, only then would he go ahead; otherwise he would throw it. He painted a hundred paintings, then he would look at the disciple, and the disciple would nod and say, ”No!” Then he would throw it. Three months passed, and the emperor was asking again and again, ”When?” But the teacher said, ”I do not know. Not until my disciple says yes.”

One day when he was painting, the ink was finished. He was just in the middle, so he asked his disciple to prepare more ink. The disciple went out to prepare more ink. Then without ink, just with his pencil, he drew a sketch. When the disciple came, he said, ”What! You have done the thing! This is the thing! But how could you do it? You had endeavoured so much for three months.”

The teacher laughed and said, ”Because you were present, I was conscious of ’me’. That was the only error. When you were not here, I was also not here. I could forget myself. That is why this thing has come. I couldn’t forget myself when you were there. Then the judge was there, and I was every moment afraid whether you were going to say yes or no each time, and I was making every effort so that you could say yes. That effort was the barrier. You were not here, so I was at ease, relaxed, and the thing happened.”

The thing always happens when you are so relaxed that you are not. But a person of knowledge cannot be so relaxed. Knowledge is the burden, the tension. So whatsoever the dimension may be – art, religion, philosophy, whatsoever – these are the three stages: ignorance, learning and then unlearning. Then you become wise.

And, secondly, it is asked, ”Is it not true that it is the East which has given birth to the six great Indian philosophies? Then in what sense do you consider the East anti-philosophic?”

There are many reasons:

First: the Indian philosophical systems are not philosophical in the Western sense. The Western philosophies call them ”religious philosophies”. They call them religious philosophies! They are not philosophies like those of Aristotle, Plato, Kant or Hegel. They are not – because they state many truths, but their evidence is not logical. The ultimate verification is experience.

In the Western philosophies the ultimate verification is logical, not experiential. If I can prove a certain thing logically, it is okay. But the Indian mind is different. The Indian mind says even if you can prove a certain thing logically, it may not be true. And it may even be that I cannot prove a certain thing logically, but it is true.

For example, you say you are in love. Now prove how you are in love. What is the proof? How do you prove it? It cannot be proven. And if you try to prove it, it may happen that you yourself may become suspicious whether you are in love or not, because so many questions can be raised which cannot be argued. But still you know that you are in love.

There was a case in the court concerning Mulla Nasrudin. He was found with something which had been stolen from his neighbours’ house, so he was suspected. But his advocate argued the case. There was no evidence. He had not been seen going into the house; no one had seen him coming out of it. But the thing was with him: he was found with the thing. He argued the case so beautifully, so logically, that Nasrudin won.

When they were coming out of the court, the advocate asked Nasrudin, ”Now tell me, really – were you involved in it?”

Nasrudin is reported to have said, ”I thought before that I was involved, but you have argued the case so logically that now I am suspicious. You have convinced me also.”

For Indian philosophy, logical conviction is not a criterion, that is the difference. The ultimate verification is experience. Indian religious philosophies talk logically. Mahavir, Buddha, Kapil – they talk logically. Every Indian system talks logically, but they do not depend on logic. They say, ”Our expressions are logical so that you can understand them, but whatsoever we are proposing is not deduced from logic – it has come to us from experience.”

For example, I experience something. Then I relate it to you and you begin to argue about it, so I also argue about it. But the experience has not come through argument. Rather, the argument has come through the experience; that is the difference. In the West, they say that if the argument is correct and cannot be refuted, then the conclusion is true. In India, they say that whether it is refuted or not, if it has been experienced it is true. So the truth of it lies in experiencing, not in argumentation.

So I also do not like to call Hindu systems of experiencing ”philosophies”. They are not! And why do I call them anti-philosophic? Because they are against the philosophical attitude. They say that Truth cannot be found through logical analysis. They say Truth cannot be proven through argumentation. Argumentation, logic. everything, is just a method of expression, nothing else. Basically, Truth remains an experience. That is why they are anti-philosophic.

Ask Buddha something, and if he feels that you are asking for asking’s sake he is not going to reply. He will not reply! He will reply only if he feels that the inquirer is not just curious about it – if he is an authentic seeker. That means if he is ready to go to the experience. Otherwise Buddha is not interested.

Western philosophy – Greek philosophy in particular – says that philosophy starts with wonder. This has never been said in India. Hindu systems say that thinking starts in suffering, not in wonder. So note down this very deep foundational distinction.

The West says philosophy starts in curiosity. A child asks, ”From where has this whole world come?” A philosopher also asks this. If you ask Buddha, ”From where has this world come,” he will say, ”This is childish. How are you concerned? And whatsoever the cause may have been, it is irrelevant.” He says, ”If you are ill, then ask for the medicine.” Buddha says that we are suffering, that life is dukkha – suffering – so the question is how to go beyond it; that is the difference.

Inquiry about Truth is against error. Inquiry about Liberation is against suffering.

The Indian mind is more psychological, less philosophical – more concerned with actual human transformation, less concerned with idle curiosities And it is anti-philosophic. But we have created nine systems – six are Hindu, three non-Hindu. Those nine systems are not philosophical systems, but philosophical statements of inner experiences. They are called systems, but, really, ”system” is not the right word. In Sanskrit they are called sampradaya – schools, not systems. A school is a different thing and a system is a different thing. A system means it is philosophical; a school means that it is a training ground. A school means you are trained for a particular experience. All the nine are trainings – trainings towards only one Ultimate goal: LIBERATION. That is why I call them anti-philosophic.

And because we have begun to think of them as philosophies, we are missing much. This is just one of the imitations of the Western mind. The way they teach and learn philosophy in the West has not been the way in the East ever, but now it is because our universities are just imitations of the West.

Nalanda was a different thing, Takshashila was a different thing. They were Eastern universities – very different, basically different. In Nalanda only Buddhist philosophy was taught. And what was the training? The training was not simply verbal, not scriptural, not just knowing about what Buddhist philosophy is. The training was in Buddhist yoga. The student would follow verbal instruction, and then, simultaneously, he would go deeper and deeper and deeper into meditation. Unless meditation and verbal training grow simultaneously, the whole growth is futile.

A story is reported about when Huan Chuang came to Nalanda. He was entering the main gate. Nalanda was the biggest university in India; it had 10,000 students from all over the world. It is suspected that Jesus had been one of the students. When Huan Chuang came to the main door he met a bhikkhu – a sannyasin. He began to ask questions about the university: ”What is the training and what...?” The man began to answer. Huan Chuang was impressed by the man, and he was the greatest scholar in China in those days – the greatest! He was so impressed with the man, and the man was so learned that Huan Chuang thought by chance that he was the Vice Chancellor – but he was just a doorkeeper. He reports in his memoirs that he was just a doorkeeper, but he knew everything about philosophy.

So Huan Chuang remained for three years in that university. When going back, he again passed the door, and he asked the man, ”Why are you still a doorkeeper? You know so much.”

The man said, ”Because I only know. I have failed in experience. I only know, so I am a failure. I know as much as the Vice Chancellor; there is no difference as far as knowledge goes – but I am a failure because I couldn’t grow into experience. That is why I am just a doorkeeper.”

So learned men are just doorkeepers. The Indian attitude is for experience. Sometimes a Kabir can become the highest peak without any knowledge – without any so-called knowledge. Experience is the thing; that is why the East is anti-philosophical.