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COLLECTED WORKS VOLUME 11

Photo: J. Krishnamurti, ca 1962 by Cecil Beaton

Copyright © 2012 by Krishnamurti Foundation America
P.O Box 1560, Ojai, CA 93024

Website: www.kfa.org

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN 13: 9781934989449
ISBN: 1934989444
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62110-136-9

Contents

Preface

On Learning, 1958

Talks in Poona, India

First Talk, September 7, 1958

Second Talk, September 10, 1958

Third Talk, September 14, 1958

Fourth Talk, September 17, 1958

Fifth Talk, September 21, 1958

Sixth Talk, September 24, 1958

Talks in Madras, India

First Talk, October 22, 1958

Second Talk, October 26, 1958

Third Talk, October 29, 1958

Fourth Talk, November 2, 1958

Fifth Talk, November 5, 1958

Sixth Talk, November 9, 1958

Seventh Talk, November 12, 1958

Eighth Talk, November 16, 1958

Talks in Bombay, India

First Talk, November 26, 1958

Second Talk, November 30, 1958

Third Talk, December 3, 1958

Fourth Talk, December 7, 1958

Fifth Talk, December 10, 1958

Sixth Talk, December 14, 1958

Seventh Talk, December 17, 1958

Eighth Talk, December 21, 1958

Ninth Talk, December 24, 1958

Tenth Talk, December 28, 1958

Talks in New Delhi, India

First Talk, February 8, 1959

Second Talk, February 11, 1959

Third Talk, February 15, 1959

Fourth Talk, February 18, 1959

Fifth Talk, February 22, 1959

Sixth Talk, February 25, 1959

Seventh Talk, March 1, 1959

Eighth Talk, March 4, 1959

Ninth Talk, March 8, 1959

Tenth Talk, March 11, 1959

Talks in Madras, India

First Talk, November 22, 1959

Second Talk, November 25, 1959

Third Talk, November 29, 1959

Fourth Talk, December 2, 1959

Fifth Talk, December 6, 1959

Sixth Talk, December 9, 1959

Seventh Talk, December 13, 1959

Eighth Talk, December 16, 1959

Talks in Bombay, India

First Talk, December 23, 1959

Second Talk, December 27, 1959

Third Talk, December 30, 1959

Fourth Talk, January 3, 1960

Fifth Talk, January 6, 1960

Sixth Talk, January 10, 1960

Seventh Talk, January 13, 1960

Eighth Talk, January 17, 1960

Talks at Rajghat School, Banaras, India

First Talk, January 24, 1960

Second Talk, January 26, 1960

Third Talk, January 31, 1960

Fourth Talk, February 7, 1960

Talks in New Delhi, India

First Talk, February 14, 1960

Second Talk, February 17, 1960

Third Talk, February 21, 1960

Fourth Talk, February 24, 1960

Fifth Talk, February 28, 1960

Sixth Talk, March 2, 1960

Seventh Talk, March 6, 1960

Eighth Talk, March 9, 1960

Talks in The Oak Grove, Ojai, California

First Talk, May 21, 1960

Second Talk, May 22, 1960

Third Talk, May 28, 1960

Fourth Talk, May 29, 1960

Questions

Preface

Jiddu Krishnamurti was born in 1895 of Brahmin parents in south India. At the age of fourteen he was proclaimed the coming World Teacher by Annie Besant, then president of the Theosophical Society, an international organization that emphasized the unity of world religions. Mrs. Besant adopted the boy and took him to England, where he was educated and prepared for his coming role. In 1911 a new worldwide organization was formed with Krishnamurti as its head, solely to prepare its members for his advent as World Teacher. In 1929, after many years of questioning himself and the destiny imposed upon him, Krishnamurti disbanded this organization, saying:

Truth is a pathless land, and you cannot approach it by any path whatsoever, by any religion, by any sect. Truth, being limitless, unconditioned, unapproachable by any path whatsoever, cannot be organized; nor should any organization be forced to lead or to coerce people along any particular path. My only concern is to set men absolutely, unconditionally free.

Until the end of his life at the age of ninety, Krishnamurti traveled the world speaking as a private person. The rejection of all spiritual and psychological authority, including his own, is a fundamental theme. A major concern is the social structure and how it conditions the individual. The emphasis in his talks and writings is on the psychological barriers that prevent clarity of perception. In the mirror of relationship, each of us can come to understand the content of his own consciousness, which is common to all humanity. We can do this, not analytically, but directly in a manner Krishnamurti describes at length. In observing this content we discover within ourselves the division of the observer and what is observed. He points out that this division, which prevents direct perception, is the root of human conflict.

His central vision did not waver after 1929, but Krishnamurti strove for the rest of his life to make his language even more simple and clear. There is a development in his exposition. From year to year he used new terms and new approaches to his subject, with different nuances.

Because his subject is all-embracing, the Collected Works are of compelling interest. Within his talks in any one year, Krishnamurti was not able to cover the whole range of his vision, but broad applications of particular themes are found throughout these volumes. In them he lays the foundations of many of the concepts he used in later years.

The Collected Works contain Krishnamurti’s previously published talks, discussions, answers to specific questions, and writings for the years 1933 through 1967. They are an authentic record of his teachings, taken from transcripts of verbatim shorthand reports and tape recordings.

The Krishnamurti Foundation of America, a California charitable trust, has among its purposes the publication and distribution of Krishnamurti books, videocassettes, films and tape recordings. The production of the Collected Works is one of these activities.

On Learning, 1958

It seems to us that a totally different kind of morality and conduct and the action that springs from the understanding of the whole process of living have become an urgent necessity as we are faced with mounting crises and problems. We try to solve these issues through political and organizational methods, through economic readjustment, and through reforms. None of these methods will ever solve the complex human difficulties of existence though they may offer temporary relief. All reforms, however wide and seemingly lasting, are in themselves productive of further confusion and further reformation. Reformation, however necessary, without understanding the whole complex being of man, will only bring about the confusing demand for further reforms. There is no end to reform, and there is no fundamental solution along these lines.

Political, economic, or social revolutions are not the answer either, for they have produced either appalling tyrannies or the power of authority going into the hands of a different group. Such revolutions, at any time, are not the way out of confusion and conflict. But there is a revolution which is entirely different and which must take place if we are going to emerge out of this endless series of anxieties, conflicts, and frustrations. This revolution must begin not at the theoretical and ideational level—which eventually prove worthless—but in bringing about a radical transformation in the mind itself. This can only be brought about through right education, through the total development of a human being. This revolution through right education must take place in the whole of the mind and not in mere thought. Thought, after all, is a result and not the cause. There must be a radical transformation in the cause itself and not in the result. We are tinkering with results, with the symptoms, and we are not bringing about a vital, radical change, uprooting the old ways of thoughts, traditions, and habits. It is with this we are concerned, and only right education can bring this into being.

The capacity to seek and to learn is the function of the mind. By learning we do not mean the mere cultivation of memory and the accumulation of information but the capacity to think clearly and sanely without illusion, to start from facts and not from beliefs and ideals. There is no learning if thought originates from conclusions. Mere acquisition of information, called knowledge, is not learning. Learning implies the love of understanding and the love of doing the thing for itself. Learning is only possible when there is no coercion of any kind. Coercion implies, does it not, every form of influence through affection or threat, through persuasive encouragement or subtle forms of discussion.

Most people think that through comparison learning is encouraged, whereas the contrary is the fact. Comparison brings about frustration, and merely encourages envy, which is called competition. Subtle or obvious forms of persuasion do prevent learning and only bring about fear. Ambition breeds fear. Ambition, whether personal or identified with the collective, is always antisocial. So-called noble ambition is always, in its relationships, destructive.

It is necessary to encourage the development of a good mind that is capable of dealing with the many issues of life as a whole and which does not try to escape from them and so become contradictory, frustrated, bitter, or cynical. And it is essential that it should be aware of its own conditioning, its motives and pursuits.

Since the cultivation of the good mind is one of our chief concerns, it becomes very important how the educator teaches. As the educator is primarily concerned with the cultivation of the totality of the mind and not merely with giving information, he has to impart knowledge or information through every form of discussion, invitation to inquire, and to think independently. Authority, as the one who knows, has no place in learning. The educator as well as the pupil are both learning in this peculiar relationship with each other, but this does not mean that the educator disregards the orderliness of thought. This orderliness is not brought about by mere discipline in the form of assertive statements of knowledge, but if the educator understands that he is cultivating intelligence, there must be naturally a sense of freedom. This freedom is not to do what you like or to think in the spirit of mere contradiction, but a freedom in which the mind is being helped to be aware of its urges and motives which are revealed to the student through his own thought and action.

A disciplined mind is never a free mind, nor can a mind that has suppressed desire ever be free. It is only the mind that understands the whole process of desire that is free. Discipline always encourages, does it not, a movement within the framework of systems of thought and belief. Such a mind is never free to be intelligent. Such discipline brings about submission to authority, or capacity to function within the pattern of a society which demands functional ability, and not the intelligence which has its own capacity. The mind that has cultivated only capacity through memory is as the modern machine, the computer, which functions with astonishing ability and accuracy.

Authority can only persuade to think in certain directions. Thinking in conclusions and being guided along certain lines is not thinking at all; it is merely functioning as a human machine, which breeds thoughtless discontent, bringing with it frustrations, miseries, and so on. And we are concerned with the total development of each human being to his highest and fullest capacity—not to the highest capacity which the educator has in view as a concept, but the capacity to which any one individual may be capable of flowering.

Any spirit of comparison prevents this full flowering of an individual, whether as a scientist or as a gardener. But the fullest capacity of the gardener is the fullest capacity of the scientist when there is no comparison, but when comparison comes in, then there is the disparagement and the envious reactions which create conflict between man and man. Love is not comparative. Like sorrow, it cannot be compared with the greater or the lesser. Sorrow is sorrow, whether it is in the poor or in the rich—as love is.

The fullest development of an individual brings about a society of equals. The present social struggle to bring about equality merely on an economic or some spiritual level has no meaning at all. Social reforms to bring about equality breed other forms of antisocial activities. With right education there is no need for social and other reforms, as envy with its comparative capacities ceases.

We must differentiate here between function and status. Status with all its emotional and hierarchical prestige arises only through comparison of function as the high and the low. When each individual is flowering to his fullest capacity, then there is no division between status and function; there is only the expression of that capacity as a teacher or as a prime minister, and so status loses its sting. The functional or technical capacity is now recognized through having a BA or a PhD after a name; but since we are concerned with the total development of the human being, such an individual may or may not add letters after his name but will have the capacity to take a degree or not, as he pleases. His capacity is not measured by a degree, but he will know for himself his own capabilities. And the expression of his capacity does not bring about that self-centered confidence which mere technical capacity breeds; such confidence is comparative and therefore antisocial. Comparison exists only for utilitarian purposes, but it is not for the educator to differentiate the capacities and give greater or lesser evaluation.

Since we are concerned with the total development of the individual, the student may not be allowed in the beginning to choose his own subjects. If he chooses, his choice will be based on passing pleasures and prejudices and that which is the easiest to do; if he chooses, he will choose according to the immediate needs of a particular society. But when we are concerned with the primary thing and in the cultivation of it, he will naturally come to choose, not the easiest subject to study and pass, but how he can express his capacities to the fullest and to the highest extent. We are concerned in dealing with the many issues of life as a whole with all its psychological, intellectual, and emotional problems. Since the student is helped from the very beginning to look at life as a whole, he will not be frightened of it.

The capacity to deal with any problem as a whole is intelligence. Giving grades and marks to the student does not cultivate intelligence. On the contrary, it degrades the human dignity of understanding. This comparative evaluation cripples the mind—which does not mean that the teacher does not observe the progress of every student and keep a record of it. Parents, naturally anxious to know the progress of their children, will want a report; but, most unfortunately, as they do not understand what the educator is trying to do, they will use the report as a means of coercion in an affectionate or threatening manner to produce the results which they desire and so undo the work which the educator is trying to do. Parents should understand the kind of education that we intend to give. Generally they are satisfied to see their children get a degree of some kind which will assure them of a livelihood. Very few are concerned beyond this. Of course they wish to see their children so-called happy, but beyond this vague desire very few are concerned with their total development. As most of them desire that their children should have a successful career, they either affectionately bully them or frighten them to acquire book knowledge, and so the book becomes very important; with it, there is the mere cultivation of memory that repeats without the quality of real thought behind it.

The difficulty that our educator has to face is the great indifference on the part of the parent to a wider and deeper education, as the parent is only concerned with the cultivation of superficial knowledge which will get his child a respectable position in a corrupt society.

So the educator not only has to educate the children in the right way but also to see to it that the parents do not undo whatever may have been done at the school. Really the school and the home should be the centers of real education and not opposed to each other—the parents desiring one thing and the educator doing something entirely different. It is very important that the parent should be fully acquainted with what the educator is doing and be vitally interested in the total development of his children. It is equally his responsibility to see that this kind of education is carried out and not leave it merely to the teachers whose burden is already sufficiently heavy. This total development can only be brought about fully when there is the right relationship between the teacher, the student, and the parent. As the educator cannot yield under any circumstances to the fancies or the obstinate demands of parents, it is necessary that the parents should understand what the educator is doing and not bring about conflict and confusion in their children.

The natural curiosity and the urge to learn, surely, exist from the very beginning in a child, and this should be intelligently encouraged so that, as he grows, this urge remains vital without distortion and will lead to the study of various subjects. If this eagerness to learn is encouraged at all times, then mathematics, geography, history, science, or biology will not be a problem to the child or to the educator. Learning is facilitated when there is an atmosphere of thoughtful affection and happy care.

Emotional sensitivities can only be cultivated when the student feels that he is secure in his relationship with his teachers. The feeling of being secure in relationship is the primary necessity of children. There is a vast difference between the feeling of being secure and of dependency. Most educators, consciously or unconsciously, cultivate this feeling of dependence and therefore subtly encourage fear, which the parents also do in their own affectionate or aggressive manner; and this dependency shows itself as the authoritarian or dogmatic assertions of what a child should be and should do. With dependence goes always the shadow of fear, and this fear compels the child to obey, to conform, and to accept the edicts and the sanctions of the elders. In this atmosphere of dependency, emotional sensitivities are trampled upon and so can never be cultivated. But when the child knows and feels that he is secure, then the emotional flowering is not thwarted by the fear of insecurity. This security is not the opposite of insecurity. We mean by security the feeling of being at home—not the home from which the child has come, but the home where he can be what he is, where he is not compelled to be or not to be, where he can climb a tree and not be scolded if he falls, where the educator or the housemother or the housefather is concerned deeply with the total welfare of the child—which the child feels at the first impact.

What is important is that the child should feel at the first impact, and not a few weeks or a few months later, that he is at home, completely secure. It is the first impact that is of the highest importance. But if the educator tries various means to gain his confidence and allows the child freedom to do what he likes, then the educator is cultivating dependency and is not giving the child the feeling of being secure, the feeling that he is at home where there are people who are deeply concerned with his total welfare. The very first impact of this new relationship, which the child has never had before, will bring about a natural communication in which the young do not regard the old as a form of threat which is to be respected. A child who feels secure has his own ways of expressing respect which is essential in learning. This respect is denuded of all authority and fear. In this feeling of security, conduct and behavior are not something imposed by the elder, but become a process of learning. And because the child is secure in his relationship with the teacher, with the elder, he will naturally be considerate, and it is only in this atmosphere of security that the flowering of emotional sensitivities can be brought about. In this atmosphere of being at home, of being secure, he will do what he likes, but in the doing of what he likes, he will learn to find out what is the right thing to do—which is not the result of an action of resistance or an action of obstinacy or of suppressed feelings, or a response of an immediate urge.

To be sensitive is to be sensitive to all things about one, whether it be the plants, animals, trees, skies, waters, or the bird on the wing, sensitive to the moods of the people about one and to the stranger that passes by. This sensitivity brings about that quality of uncalculated, unselfish response which is true morality and conduct. So his conduct will be open and not secretive, and being open, a mere suggestion on the part of the teacher is accepted easily without any resistance and friction.

As we are concerned with the total development of the human being and his emotional urges, which are very much stronger than intellectual reasoning, we must cultivate emotional capacity and not help to suppress it. When one is capable of dealing with emotional and intellectual issues, then there will be no sense of fear in approaching them.

Since we are concerned with the total development of the human being, solitude as a means to the cultivation of sensitivity becomes a necessity. As it is necessary to know mathematics, it is also necessary to know what it is to be alone, what it is to meditate, what it is to die—not what is solitude, what is meditation. And this can only be known by searching it out. And so, there must be a learning of what are the implications of meditation, of solitude, of death. These implications cannot be taught but must be learned. One can indicate, but the learning through what is indicated is not solitude nor is it meditation. But to learn what is solitude and what is meditation as you would learn mathematics, there must be an inquiry, and this inquiry is essentially the way of learning. A mind that is capable of inquiry is capable of learning. But when inquiry is suppressed by superior knowledge or by superior authority and experience, then learning is imitation, and imitation merely produces a human entity who repeats without the experience of learning.

Teaching is not the mere imparting of information but the cultivation of an inquiring mind which will penetrate into the question of what is religion and not merely accept the established religions, churches, and rituals. The search for God, for truth, or whatever name one may like to give to it is true religion, and not the mere acceptance of belief and dogma. Just as the student washes his teeth every day, bathes every day, learns every minute of the day, so also there must be the action of sitting quietly with others or with himself. But when he sits quietly in solitude, it should not be a means of escaping from his boredom or from his everyday activity, and it should not be something unusual but a part of his life. In this solitude which is not brought about by instruction, or urged by external authority of tradition, or induced by those who want to sit quietly but who are not capable of being alone—in this solitude he is also learning to see the implications of all that he has been gathering as knowledge in relation to a life that is not merely acquisitive, self-measured, and self-centered. This solitude helps the mind to see clearly as in a mirror and to free itself from the vain endeavor of ambition with all its complexities of fears and frustrations, which are the expressions of self-centered activity. This solitude gives to the mind stability, that constancy which is not to be measured in terms of time. It is this clarity of mind that is character. The lack of character is the state of self-contradiction.

To be sensitive is to love. The word love is not love. And love is not to be divided as the love of God and the love of man. Love is not to be measured as the love of the one or of the many. Love is the capacity to give abundantly as a flower to anyone who cares to take it to his lips, but we are always measuring it in our relationships and thereby destroying it. Love is not a commodity of the social reformer and the social worker; it is not a political instrument with which to create action. When the politician and the reformer use it, they are using the word and so can never touch the reality of it, for love cannot be employed as a means to an end, whether in the immediate or in the far-off. It is the love of the earth and not of the particular field in it. The love of reality is not encompassed by any religion, and when organized religions use it, it ceases to be. Society and organized religions and authoritarian governments, sedulous in their various activities, unknowingly destroy the love that becomes passion in action.

And as we are concerned with the total development of a human being through right education, the quality of love from the very beginning must be nourished and sustained. Love is not sentimentality nor is it devotion. It is as strong as death; it cannot be bought through knowledge. And a mind that is pursuing knowledge for its own sake is a mind that deals in ruthlessness and works merely for efficiency.

So, the educator must be concerned from the very beginning with this quality of love, which is humility, gentleness, consideration, patience, and courtesy. The modesty of courtesy is inherent in the man of good and right education; this enjoins attention to all things about one—the plants, the animals, the way of behavior, and the manner of talking.

This means, does it not, the cultivation of sensitivity towards all things, to care for all things—whether it be a tree or a human being or a piece of furniture or the latest motor—right from the tender age. This emphasis on the quality of love brings about sensitivity and a mind that is not self-absorbed with its ambitions, greeds, and acquisitiveness. Does this not gather about itself refinement, which not only expresses itself as good taste and respect, but also brings about the purification of the mind, and which otherwise has a tendency to strengthen itself in pride? Refinement in clothes, in talk, in behavior, is not a self-imposed adjustment or an outward demand, but it comes with this quality of love. With the understanding of this quality, sex and all the complications and subtleties of human relationship can be approached with sanity and not with excitement and apprehension.

The educator to whom the total development of a human being is of primary importance must be concerned with the implications of sexual urges from the very beginning without arousing the children’s curiosity but meeting with their curiosity. As sexual urges play such an important part in one’s life, to impart mere biological knowledge or information at the adolescent age may become experimental lust if the quality of love is not felt. Love cleanses the mind of evil. Without all this, mere separation of boy and girl by barbed wire and edicts only strengthens their curiosity and that passion which is bound to degenerate into mere satisfaction. So it is important that boy and girl are educated together rightly.

This quality of love must express itself in doing things with one’s hands—gardening, carpentry, painting, handicraft—and through the eyes and ears—as the seeing of trees, the running waters, of the richness of the earth and of the poverty that men have created amongst themselves, and the hearing of birds, music, and song.

We are concerned not only with the mind and the emotional sensitivities but also with the well-being of the physique, and so must give considerable thought to it. For, if the body is not healthy, vital, obviously it will distort thought and make for insensitivity. This is an obvious fact into which we need not go into detail. It is necessary that the body be in excellent health, eating the right food and having sufficient sleep. If the senses are not alert and sensitive, the body will interfere with the total development of a human being. To have grace and control of the muscles, there must be various forms of exercise, dancing, yoga, and games. A body that is not clean, that does not hold itself in good posture, that is sloppy, is not conducive to the sensitivity of the mind or of the emotions. The body is not the instrument of the mind. But the body, the emotions, and the mind make the total human being, and without all of them living together harmoniously, conflict is inevitable. Conflict makes for insensitivity. Mind can control or dominate the body, suppressing the senses and making the body insensitive. Such an insensitive body becomes a hindrance to the full flight of the mind. The mortification of the body is definitely not conducive to search out the deeper layers of consciousness—which is possible only when the mind, the emotions, and the physique are not in contradiction with one another but live together effortlessly without being driven by any concept, belief, or ideal.

In the cultivation of the mind, emphasis should not be on concentration but on attention. Concentration is a process of forcing the mind to narrow down to a point, whereas attention is without frontiers. Concentration is always a limited energy with a frontier or limitation, but when we are concerned with the understanding of the totality of the mind, mere concentration becomes a hindrance, whereas attention is limitless, without the frontiers of knowledge. Knowledge comes through concentration, and the extension of knowledge is still within the frontiers of concentration. Attention, in the sense that we are using the word, can and does use knowledge which of necessity is the result of concentration. The part is never the whole, and adding the many parts together does not make the whole. And knowledge which is the additive process of concentration does not bring about the understanding of the immeasurable. The total is never within the brackets of a mind that is concentrated.

As we are concerned with the whole development of the human being and his mind, attention becomes of primary importance. This attention does not come through the effort of concentration, but it is a state in which the mind is ever learning without a center round which knowledge gathers as experience. Knowledge is used as a means of self-expansion by a mind that is concentrated upon itself, and so such activity becomes self-contradictory and so antisocial.

And as we are concerned with the total development of an individual and therefore with his relationship with another—which is society—emphasis should be laid on attention and not on mere concentration. Learning is only possible in this state of attention in which there is no outer or inner compulsion. Right thinking can only come about when the mind is not bound to tradition and memory. It is attention that allows silence to come upon the mind, which is the opening of the door to that creation. Attention is of the highest importance.

Knowledge then is essential only as a means of cultivating the mind and not as an end in itself. What we are concerned with is not the mere development of one capacity, as a mathematician or a scientist or a musician, but with the total development of the student in which all these things are included.

How is this attention to be brought about? It cannot be cultivated through any form of persuasion, comparison, reward, or punishment; all these are forms of coercion. The elimination of fear is the beginning of attention. Fear must exist as long as there is an urge to be or to become, which is translated as success with all its frustrations and tortuous contradictions. Attention cannot be taught as you can teach concentration, just as you cannot possibly teach how to be free of fear, but we can begin to discover the causes that produce fear and in the understanding of all these causes, there is the elimination of fear. So, attention comes into being when around the student there is the atmosphere of physical well-being, the feeling of being secure, of being at home—of which we have talked earlier—and the disinterested action that comes with love. Love does not compare, and so the torture of ‘becoming’ ceases.

The general discontent that all of us experience, whether young or old, soon finds a way to satisfaction, and thus our mind is put to sleep. It is awakened from time to time through suffering, and that suffering again seeks some solution which will be gratifying. So in this wheel of satisfaction and dissatisfaction, the mind is caught, and the awakening through pain is part of this discontent. Discontent is the way of inquiry, and there can be no inquiry if the mind is tethered to tradition, to ideals. It is this inquiry that is the flame of attention.

We mean by discontent that state of mind which understands what is, the actual, and inquires to discover further. This movement to go beyond the limitations of what is is discontent, and if you smother or find ways and means of overcoming discontent, then you will accept the limitations of self-centered activity and of the society in which you find yourself. Discontent is the lot of most of us, and to overcome it we seek various ways to dissipate it. But discontent is the flame which burns away the dross of satisfaction. Discontent for the little more, for the bigger house, and so on is within the field of envy, and it is envy that sustains this discontent. But we are not talking of envy, the greed for the ‘more’; we are talking of discontent that is not inflamed by any desire or experience for the ‘more’. This discontent is an unpolluted state which must and which does exist, if it is not allowed to be cheapened through wrong education or through any ideal. When we understand the nature of this discontent, then we shall see that attention is part of this burning flame which consumes the petty and leaves the mind without the limitations of self-enclosing pursuits and gratifications. So attention comes into being only when there is inquiry not based on self-advancement or gratification.

This attention must be cultivated right from the beginning. You will find that when there is love which expresses itself through humility, courtesy, patience, and gentleness, you are already removing the frontiers which insensitivity builds, and so from a very tender age, you are helping to bring about this state of attention. This attention is not to be learned, but you can help to bring it about in the student when there is around him no sense of compulsion and so no self-contradictory existence. Then his attention can be focused at any moment on any given subject, but it is not the concentration brought about through the compulsive urge of acquisition or achievement.

A generation that is so educated will be free from the psychological inheritance of their parents and of the society in which they are born; and because they are so educated, they will not depend on the inheritance of property. This factor of inheritance destroys independence and limits intelligence, for it breeds a false sense of security, giving a self-assurance which has no basis. This false sense of security is the darkness of the mind in which nothing can flourish. A generation which has been educated totally differently, about which we have been talking, will create a new society. For, it will have the capacity born of intelligence, that intelligence which is not hedged about with fear.

As we are concerned with the total development of the student and not of any one particular aspect, attention which is all-inclusive becomes important. This total development is not conceptual—that is, there is no blueprint of the totality of the human mind. The more the mind uses of itself, the greater is its potentiality. The capacity of the mind is infinite.

Since education is not the work of one, but of several together, of the parent as well as the educator, the art of working together must be learned. This working together comes only when each of us perceives what is true. It is the truth that brings us together, and not opinion or belief or theory. There is a vast difference between the conceptual and the factual. The conceptual may temporarily bring us together for monetary or other reasons, but there will be separation when it is only a matter of conviction. If the truth is seen, there may be disagreement in detail but there will be no urge to separate. It is the foolish that break away on some detail, and the detail can never be made into an issue over which there is a dissension. We may come together to work out a concept, an ideal; but these are not factual and need conviction, persuasion, propaganda, and so on; and most of us are used to working together along these established lines of authority.

Working together for a concept, for an ideal, and the action which comes from seeing the truth and the necessity of that truth in action are two totally different activities. Working under the stimulus of authority is not cooperation, whether it is the authority of an ideal or the authority of a person who represents that ideal. You have a central authority who knows or who has a strong personality with certain ideas, and he dominates and forces others, subtly or in other ways, to cooperate with what he calls the ideal. This surely is not working together. But when each of us understands the truth of certain issues, then this understanding of truth brings us together to carry them out in action. This is cooperation. And he who has learned this cooperation because he sees the truth as the truth, the false as the false, the truth in the false, he will also learn not to cooperate—which is as important as to learn to cooperate.

If each one of us sees the necessity that a fundamental revolution in education is essential and perceives the truth of what we have said, then we will work together without agreement or disagreement, without any form of persuasion. Agreement or disagreement exists only when someone takes a stand from which he is unwilling to move, or when he is convinced of an idea or entrenched in an opinion. He brings about opposition, and when such a situation arises, then one or the other has to be convinced or influenced or induced to think differently. Such a situation will never arise when each one of us sees the truth. Then it will not be a mere verbal conviction or an intellectual, reasoned application but an understanding of the truth. If we do not see the truth, then there is contention, agreement or disagreement, with all their distorting and useless effort. It is essential that we work together, for we are building a house together. If one of us is building and the other is tearing down, then the house will not be built. So, we must, each one of us, be very clear that we really understand the necessity of bringing about a new generation which is capable of dealing with the issues of life as a whole and not as separated parts unrelated to the whole.

To work together in this cooperative way, we must meet often together and be alert not to be submerged in detail. Those of us who are seriously dedicated to this understanding have the responsibility of not only carrying out in action all that we have understood but also to see that others come to this understanding. Teaching is the highest profession, if it can at all be called a profession. The art of teaching requires no considerable intellectual capacities but infinite patience and love. Education means, does it not, the understanding of relationship to all things—to money, to property, to people, to nature—in the vast field of existence.

Beauty is not merely proportion, form, taste, and behavior. Beauty is that state of mind which has abandoned the center of itself in the passion of simplicity. Simplicity can only be when there is that austerity which is not the response of calculated denial and disciplined self-pursuit, but that self-abandonment which love alone can bring about. Simplicity has no end. Without all this, we create a civilization in which beauty of form is sought, without the inner vitality and stability of simple self-abandonment. There is no abandonment if there is the immolation of the self in activity, in ideals, in beliefs. These appear to be the larger field, but in reality the self is still working under the cover of different labels. The innocent mind alone can inquire into the immense unknown. But the calculated simplicity of the loincloth or of the robe of a monk can never come near that passion of self-abandonment. From this passion comes courtesy, gentleness, humility, patience—which are the expressions of love.

We know beauty through that which is made or put together—the beauty of a human form or of a temple. We say that tree, that house, that river which is widely curving is beautiful. And because of comparison, we know that which is ugly—at least we think we do. Is beauty comparative? Is beauty that which has been made evident, manifest? We say that a picture, a poem, a face, is beautiful because we already know or feel from what we have been taught, or with which we are familiar, or about which we have formed an opinion. And does not beauty cease with comparison? Is beauty merely a knowledge of the known, or is it a being in which the created is or is not?

We are always pursuing beauty and avoiding the ugly, and this avoidance of the one and the seeking of enrichment in the other must inevitably breed insensitivity. Now sensitivity to both the so-called beautiful and the so-called ugly, surely, is necessary to the understanding or to the feeling of what is beauty. A feeling is not beautiful or ugly, it is just a feeling. It is only when we approach it through our educated and social conditioning that we say this is a good feeling and that is a bad feeling, and so destroy the feeling or distort it. But the feeling that is not given a label as the good or the bad remains intense. It is this passionate intensity that is essential in the pursuit of the understanding of that which is neither the manifested beauty nor the ugly.

What we are insisting upon is the great importance of sustained feeling, that passion which is not the mere lust of the self in gratification. It is this that creates beauty, and since it is not comparable, it has no opposite.

Since we are concerned with the total development of a human being, we must take into full consideration not only the conscious mind but also the unconscious. Mere education of the conscious without understanding the unconscious brings contradiction into human lives, with its frustrations and miseries. The hidden mind is far more vital and vigorous than the superficial. Most educators are concerned with educating the superficial mind, giving it information called knowledge, to acquire a job and to adjust itself to society. So the hidden mind is never touched. All that the educators have done is that they have imposed a layer of technical knowledge and the capacity to adjust to environment.

But since we are concerned with the total development of a human being, we must also understand the state of the hidden mind. This hidden mind is far more potent than the superficial mind, however much it may be educated and however much it may be capable of adjustment. The hidden mind is not something very mysterious. It is surely the repository of the racial memories as religion, superstition, symbol, the tradition of a particular race, the influence of its literature, whether sacred or profane; the collective influence of a particular group, with its own peculiar traditions, aspirations and frustrations, symbols, mannerisms, and food; and the open and hidden desire with its motives and frustrations, its hopes and fears, its hidden sorrows and pleasures, and those beliefs which are sustained through the urge for security translating themselves in various ways. This hidden mind has not only the extraordinary capacity of all this residual past but also the capacity to foresee, near or far, in the future. All this expresses itself through dreams and through various intimations to the superficial mind when it is not wholly occupied with everyday events. The hidden mind is nothing sacred or nothing to be frightened of, nor does it demand the specialist to expose it to the superficial. Only because of the enormous potency of the hidden mind, the superficial cannot deal with it as it wishes. The superficial is impotent to a great extent in its relation to its own hidden. However much it may try to dominate it, shape it, control it, because of its immediate social demands and pursuits, it can only scratch the surface of the hidden, and so there is a cleavage and contradiction between the hidden and the open. We try to bridge this chasm through discipline, through various practices, sanctions, and so on; but it cannot so be bridged. Because the conscious mind is occupied merely with the immediate—in the sense of the limited present—whereas the hidden has the weight of centuries which cannot be brushed aside by any immediate necessity, the hidden has the quality of deep time. The superficial mind with its recent culture cannot deal with it according to its passing urgencies. So to eradicate contradiction, the superficial mind must understand this fact and be quiescent, which does not mean giving scope to the innumerable urges of the hidden. When there is no resistance between the open and the hidden, then because the hidden has the patience of time, the hidden will not violate the immediate.

It is the hidden, unexplored, and un-understood mind with its superficial which has been educated, that comes into contact with the present—the present challenges and demands. The superficial may respond to the challenge adequately, but because there is a contradiction between the superficial and the hidden, any experience of the superficial only increases conflict between itself and the hidden. This brings about further experience, widening the chasm between the present and the past. The superficial mind experiencing without understanding the inner, the hidden, only produces deeper and wider conflict. Experiences do not liberate or enrich, as we generally think they do. So long as experiences strengthen the experiencer, there must be conflict. A conditioned mind having experiences only strengthens the conditioning, and so increases conflict and misery. Only to a mind that is understanding the total ways of itself can experiencing be a liberating factor.

When there is an understanding of the powers and capacities of the many layers of the hidden, then the details can be looked into wisely and intelligently. What is important is not the mere education of the superficial mind to acquire knowledge—which is necessary—but the understanding of the hidden. This understanding frees the total mind from conflict, and only then is there intelligence.

As we are concerned with the total development of a human being, we must give not only full capacity to the superficial mind that lives in everyday activity but also understand the hidden, for in the understanding of the hidden, there will be a total living in which contradiction, as sorrow and happiness, ceases. It is essential to be aware of the workings of the hidden mind and to be acquainted with it, but it is equally important not to be occupied with it nor to give it undue significance. It is only then that the mind, the superficial and the hidden, can go beyond its own limitations and discover that bliss which is not of time.