FOR MOST OF us, freedom is an idea and not an actuality. When we talk about freedom, we want to be free outwardly, to do what we like, to travel, to be free to express ourselves in different ways, free to think what we like. The outward expression of freedom seems to be extraordinarily important, especially in countries where there is tyranny, dictatorship; and in those countries where outward freedom is possible one seeks more and more pleasure, more and more possessions.
If we are to inquire deeply into what freedom implies, to be inwardly, completely, and totally free—which then expresses itself outwardly in society, in relationship—then we must ask, it seems to me, whether the human mind, heavily conditioned as it is, can ever be free at all. Must it always live and function within the frontiers of its own conditioning, so that there is no possibility of freedom at all? One sees that the mind, verbally understanding that there is no freedom here on this earth, inwardly or outwardly, then begins to invent freedom in another world, a future liberation, heaven, and so on.
Put aside all theoretical, ideological, concepts of freedom so that we can inquire whether our minds, yours and mine, can ever be actually free, free from dependence, free from fear, anxiety, and free from the innumerable problems, both the conscious as well as those at the deeper layers of the unconscious. Can there be complete psychological freedom, so that the human mind can come upon something that is not of time, that is not put together by thought, yet which is not an escape from the actual realities of daily existence?
Unless the human mind is inwardly, psychologically, totally free it is not possible to see what is true, to see if there is a reality not invented by fear, not shaped by the society or the culture in which we live, and which is not an escape from the daily monotony, with its boredom, loneliness, despair, and anxiety. To find out if there is actually such freedom one must be aware of one’s own conditioning, of the problems, of the monotonous shallowness, emptiness, insufficiency of one’s daily life, and above all one must be aware of fear. One must be aware of oneself neither intro-spectively nor analytically, but actually be aware of oneself as one is and see if it is at all possible to be entirely free of all those issues that seem to clog the mind.
To explore, as we are going to do, there must be freedom, not at the end, but right at the beginning. Unless one is free one cannot explore, investigate, or examine. To look deeply there needs to be not only freedom, but the discipline that is necessary to observe; freedom and discipline go together—not that one must be disciplined in order to be free. We are using the word discipline not in the accepted, traditional sense, which is to conform, imitate, suppress, follow a set pattern; but rather as the root meaning of that word, which is ‘to learn’. Learning and freedom go together, freedom bringing its own discipline—not a discipline imposed by the mind in order to achieve a certain result. These two things are essential: freedom and the act of learning. One cannot learn about oneself unless one is free, free so that one can observe, not according to any pattern, formula or concept, but actually observe oneself as one is. That observation, that perception, that seeing, brings about its own discipline and learning; in that there is no conforming, imitation, suppression, or control whatsoever—and in that there is great beauty.
Our minds are conditioned, that is an obvious fact—conditioned by a particular culture or society; influenced by various impressions; by the strains and stresses of relationships; by economic, climatic, educational factors; by religious conformity, and so on. Our minds are trained to accept fear and to escape, if we can, from that fear, never being able to resolve, totally and completely, the whole nature and structure of fear. So our first question is: Can the mind, so heavily burdened, resolve completely, not only its conditioning, but also its fears? Because it is fear that makes us accept conditioning.
Do not merely hear a lot of words and ideas, which are really of no value at all—but through the act of listening, observing your own states of mind, both verbally and nonverbally, simply inquire whether the mind can ever be free—not accepting fear, not escaping, not saying, ‘I must develop courage, resistance,’ but actually being fully aware of the fear in which one is trapped. Unless one is free from this quality of fear one cannot see very clearly, deeply; and obviously, when there is fear there is no love.
So, can the mind actually ever be free of fear? That seems to me to be—for any person who is at all serious—one of the most primary and essential questions that must be asked and resolved. There are physical fears and psychological fears. The physical fears of pain and the psychological fears, such as memory of having had pain in the past, and the idea of the repetition of that pain in the future; also, the fears of old age, death, the fears of physical insecurity, the fears of the uncertainty of tomorrow, the fears of not being able to be a great success, not being able to achieve, of not being somebody in this rather ugly world; the fears of destruction, the fears of loneliness, of not being able to love or be loved, and so on; the conscious fears as well as the unconscious fears. Can the mind be free, totally, of all this? If the mind says it cannot, then it has made itself incapable, it has distorted itself and is incapable of perception, of understanding, incapable of being completely silent, quiet; it is like a mind in the dark, seeking light and never finding it, and therefore inventing a light of words, concepts, theories.
How is a mind so heavily burdened with fear, with all its conditioning, ever to be free of it? Or must we accept fear as an inevitable thing of life?—and most of us do accept it, put up with it. What shall we do? How shall I, the human being, you as the human being, be rid of this fear? Not be rid of a particular fear, but of the total fear, the whole nature and structure of fear?
What is fear? Don’t accept, if I may suggest, what the speaker is saying; the speaker has no authority whatsoever, he is not a teacher, he is not a guru; because if he is a teacher, then you are the follower, and if you are the follower you destroy yourself as well as the teacher. We are trying to find out the truth of this question of fear so completely that the mind is never afraid, and therefore free of all dependence on another, inwardly, psychologically. The beauty of freedom is that you do not leave a mark. The eagle in its flight does not leave a mark; the scientist does. Inquiring into this question of freedom there must be, not only the scientific observation, but also the flight of the eagle that does not leave a mark at all; both are required; there must be both the verbal explanation and the nonverbal perception—for the description is never the actuality that is described; the explanation is obviously never the thing that is explained; the word is never the thing.
If all this is very clear then we can proceed; we can find out for ourselves—not through the speaker, not through his words, not through his ideas or thoughts—whether the mind can be completely free from fear.
The first part is not an introduction; if you have not heard it clearly and understood it, you cannot go on to the next.
To inquire there must be freedom to look; there must be freedom from conclusions, concepts, ideals, prejudices, so that you can observe actually for yourself what fear is. And when you observe very closely, is there fear at all? That is, you can observe very, very closely, intimately, what fear is only when the observer is the observed. We are going to go into that. So what is fear? How does it come about? The obvious physical fears can be understood, like the physical dangers, to which there is instant response; they are fairly easy to understand; we need not go into them too much. But we are talking about psychological fears; how do these psychological fears arise? What is their origin? That is the issue. There is the fear of something that happened yesterday; the fear of something that might happen later on today or tomorrow. There is the fear of what we have known, and there is the fear of the unknown, which is tomorrow. One can see for oneself very clearly that fear arises through the structure of thought—through thinking about that which happened yesterday of which one is afraid, or through thinking about the future, right? Thought breeds fear, doesn’t it? Please let us be quite sure; do not accept what the speaker is saying; be absolutely sure for yourself as to whether thought is the origin of fear. Thinking about the pain, the psychological pain that one had some time ago and not wanting it repeated, not wanting to have that thing recalled, thinking about all this, breeds fear. Can we go on from there? Unless we see this very clearly we will not be able to go any further. Thought, thinking about an incident, an experience, a state, in which there has been a disturbance, danger, grief or pain, brings about fear. And thought, having established a certain security, psychologically, does not want that security to be disturbed; any disturbance is a danger and therefore there is fear.
Thought is responsible for fear; also, thought is responsible for pleasure. One has had a happy experience; thought thinks about it and wants it perpetuated. When that is not possible there is a resistance, anger, despair, and fear. So thought is responsible for fear as well as pleasure, isn’t it? This is not a verbal conclusion; this is not a formula for avoiding fear. That is, where there is pleasure there is pain and fear perpetuated by thought; pleasure goes with pain, the two are indivisible, and thought is responsible for both. If there were no tomorrow, no next moment about which to think in terms of either fear or pleasure, then neither would exist. Shall we go on from there? Is it an actuality, not as an idea, but a thing that you yourself have discovered and which is therefore real, so you can say, ‘I’ve found out that thought breeds both pleasure and fear’? You have had sexual enjoyment, pleasure; later you think about it in the imagery, the pictures of thinking, and the very thinking about it gives strength to that pleasure, which is now in the imagery of thought, and when that is thwarted there is pain, anxiety, fear, jealousy, annoyance, anger, brutality. And we are not saying that you must not have pleasure.
Bliss is not pleasure; ecstasy is not brought about by thought; it is an entirely different thing. You can come upon bliss or ecstasy only when you understand the nature of thought, which breeds both pleasure and fear.
So the question arises: Can one stop thought? If thought breeds fear and pleasure—for where there is pleasure there must be pain, which is fairly obvious—then one asks oneself: Can thought come to an end?—which does not mean the ending of the perception of beauty, the enjoyment of beauty. It is like seeing the beauty of a cloud or a tree and enjoying it totally, completely, fully; but when thought seeks to have that same experience tomorrow, that same delight that it had yesterday seeing that cloud, that tree, that flower, the face of that beautiful person, then it invites disappointment, pain, fear, and pleasure.
So can thought come to an end? Or is that a wrong question altogether? It is a wrong question because we want to experience an ecstasy, a bliss, which is not pleasure. By ending thought we hope we shall come upon something that is immense, that is not the product of pleasure and fear. Ask what place has thought in life, not how is thought to be ended? What is the relationship of thought to action and to inaction?
What is the relationship of thought to action where action is necessary? Why, when there is complete enjoyment of beauty, does thought come into existence at all? For if it did not, then it would not be carried over to tomorrow. I want to find out—when there is complete enjoyment of the beauty of a mountain, of a beautiful face, a sheet of water—why thought should come there and give a twist to it and say, ‘I must have that pleasure again tomorrow’. I have to find out what the relationship of thought is in action; and to find out if thought need interfere when there is no need of thought at all. I see a beautiful tree, without a single leaf, against the sky; it is extraordinarily beautiful and that is enough—finished. Why should thought come in and say, ‘I must have that same delight tomorrow’? And I also see that thought must operate in action. Skill in action is also skill in thought. So, what is the actual relationship between thought and action? As it is, our action is based on concepts, on ideas. I have an idea or concept of what should be done and what is done is approximation to that concept, idea, to that ideal. So there is a division between action and the concept, the ideal, the ‘should be’; in this division there is conflict. Any division, psychological division, must breed conflict. I am asking myself, ‘What is the relationship of thought in action?’ If there is division between the action and the idea then action is incomplete. Is there an action in which thought sees something instantly and acts immediately so that there is not an idea, an ideology to be acted on separately? Is there an action in which the very seeing is the action—in which the very thinking is the action? I see that thought breeds fear and pleasure; I see that where there is pleasure there is pain and therefore resistance to pain. I see that very clearly; the seeing of it is the immediate action; in the seeing of it is involved thought, logic, and thinking very clearly; yet the seeing of it is instantaneous and the action is instantaneous—therefore, there is freedom from it.
Are we communicating with each other? Go slowly, it is quite difficult. Please do not say yes so easily. If you say yes, then when you leave the hall, you must be free of fear. Your saying yes is merely an assertion that you have understood verbally, intellectually, which is nothing at all. You and I are here this morning investigating the question of fear, and when you leave the hall there must be complete freedom from it. That means you are a free human being, a different human being, totally transformed—not tomorrow, but now; you see very clearly that thought breeds fear and pleasure; you see that all our values are based on fear and pleasure—moral, ethical, social, religious, spiritual. If you perceive the truth of it—and to see the truth of it you have to be extraordinarily aware, logically, healthily, sanely observing every movement of thought—then that very perception is total action and therefore you are completely out of it; otherwise you will say, ‘How am I to be free of fear tomorrow?’
Questioner: Is there not spontaneous fear?
Krishnamurti: Would you call that fear? When you know fire burns, when you see a precipice, is it fear to jump away from it? When you see a wild animal, a snake, to withdraw, is that fear? Or is it intelligence? That intelligence may be the result of conditioning, because you have been conditioned to the dangers of a precipice, for if you were not you could fall and that would be the end. Your intelligence tells you to be careful; is that intelligence fear? But is it intelligence that operates when we divide ourselves into nationalities, into religious groups? When we make this division between you and me, we and they, is that intelligence? That which is in operation in such division, which brings about danger, which divides people, which brings war, is that intelligence operating or is it fear? There it is fear, not intelligence. In other words, we have fragmented ourselves; part of us acts, where necessary, intelligently, as in avoiding a precipice, or a bus going by; but we are not intelligent enough to see the dangers of nationalism, the dangers of division between people. So one part of us—a very small part of us—is intelligent, the rest of us is not. Where there is fragmentation there must be conflict, there must be misery; the very essence of conflict is the division, the contradiction in us. That contradiction is not to be integrated. It is one of our peculiar idiosyncrasies that we must integrate ourselves. I do not know what it really means. Who is it that is going to integrate the two divided, opposed, natures? For is not the integrator himself part of that division? But when one sees the totality of it, when one has the perception of it, without any choice—there is no division.