Krishnamurti: For most of us, our whole life is based on effort, some kind of volition. And we cannot conceive of an action that is not based on it. Our social, economic, and so-called spiritual life, is a series of efforts, always culminating in a certain result. We think effort is essential. So we are now going to find out if it is possible to live differently, without this constant battle.
Why do we make effort? Put simply, it is in order to achieve a result, to become something, to reach a goal, isn’t it? If we do not make an effort, we think we shall stagnate. We have an idea about the goal towards which we are constantly striving; and this striving has become part of our life. If we want to alter, to bring about a radical change in ourselves, we make a tremendous effort to eliminate old habits, to resist the habitual environmental influences, and so on. So we are used to this series of efforts in order to find or achieve something, in order to live at all.
Now, is not all such effort the activity of the self? Is not effort self-centred activity? And, if we make an effort from the centre of the self, it must inevitably produce more conflict, more confusion, more misery. Yet we keep on making effort after effort; and very few of us realize that the self-centred activity of effort does not clear up any of our problems. On the contrary, it increases our confusion and our misery and our sorrow. Or we know this, and yet continue hoping somehow to break through this self-centred activity of effort, the action of the will.
This is our problem—Is it possible to understand anything without effort? Is it possible to see what is real, what is true, without introducing the action of will, which is essentially based on the self, the ‘me?’ And if we do not make an effort, is there not a danger of deterioration, of going to sleep, of stagnation? Perhaps, as I am talking, we can experiment with this individually, and see how far we can go through this question. For I feel that what brings happiness, quietness, tranquillity of the mind, does not come through any effort. A truth is not perceived through any volition, through any action of will. And if we can go into it very carefully and diligently, perhaps we shall find the answer.
How do we react when a truth is presented? Take, for example, the problem of fear. We realize that our activity and our being and our whole existence would be fundamentally altered if there were no fear of any kind in us. We may see that, we may see the truth of it; and thereby there is freedom from fear. But for most of us, when a fact, a truth, is put before us, what is our immediate response? Please, experiment with what I am saying; please do not merely listen. Watch your own reactions; and find out what happens when a truth, a fact, is put before you—such as ‘any dependency in relationship destroys relationship’. Now, when a statement of that kind is made, what is your response? Do you see, are you aware of, the truth of it, and does dependency thereby cease? Or have you an idea about the fact? Here is a statement of truth. Do we experience the truth of it, or do we create an idea about it?
If we can understand this process of the creation of idea, then we shall perhaps understand the whole process of effort. Because once we have created the idea, then effort comes into being. Then the problem arises, what to do, how to act? That is, we see that psychological dependency on another is a form of self-fulfilment; it is not love; in it there is conflict, fear, the desire to fulfil oneself through another, jealousy, and so on, which corrode. We see that psychological dependency on another embraces all these facts. Then, we proceed to create the idea, do we not? We do not directly experience the fact, the truth of it; but, we look at it, and then create an idea of how to be free from dependency. We see the implications of psychological dependence, and then we create the idea of how to be free from it. We do not directly experience the truth, which is the liberating factor. But out of the experience of looking at that fact we create an idea. We are incapable of looking at it directly, without ideation. Then, having created the idea, we proceed to put that idea into action. Then we try to bridge the gap between idea and action—in which effort is involved.
So can we not look at the truth without creating ideas? It is almost instinctive with most of us: when something true is put before us, we immediately create an idea about it. And I think if we can understand why we do this so instinctively, almost unconsciously, then perhaps we shall understand if it is possible to be free from effort.
Why then do we create ideas about truth? Surely that is important to find out, is it not? Either we see the truth nakedly, as it is, or we do not. But why do we have a picture about it, a symbol, a word, an image, which necessitates a postponement, the hope of an eventual result? So can we hesitantly and guardedly go into this process of why the mind creates the image, the idea—that I must be this or that, that I must be free from dependence, and so on? We know very well that when we see something very clearly, experience it directly, there is a freedom from it. It is that immediacy that is vital, not the picture or the symbol of the truth—on which all systems and philosophies and deteriorating organizations are built. So is it not important to find out why the mind, instead of seeing the thing directly and simply, and experiencing the truth of it immediately, creates an idea about it?
I do not know if you have thought about this. It may perhaps be something new. And to find the truth of it, please do not merely resist. Do not say, ‘What would happen if the mind did not create the idea? It is its function to create ideas, to verbalize, to recall memories, to recognize, to calculate’. We know that. But the mind is not free; and it is only when the mind is capable of looking at the truth totally, completely, without any barrier, that there is freedom.
So our problem is—why does the mind, instead of seeing the thing immediately and experiencing it directly, indulge in all these ideas? Is this not one of the habits of the mind? Something is presented to us, and immediately there is the old habit of creating an idea, a theory about it. And the mind likes to live in habit. Because without habit the mind is lost. If there is not a routine, a habitual response to which it has become accustomed, it feels confused, uncertain.
That is one aspect. Also, does not the mind seek a result? Because in the result is permanency. And the mind hates to be uncertain. It is always seeking security in different forms—through beliefs, through knowledge, through experience. And when that is questioned there is a disturbance, anxiety. And so the mind, avoiding uncertainty, seeks security for itself by making efforts to achieve a result.
I hope you are actually observing your own minds in operation. If you are not, then you will not experience, your mind will remain on the verbal level. But—if I may suggest—if you can observe your own mind in operation, and watch how it thinks, how it reacts, when a truth is put before it, then you will experience step-by-step what I am talking about. Then there will be an extraordinary experience. And it is this direct approach, this direct experience of what truth is, that is so essential for bringing about a creative life.
So why does the mind create these ideas, instead of directly experiencing? Why does the mind intervene? As we have said, it is habit. Also, the mind wants to achieve a result. We all want to achieve a result. In listening to me, are you looking for a result? You are, aren’t you? The mind is seeking a result; it sees that dependency is destructive, and therefore it wants to be free of it. But the very desire to be free creates the idea. The mind is not free; but the desire to be free creates the idea of freedom as the goal towards which it must work. And thereby effort comes into being. And that effort is self-centred; it does not bring freedom. Instead of depending on a person, you depend on an idea or on an image. So your effort is only self-enclosing; it is not liberating.
Now, can the mind, realizing that it is caught in habit, be free from habit—not have an idea that it should achieve freedom as an eventual goal, but see the truth that the mind is caught in habit, directly experience it? And similarly, can the mind see that it is pursuing incessantly a permanency for itself, a goal that it must achieve, a God, a truth, a virtue, a state of being, or whatever, and is thereby bringing about this action of will, with all its complications? And when we see that, is it not possible to experience the truth of something directly without all the paraphernalia of verbalization? You may objectively see a fact, in that there is no ideation, no creation of idea, symbol, desire. But subjectively, inwardly, it is entirely different. Because there we want a result; there is the craving to be something, to achieve, to become—in which all effort is born.
I feel that to see what is true from moment to moment, without any effort, but directly to experience it, is the only creative existence. Because it is only in moments of complete tranquillity that you discover something—not when you are making an effort, whether it is under the microscope or inwardly. It is only when the mind is not agitated, not caught in habit, not trying to achieve a result, not trying to become something—it is only when it is not doing these things, when it is really tranquil, when there is no effort, no movement—that there is a possibility of discovering something new.
Surely, that is freedom from the self, that is the abnegation of the ‘me’—and not the outward symbols, whether you possess this or that virtue or not. But freedom comes into being only when you understand your own processes, conscious as well as unconscious. It is possible only when we go fully into the different processes of the mind. And as most of us live in a state of tension, in constant effort, it is essential to understand the complexity of effort, to see the truth that effort does not bring virtue, that effort is not love, that effort does not bring about the freedom that truth alone can give—which is a direct experiencing. For that, one has to understand the mind, one’s own mind—not somebody else’s mind, not what somebody else says about it. You may read all the volumes ever written but they will be utterly useless. For you must observe your own mind, and penetrate it more and more deeply, and experience the thing directly as you go along. Because there is the living quality, not in the things of the mind. And the mind, to find its own processes, must not be enclosed by its own habits, but must be free occasionally to look. Therefore, it is important to understand this whole process of effort. For effort does not bring about freedom. Effort is only more and more self-enclosing, more and more destructive, outwardly as well as inwardly, in relationship with one or with many.
Questioner: I find that a group that meets regularly to discuss your teachings tends to become confusing and boring. Is it better to think over these things alone, or with others?
K: What is important? Isn’t it to find out, to discover for yourself the things about yourself? If that is your urgent, immediate, instinctive necessity, then you can do it with one or with many, by yourself or with two or three. But when that is lacking, groups become boring. Then people who come to the group are dominated by one or two of its members, who know everything, who are in immediate contact with the person who has already said these things. So the one becomes the authority, and gradually exploits the many. We know this all too familiar game. But people submit to it because they like being together. They like to talk, to have the latest gossip or the latest news. And so the thing soon deteriorates. You start with a serious intention, and it becomes something ugly.
But if we really, insistently, feel the need to discover for ourselves what is true, then all relationship becomes important. But such people are rare. Because we are not really serious; and so we eventually make of groups and organizations something to be avoided. Surely it depends on whether you are really earnest to discover these things for yourself. And this discovery can come at any moment—not only in a group, or only when you are by yourself, but whenever you are aware of and sensitive to the intimations of your own being. To watch yourself—the way you talk at table, the way you talk to your neighbour, your subordinate, your boss—surely all these, if one is aware, indicate the state of your own being. And it is that discovery which is important. Because it is that discovery which liberates.
Q: What is the most creative way of meeting great grief and loss?
K: What do we mean by meeting? We mean, how to approach it, what we should do about it, how to conquer it, how to be free of it, how to derive benefit from it, how to learn from it so as to avoid more suffering? Surely that is what we mean by how to meet grief.
Now, what do we mean by grief? Is it something apart from us? Is it something outside of us, inwardly or outwardly, which we are observing, which we are experiencing? Are we merely the observers experiencing? Or is grief something different? Surely that is an important point. When I say, ‘I suffer’, what do I mean by it? Am I different from the suffering? Surely that is the question. Let us find out.
There is sorrow—I am not loved or my son dies. There is one part of me that is demanding the explanation, the reasons, the causes. The other part of me is in agony for various reasons. And there is also another part of me that wants to be free from the sorrow, that wants to go beyond it. We are all these things, are we not? So, if one part of me is rejecting and resisting sorrow, another part of me is seeking an explanation, is caught up in theories, and another part of me is escaping from the fact, how then can I understand it totally? It is only when I am capable of integrated understanding that there is a possibility of freedom from sorrow. But if I am torn in different directions, then I do not see the truth of it.
So it is very important to find out whether I am merely the observer experiencing sorrow. If I am merely the observer experiencing sorrow, then there are two states in my being—the one who observes, who thinks, who experiences, and the other who is observed, which is the experience, the thought. So as long as there is a division there is no immediate freedom from sorrow.
Now, please listen carefully and you will see that when there is a fact, a truth, there is understanding of it only when I can experience the whole thing without division—and not when there is a separation of the ‘me’ observing suffering. That is the truth. Now, what is your immediate reaction to that? Is not your immediate reaction, response, ‘How am I to bridge the gap between the two?’ I recognize that there are different entities in me—the thinker and the thought, the experiencer and the experience, the one who suffers and the one who observes the suffering. As long as there is a division, a separation, there is conflict. And it is only when there is integration that there is freedom from sorrow. That is the truth, that is the fact. Now, how do you respond to it? Do you see the thing immediately, and experience it directly, or do you ask the question, ‘How am I to bridge the division between the two entities? How am I to bring about integration?’ Is that not your instinctive response? If that is so, then you are not seeing the truth. Your question of how to bring about integration has no value. For it is only when I can see the thing completely, wholly, without this division in myself, that there is a possibility of freedom from the thing that I call sorrow.
So one has to find out how one looks at sorrow. Not what the books or what anybody else says, not according to any teacher or authority, but how you regard it, how you instinctively approach it. Then you will surely find out if there really is this division in your mind. So long as there is that division, there must be sorrow. So long as there is the desire to be free from sorrow, to resist sorrow, to seek explanations, to avoid, then sorrow becomes the shadow, everlastingly pursuing.
So what is very important in this question is how each one of us responds to psychological pain—when we are bereaved, when we are hurt, and so on. We need not go here into the causes of sorrow. But we know them very well—the ache of loneliness; the fear of losing, of not being loved; being frustrated; the loss of someone. We are only too familiar with this thing called sorrow. And we have many very convenient and satisfying explanations. But explanations do not bring freedom from sorrow. They may cover up, but the thing continues. And we are trying to find out how to be free from sorrow, not which explanations are more satisfactory. There can be such freedom only if there is an integration. And we cannot understand what integration is unless we are first aware of how we look at sorrow.
Q: For one who is caught in habit it seems impossible to see the truth of a thing instantaneously. Surely time is needed—time to break away from one’s immediate activity and really seek to go into what has been happening?
K: Now what do we mean by time? Please—again let us experiment. Obviously not time by the clock. When you say, ‘I need time’, what does it mean? That you need leisure—an hour to yourself, or a few minutes to yourself? Surely you do not mean that? You mean, ‘I need time to achieve a result’. That is, ‘I need time to break away from the habits that I have created’.
Now, time is obviously the product of the mind; mind is the result of time. What we think, feel, our memories, are basically the result of time. And you say that time is necessary to break away from certain habits. That is, this inward psychological habit is the outcome of desire and fear, is it not? I see the mind is caught in it, and I say, ‘I need time to break it down. I realize it is this habit that is preventing me from seeing things immediately, experiencing them directly, and so I must have time to break down this habit’.
First, how does habit come into being? Through education, through environmental influences, through our own memories. Also, it is comfortable to have a mechanism that functions habitually, so that it is never uncertain, quivering, inquiring, doubtful, anxious. So, the mind creates the pattern that we call habit, routine. And in that it functions. And the questioner wants to know how to break down that habit, so that experience can be direct. You see what has happened?
The moment we say How? we have already introduced the idea of time. But if we can see that the mind creates habits, and functions in habit, and that a mind enclosed by its own self-created memories, desires, and fears cannot see or experience anything directly—when we can see the truth of that, then there is a possibility of experiencing directly. The perception of truth is obviously not a matter of time. That is one of the conveniences of the mind—that eventually, next life, I shall reach perfection, whatever I want. So being caught, the mind then proceeds to say How am I to be free? It can never get free. It can be free only when it sees the truth of how it creates habit by tradition, by cultivating virtues in order to be something, by seeking to have permanency, to have security. All these things are barriers. In that state, how can the mind see or experience anything directly? If we see that it cannot, then there is immediate freedom. But the difficulty is, of course, that most of us like to continue in our habits of thought and feeling, our traditions, beliefs, hopes. Surely, the mind is made up of all those things. How can such a mind experience anything that is not its own projection? Obviously it cannot. So it can only understand its own mechanism and see the truth of its own activities. And then there is freedom from that, then there is direct experience.