K School – Students Talk 3, Rajghat, 16 January 1962

Krishnamurti (K): …supposed to do? Do I talk or you talk? If I am to talk, what would you like me to talk about?

(Long Pause) Student (S1): About education.

K: Uh? She wants to know, would I talk about education. Haven’t I done that enough already?

S1: Sir, would you talk about Goa?

K: The girl asks, we want to know about Goa. Isn’t that rather a dangerous subject? [*Laughter*]

S: No, sir.

K: Oh Lordy. [*Laughs*] That’s putting me rather in a hot spot, isn’t it?

S2: Would you speak about the care of the body.

K: What, sir? I can’t…

S3: …care of the body.

S2: Care of the body. I thought that if you could speak about the care of the body because that is where the student and the teacher have to cooperate. It’s really the common ground, sir.

K: [*Laughs*] About education, Goa*, and physical well-being—which shall we do: Goa? You are all rather keen on Goa, aren’t you? Why do you want me to talk about Goa? Are you really interested in Goa? Yes?

[*Note: Less than a month earlier, in December of 1961, the Indian government under Nehru had entered the Portuguese colony, Goa, on the west coast of India, just south of Mumbai, and incorporated it into the Indian Republic. M.K.]

Audience: Yes.

K: Yes? Three voices. [*Laughs*] You see, I’m not a Goan, nor am I a Hindu, nor am I an Indian, because I have no nationality, I don’t believe in nationalities. And all that I can offer is an opinion, and opinions have not much value. I don’t want to enter into a public discussion about Goa. I have my feelings about it. I know what I would say, but it seems to me rather out of place to discuss Goa here, isn’t it? What do you say?

S3: Sir, I think you should talk about how can one build up a career.

K: How can one build up?

Several: Career.

K: [*Laughs*] You do ask the most extraordinary questions, don’t you? That boy wants to know how to arrange to have a good career, isn’t that it? Probably you will have a few cousins and aunts and uncles to pull the wires. [*Laughs*] I really—what is it really you want me to talk about?

S3: Is it right for a teacher to threaten students?

K: Is it right for the teacher to threaten? [*Laughter*] [*Laughs*]

S3: The students.

K: To threaten the student. That’s what I mean. Of course, you wouldn’t threaten his grandmother. [*Laughter*] Say, look here, [*Laughs*] what is it you want me to talk about? [*Pause*]

Then I’ll talk about—I don’t know what, but I’ll start, shall I? You know, we are all growing old, even you. Before you know where you are, you’ll be mothers and fathers, and you’ll have a job, a career; you’ll become a housewife with a couple of servants and a house to look after. And, at the end of your life, in about forty years, I wonder what you’ll be like. I wonder if you’ll ask yourself whether you have done something worthwhile, whether you have lived a full, rich life or merely petered out, just lost in this mass of humanity. Shouldn’t you, from now on, begin to ask yourself what you are going to be, what you want to be? Of course, we all want to be helped—big house, cars, good careers, you know, all the rest of that stuff. But that isn’t the whole of life, is it?

So, what will you… how will you translate or understand the whole of life if you are merely career-minded, house-minded, and children-minded? That’s only part of life. But there is the whole vast field of life, of which you know probably nothing at all if you are merely caught in a career, become a housewife. Don’t you want to know all of it? And isn’t that part of right education, to know what one lives for? Not a purpose, not an intellectual invention of a purpose according to which you are trying to live, but to live, to have a very good body—you understand: to have a very good body, to look very nice, to eat the right kind of food, to enjoy games, to look at the sky, to paint, to write a poem. Do you ever write a poem? Have you ever written any poem? Or you are all so busy learning music, reading other peoples’ poems, English literature, so that you have no time at all ever to do something on your own. Is that it? Have you ever written any prose which amuses you, not as an exercise to be shown to the teacher, an essay; have you written any of these things for yourself? Have you painted a picture?

Now, if you have not, all that’s part of life, not just passing some stupid examinations. So, shouldn’t you also know all that? And isn’t the doing of all that part of education? So, isn’t it very important while one is very young, like you are, to find out for yourself what does it all mean? What is it all about—life? What does it mean just to keep on struggling, quarrelling with husband and wife, bearing children, going to the office endlessly? It’s all right, but what is it all about? Don’t you want to know? And who is going to tell you—some book, some leader, your own particular pet guru? Who is going to tell you what it is all about: the heavens, the rivers, the land, the earth, the people—what does it all mean? Don’t you want to know? Or you can only answer what you’ve been taught in the book, huh?

I’m afraid so. I’m afraid, you know, most of us grow up only repeating what the book says. So as you grow up, unless you find out for yourself what it is all about, you’ll be just dullards, half-witted people. And so education means very little to most people, you see. You’ll all pass B.A.s and M.A.s, and then what? The boys will become careerists, businessmen, engineers, scientists, and the girls will get married, and that’s the end of that. And what’s the point of being educated just to become mothers in a stupid household, what’s the point of it?

You know, when one is young, one should be revolutionary. But I’m afraid you won’t, because you’ve been educated wrongly. You know what it means to be revolutionary? Not to set fire to the houses, but inwardly to be revolutionary—inwardly; not just become as the rest of the women in India, concerned about their family, their little goods, and their little husbands, you know, just the little circle. So, isn’t it very important, from now to set a course so that you comprehend the whole of life?

And who is going to help you? Not the teacher who threatens, not the teacher who gives you mere lessons out of a book, not you who are merely concerned with passing examinations and getting a career. So, but who is going to teach you? You understand my question? Who is going to help you to understand this whole of life, you know, this enormous thing called life: to love, to be kind, to be generous, to shed tears, to know what death means, to understand a stupid husband or to understand a stupid wife, or the very clever husband or the very clever wife? Who is going to help you? You understand my question? Are you going to help yourself? And nobody will help you—nobody. If they wanted to help you, they’d have found a different kind of education, different kind of society. There would be different parents, there would be different teachers. As nobody wants to help you to understand the whole of life, you have to help yourself, haven’t you? Right? You have to do it yourself, haven’t you? And how are you going to do it?

How am I going to learn the whole of life: everything that happens in life, everything that is going to happen to you, which is—after all, that is life—everything that’s going to happen to you: bearing children, the husband, the wife, the job, death, God—if there is one—what society is, what you are, what is happiness, what is sorrow, and the beauty of life, the richness of the earth. You have to teach yourself, haven’t you?

Are you all sleepy at the end of the day? Or am I talking much too seriously? How will you help yourself? You have to learn, haven’t you? You only learn by watching, by questioning, by watching everything that happens around you. You know, that teaches you much more than any book, than any talk, just watching people, watching what happens around you: the quarrels, the brutality, the meanness, the jealousies, the pettiness, just watching that, and watching yourself being petty, mean, jealous, watching your fears, watching your vanities. So if you watch everything, watching yourself as you watch yourself in a mirror, watching your thoughts, your feelings, watching people when they talk to the servant and when they talk to the big people: how contemptuous they are, how fawning they are. By watching every thought, everything in yourself and about you, you learn.

Do try what I’m talking about some time. Just watch it. Don’t try to alter it, but just see as you see a sunset. Look, you can’t alter the sunset, you can’t change the shape of the sky, the position of the stars; you can’t change the course of that river. So, in the same way just watch yourself; and I assure you, you learn more than any other book, more than any book can give you, and from that watching you cultivate intelligence.

You know, intelligence is not the capacity to acquire knowledge. I don’t know why we give such importance to knowledge. If you have a dozen books, an encyclopaedia, eleven volumes or twelve volumes of encyclopaedia, the knowledge is all there; why bother to carry it in your head? You can look it up whenever you want to. But knowledge is not intelligence. Intelligence is this understanding of yourself in relation to everything. So you see, you are the whole of life, and to understand the whole of life, you have to understand yourself.

And another part of intelligence is, isn’t it, to be aware, to be conscious of all the influences that are about you: the influences of your parents, the influences of the government, the influences of the race, the culture, the influence of the climate, the food you eat, the way you dress—all that influences and shapes the mind, shapes thought. Now, to be aware of all those influences, and not be caught in those influences, is real intelligence. And when there is that intelligence you can do what you want then.

You are all much too tame and you miss all of life.

Perhaps now you’ll ask me questions: not about Goa.

You know, I just now talked about watching, didn’t I? I did, didn’t I? What are you going to do about it? Are you going to do anything about it or just let it go by as you let go by so many other things? Are you watching me? If you are watching me, what do you see? Not the physical thing only—that of course every person sees who is not blind—but what do you see, and how do you see another person? You only know another person by questioning, don’t you, by asking, by watching him eat, sleep, drink, going for a walk, being with him constantly, you begin to find out. But can you question, or are you afraid of questioning? Because, you know, your own questioning reveals your own state of mind, doesn’t it? I can ask a stupid question or a very clever question—clever question being that I want to show off, want to be smart; and wanting to be smart, show-off, shows what kind of mind I have. So if you are watching me and are going to question me—this is not to stop you from asking questions—you are going to find out about yourself, not about me, you understand? So with that benumbing statement you ask me questions. (Laughs)

S3: Sir, when I start watching my mind, thoughts don’t pass by

K: When I watch my mind, thought goes by—thoughts don’t go by. Oh, you are pretty smart. You are right, you are perfectly right. When you watch your mind there is no thought, is there, huh? Why? You’ve noticed one thing: you’ve noticed that when you watch yourself, your mind, there is no thought, right? Then what is the next question? Do you say, ‘Now, why does thought stop when I watch?’ Isn’t that the question? Why don’t you ask it? Why don’t you ask that question to yourself? You made a statement: ‘When I watch myself, when I watch my mind, thought stops.’ Don’t you want to know why it stops? Yes? Don’t you?

S3: How do you say this?

S4: He didn’t get what you said.

K: Ah! You asked a question, sir, you asked, ‘Why does thought stop when you watch the mind?’ right? Now, haven’t you asked the second question, why it stops? You notice one thing: that it stops. Then why don’t you ask the next question, why does it stop? What reason?

Huh? I’ll tell you, but don’t you think it’s much more important for you to find out? Look, when you are laughing, when you are having a very good time, you suddenly watch yourself, don’t you? If you watch yourself, everything stops—have you noticed it? Have you noticed it? You are suddenly laughing for some joke, but when you watch yourself, that laughter disappears. Have you noticed it, right? No? Huh? (Laughs) Now, don’t you want to know why you stop laughing when you watch yourself suddenly? Next time you try: when you are very angry with somebody, watch yourself—how quickly that anger disappears, stops. Now, why does it stop? I can answer it. But if you could answer it yourself, you’d be cultivating your intelligence.

S3: We meditate, sir.

K: The girl suggests we meditate. We are not talking of meditation.

S3: (Inaudible)

K: I am asking you a question, not meditate—please listen to it. When you are laughing, or angry, or thinking—when you see your mind has a thought—and when you watch it, laughing stops, your anger stops, your thinking stops. Why?

S: (Inaudible)

S3: (Repeats) The time I was giving to laughing, I use that for thinking.

K: No, you are not meeting my point.

S3: Sir, we understand, sir. When we observe…

K: No, you are not. What happens—no, wait a minute—what happens when you observe? You understand? You observe a flower, you observe somebody saying something, right? What happens? When you say, ‘I am watching,’ what happens?

Now, doesn’t this happen when you are watching? You give attention, don’t you? Huh? Don’t you? You understand what I’m saying, or is…? When you watch something, you give your attention to it. And when it is partial attention, when it’s not complete attention, the thing goes on. But if it is complete attention, your whole being comes to it, your mind, your heart, your body, everything is there. And so, when you give your whole attention to something, the thing which you are occupied with stops or has a different meaning.

See, you all look at me as though… [*Laughs*] You haven’t tried any of these things with yourself. Next time try it. In the middle of your laughter watch yourself, and you will notice how quickly your laughing comes to an end. Because you might be laughing at somebody cruelly, you might be laughing contemptuously, or you might be laughing with complete happiness, not at somebody, not cruelly, not spitefully. And even that laughter which is so free, everything is partial with us, you follow?, everything is not complete. And so when you give complete attention, the partial thing stops. I wonder if you understand what I’m talking about, or it’s too difficult.

You see, we live partially, don’t we? I’m angry and I don’t want to be angry; I like to get a good job, and yet I feel how silly it is; I want to go down the river to look at the moon tonight, and I have to do something else. So we are always in conflict with ourselves, which is, we never do anything totally, completely for itself. And so our laughter is generally very partial, and when you give attention to something partial, it stops, because your whole attention is something vital, clear, strong, complete. (Pause)

Anything more? May I ask you a question? Have you done anything in your life that you want to do completely? To do something that you want to do—have you done it? Or there is always somebody to tell you ‘Don’t do it!’ ‘Oh, you better not do that, do something else.’ You know, that’s what happens to most of us. Most people are in the clutches of society. Society has its hand round your neck, and it tells you from morning till night what to do, what not to do, what to think and what not to think, right? And so you never… it’s like being throttled, and you never breathe freely. Your parents will tell you what to do; your grandmother, your father, your uncle, your society, your this and your that is going to tell you. And you are afraid, and so you just say, ‘All right, all right, I’ll do it.’ Though you don’t want to do it, you go and do it. So you never find out what you really want to do, really, not just a passing fancy, not a passing desire. So you never find out what you want to do because somebody else has you by the throat. And I can’t see how a person can live without having a hand round his throat. So, what are you going to do about it all? Nothing, probably—that’s all right. But at least you should know about all these things. [*Long Pause*]

S5: Sir, how is it possible for us to be revolutionary, sir?

Q: (Repeats) How is it possible for us to be revolutionary.

K: The question is: How is it possible for us to be revolutionary. Good Lord! I don’t think it’s possible.

S5: Why, sir?

K: When you ask, ‘How is it possible?’ then you won’t be.

S5: If I am already?

K: Then you are lucky. But to say, ‘How is it…? Do teach me how to love.’ Can you be taught how to love? Can you be taught how to be kind, let alone love? Can you be taught how to be kind? Can you?

S: No.

K: You can’t, can you? You can learn the manners of kindliness, you understand?, the manners, the superficial indications of what is kindliness: to open the door for somebody, to let the older people sit down, to—you know, all the rest of the superficial signs of kindliness. But that’s not kindliness. So how are you going to learn it?—not be taught. How are you going to learn to be kind? In the same way, you can’t be taught to be a revolutionary. You have to watch and learn and then battle. But to come back to something: how will you learn to be kind?

Well, sir, go on, somebody. Somebody do battle with me, will you? [*Laughs*] You know, have you ever picked off a stone off the road? Have any of you picked a stone off the road to prevent those poor villagers stepping on it in the dark? Have any of you done it? No, I’m pretty sure you’ve not done it. Now, who is going to teach you to observe that stone on the road and pick it up and put it aside? I can tell you in the class that you must do it, and force you to do it and say, ‘Did you read this morning? Have you done this every day?’ and so on, and presently you will give in and go and do it, but that’s not real kindliness.

S3: Sir, we are not allowed to go on the road, sir.

K: Huh?

S6: (Repeats) We are not allowed to go on the road. [*Laughter*]

K: Oh! ‘We are not allowed to go on the road.’

S3: Not even pass by, sir.

K: What? Are you prisoners? Huh?

S3: Don’t you think so?

K: Huh? What is this place? Are you not allowed to go on the road and see those stones and pick them up? Huh? (Laughs) What am I talking to? (Laughs) All right, if you are not allowed to go on the road, have you picked up a branch in your own place, in your own prison yard?

S: Yes, sir.

K: And has somebody taught you, or out of your own kindliness you do it? You know, it is too bad, you are all like this. If you have no affection now, how will you have affection when you grow up for your children? Huh? For God’s sake, what is this!

You know, sirs and ladies, the world isn’t U.P., Benares, Bihar, whatever this place is called, the world isn’t this. The world is changing so rapidly. If you don’t change with it, you are going to be broken; you are going to be destroyed. You and your teachers and everything will be destroyed. Don’t think it is not going to be destroyed, it is going to be. The world is asking for freedom. Here, because you are not free for many centuries probably, I don’t know, historically, and if you are free, you’ll misbehave, or somebody else will misbehave: so people say, ‘Don’t, don’t, don’t! Keep within the prison walls.’ But the world is not going to wait for you. Even in this country: go to Bombay, and you’ll see the difference; go south and you’ll see the difference. So the things are breaking up. You know, at one time the Brahmin was something: he was supposed to be a cultural leader; he was supposed to be a religious leader. He had no position in society, no authority—at one time, many, many, many centuries ago. And now the Brahmin is the butcher, the Brahmin is the general, the Brahmin is the hotelkeeper, the Brahmin runs the shop, makes shoes—anything he does. Everything is breaking up, you understand?, breaking up. And if you don’t also change… [*Long Pause*]

S7: Sir, what do you really mean by ‘worth living’?

K: Huh?

S7: What do you really mean by ‘worth living’?

S6: (Repeats) What do you really mean by ‘worth living’.

K: What do you mean by…? By living? What do you mean by…?

S7: Worth living.

K: Worth living, all right. What do you mean by living worthily? What do you mean by living fully? First of all—not to be frightened, which doesn’t mean that you go and do some foolish thing to show it to yourself and to others that you are not frightened. First thing is not to have fear. You know what it does to you when you are not afraid? Then you can look, then you can look every man in the face; then you can look at the skies, the stars, the rotten world it is. But you see, nobody wants you to be free from fear. If you are free from fear, really, deeply, then you are a danger to society. And that is what it’s to live, to live without fear. Then you are living fully. That’s only one part of it. And also the other part is to love. You know what it means to love? To be kind, to be generous, not to breed hatred, not to breed enmity. But you see, you can’t love if you are afraid, and you can’t love if you are not kind, if you don’t begin. You can’t love if you are all the time concerned about yourself.

Haven’t you all games to play this evening? No? Haven’t you? You don’t want to sit here all the evening, do you? Huh?

S: How can we be free from fear?

K: How to be…? Huh?

S: How can we be free from fear?

Several: How can we be free from fear.

K: Ah! How can one be free from fear. First of all, to know that you are afraid—that’s the first thing, isn’t it? To know that I’m afraid: afraid of my parent, afraid of my teacher, afraid of this person or that. To know fear, first I must know, I must be aware, cognizant, or, as I recognize that I have a pain in my thumb, so equally I must be conscious that I’m afraid. Then, see what you are afraid of. Watch it: afraid of public opinion, what another says. So then you begin to find out, first you find out that you are afraid, then of what you are afraid, then why you are afraid, the cause of it. Then see what you can do about it, don’t postpone it, see what you can do immediately about it. Perhaps you can’t, because you are too young, because you might want to do something which your parents might object. And if you do it, you’ll get in trouble, so don’t start it right off. So, first be conscious of the fear, then of what you are afraid, then why you are afraid, and then go into it. Why? Now, the whole process of that, that is, the fear, being conscious of it, of what you are afraid, and why you are afraid, and more—I don’t want to go into it because that will complicate it for you. So, be aware of all . . . to be conscious of all that is to watch fear. Then as you watch it, it’ll begin to expand itself more and more and more, tell more and more of its history, of its story. And the more you watch it and the more you learn about it, it disappears. Either you can make it disappear with one stroke, completely, or you will take time. And most people do take time, because they are afraid of doing something.

That’s enough, isn’t it? It’s five o’ clock.

S4: (Inaudible)

K: What, sir?

S4: One question for you.

K: Yes, sir.

S4: Sir, is there really love in us when we have something, any motive, and if we don’t have any motive we don’t suffer?

K: I don’t quite catch the meaning of it. I’m trying to guess what you mean. I think is this what you mean: if you love somebody with a motive, then you will suffer. If you love somebody without a motive, you won’t suffer. Is that it? Huh?

S4: Yes, sir.

K: So, what? How to love somebody with motive and not suffer. [*Laughter*] Or—sorry (Laughs)—or are you asking how not to suffer and therefore remove motive, is that it? Are you chiefly concerned about not suffering, which is painful, therefore you say, ‘I won’t have a motive,’ and therefore you may not love at all? But you have to find out about it, you can’t say ‘How am I not to suffer?’ You have to find out about it. You are going to suffer an awful lot if you think. You know, that is one of the peculiar things: the more sensitive, the more alert, the more thoughtful you are, the more you are going to suffer.

S3: Sir, do you think that our parents love us because of some motive?

K: The boy asks, ‘Do our parents love us because of some motive?’ You better ask them. [*Laughter*] I should jolly well think they do. They have some motives; otherwise they wouldn’t send you here, would they? [*Laughs*] But sir, find out if you can do anything without motive. First find out, find out if you can do *anything*—it doesn’t matter: lift a stone off the road, make somebody’s bed, carry somebody’s dish. If you can do something without a motive, see what happens to you. Find out first, and then you can begin to inquire into much more complicated things. Because to love somebody is very dangerous, and that’s why we don’t love anybody. And it…

S4: Why is it dangerous?

K: Why is it dangerous? [*Laughs*] Because you see, love does not conform; love is not respectable—which doesn’t mean do what you like. Love, like fire, is very dangerous, and it is dangerous because it has no limit, it is not self-concerned. So, that’s too complicated, leave all that side alone, but begin to find out if you can do anything without a motive, and you will see how extraordinarily difficult it is to do something without a motive. Look, I’m talking to you. Am I doing it out of a motive? I know I’m not, because I say things for you to accept or not to accept—it’s up to you. But I’m not indifferent. And if I had a motive, then I would be a propagandist: I want you to think in one way.

S3: Sir, we can do something for someone because of kindness, because of love?

K: Surely, you can do something for another because of kindness, and in that there is no motive.

Don’t you think we better stop? Huh? What do you say? Don’t you think we better stop? I suppose you are used to sitting indefinitely. (Laughs) Well, sirs, may I say something? Go and look at the sunset. I want to go and see the sunset; you should, too. You go and watch the moon tonight and the light of the moon on the water. And look at it without any motive, enjoy it. That’s the only way to enjoy anything—to look, to look with delight. And delight has no motive, as love has no motive. All right, sirs, bye. Thank you for listening to me.