I think we should make these meetings quite informal. And perhaps at the end of the talk, if there is time, we can ask each other questions and hope that we’ll find the right answer.

I think it’s always rather difficult to communicate. Words must be used, and each word has a certain definite meaning, but I think we should bear in mind that the word is not the thing; the word does not convey the total significance. And if we merely semantically stick to words, then I'm afraid we shall not be able to proceed much further. To communicate really deeply needs not only attention but also a certain quality of affection, which doesn't mean that one must not be critical or that one must accept what is said. But if one is sufficiently alert, not only intellectually but avoiding the pitfall of words, there should also be, I think, to really communicate with another about anything, a certain quality of direct affection, a certain quality of exchange, examination, with full capacity to investigate, to examine. And then only communication can take place. Perhaps then there will be a communication with each other, because we are going to deal with so many subjects, so many problems during these talks. And, we are going to go into them fairly deeply, and obviously, to understand what the speaker is saying, if you are interested, one has to have a certain quality of attention in listening.

Very few of us listen, because we ourselves have so many ideas, so many opinions, so many conclusions and beliefs, which actually prevent the act of listening. And that’s one of the most difficult things—to listen to another. We are so ready with our own opinions, with our own conclusions. We are apt to interpret, agreeing or disagreeing, taking sides, or saying, "I don't agree", and quickly brushing it aside. All that, it seems to me, prevents the act of actual listening. It’s only when there is this listening which is not merely intellectual because any clever person can listen to a certain argument, to a certain exposition of ideas; but to listen with the mind and the heart, with the total being of oneself—if there is such a thing as the being of oneself totally—requires a great deal of attention. And therefore, to attend implies not knowing one's own beliefs, concepts, conclusions, what one wants, and so on, but also putting those aside for the time being and listening.

And then, I think, only is it possible to commune with each other, because we have to talk over a great many things, because life has so many problems; we are all so confused; very few have any belief in anything, or faith. There is war; there is insecurity, great anxiety, fear, the despair, the agony of daily existence, and the utter boredom and loneliness of it. And beyond all this there is the problem of death, and love. And, we are caught in this tremendous confusion, and to understand the totality of it, not the fragment that is very clear to you and which you want to achieve; not the special conclusion which you think is right, or an opinion, or a belief, but rather one should take the whole content of existence, the whole history of man: his suffering, his loneliness, his anxiety, the utter hopelessness, meaninglessness of life. And I think if we can do that, not take any particular fragment which may for the time being appeal to you or give you pleasure, but rather see the whole map, as it were, of existence, not partially, not fragmentarily, but see the whole of it. Then perhaps we shall be able to bring about a radical revolution in the psyche. And it seems to me that's the main crisis of our life that though there are vast changes going on in the world, the world of science, of mathematics, and all the rest. Technologically there is tremendous change going on, but in the psyche of the human being there is very little change. The crisis is not in the outward technological advancement, but rather in the way we think, in the way we live, in the way we feel. I think that is where a revolution must take place. And this revolution can only be possible, not according to any particular pattern, because no revolution—psychologically I’m talking about—is possible if there is merely the imitation of a particular ideology. To me, all ideologies are idiotic; it has no meaning. What has meaning is what is, not what should be; and to understand what is there must be freedom to look, not only to look outwardly but inwardly.

You know, really there is no division as the outer and the inner, it's a process, a unitary movement; and the moment you understand the outer, you are also understanding the inner. But unfortunately we have divided, broken up, life into fragments: the outer, the inner, the good and the bad, and so on. As one has divided the world into nationalities, with all their miseries and wars, we have also divided our own existence as inward and outward. I think that is the worst thing one can do—to break up one’s own existence into various fragments. And that's where contradiction lies, and most of us are caught in this contradiction, and hence in conflict.

So, we know all the complications, the confusions, the misery, the enormous human effort that has gone up to build a society which is getting more and more complex. And, is it possible, living in this world, to be totally free of all confusion, and therefore of all contradiction, and hence be free of fear? Because a mind that is afraid obviously has no peace, and it’s only when the mind is completely and totally free of fear, then it can observe, then it can investigate.

One of our major problems is violence, not only outwardly but inwardly. Violence is not merely physical violence, but the whole structure of the psyche is based on violence, that is, this constant effort, this constant adjustment to a pattern, constant pursuit of a pleasure and therefore the avoidance of anything which gives pain, discarding the capacity to look, to observe what is. All that is part of violence: aggression, competition, the constant comparison between what is and what should be, the imitation, surely, all that is a form of violence. Because man since historical times has chosen war as a way of life, our daily existence is a war, in ourselves as well as outwardly: we are always in conflict with ourselves and with another. And, is it possible for the mind to be totally free of this violence? Because we need peace outwardly as well as inwardly, and peace is not possible if there is not freedom, freedom from this total aggressive attitude towards life.

So, we all know this, that there is violence, that there is tremendous hate in the world, war, destruction, competition, each one pursuing his own particular form of pleasure—all that, it seems to me, is a way of life which breeds contradiction and violence. And we know this intellectually, we have thought about it, we statistically can examine it. Intellectually we can rationalize the whole thing and say, “Well, that's inevitable; that is the history of man for the last two million years and more, and we'll go on that way.” And, so one asks oneself whether it is at all possible to bring about a total revolution in the psyche, in oneself—not as an individual: the individual is the local entity, the American, the Indian, the Russian. He can do very little; but we are not the local entities, we are human beings. There is no barrier as an Indian, or an American, Russian, a communist, and so on, if we regard the whole process of existence of a human being—of which you and I are. If we can bring about a revolution there—not in the individual, because after all, apart from nationalities and the absurdities of religion, organized religion, and superficial culture, if we go beyond that, as a human being we all suffer, we go through tortures of anxiety; there is sorrow; there is the everlasting search for the good and the noble, and what is generally called God. We are all afraid. So if we can bring about a change there in the human psyche, then the individual will act quite differently. This implies that there is no division between the conscious and the unconscious. I know it is the fashion to discuss a great deal and study a great deal about the unconscious—really there is no such thing as the unconscious. We'll discuss all this, we’ll go into all this. I'm just outlining what we are going to talk over together during the next five talks.

And, is it possible for the human being to totally empty the past, so that he is made new to look at life entirely differently? See the past, whether it is fifty years past or two million years past, which we call the unconscious, the unconscious which is the racial residue, the tradition, the motives, the hidden pursuits, the pleasures, that which we call the unconscious—is not the unconscious. It is always in the conscious, because we have only . . . there is only consciousness. You may not be aware of the total content of that consciousness. And all consciousness is limitation, and we are caught in this. We move in this consciousness from one field to another field, calling it by different names, but it is still the conscious. And this game we play, as the unconscious, the conscious, the past, the future, and all the rest, is within that field: you can observe it for yourself; you are very aware of your own process of thinking, feeling, acting. How we deceive ourselves—move from one field, from one corner to another. And this consciousness which is always limited, because in that consciousness there is always the observer; and wherever there is the observer, the censor, the watcher, he creates the limitation within that consciousness. I think that’s fairly simple if you look at it.

So, any change brought about by will, by pleasure, by an avoidance or an escape, so any change or revolution brought about by influence, by pressure, strain, convenience, for particular pleasure, is still within that limit . . . in that consciousness, and therefore it’s always limited, and therefore it’s always breeding conflict. So, if one observes this, not through books, not through psychologists and analysts, and all the rest of it, but if one observes this actually, factually, as it takes place in yourself as a human being, then the question will inevitably arise whether it is possible to be conscious where it is necessary to be conscious—going to the office and all the rest of it—and where consciousness is a limitation and therefore be free of it. Not that you go into a trance or amnesia, or some mystical nonsense, but unless there is that freedom from this enclosing consciousness, this time-binding consciousness, then we shall not have peace. Because peace is not dependent on politicians, on the army—they have much too vested interest in all that—nor on the priests, nor on any belief. They have talked, all religions, except perhaps one or two, Buddhism and Hinduism perhaps, always talked peace and entered into war—and that's the way of our life. And I feel that if there is no freedom from this limitation of consciousness as time-binding with its observer as the centre, man will go on endlessly suffering.

And so, is it possible to empty the whole of consciousness, the whole of my mind, with all its tricks and vanities, deceptions, and pursuits, and moralities, and all that, based essentially on pleasure, is it possible to be totally free of all that—empty the mind so that it can look and act and live totally differently? I say it is possible, not out of vanity or some superstitious, mystical nonsense; but it is possible only when the observer, the centre and the observed . . . there is the realization that the observer is the observed.

See, sirs, this is extremely . . . not difficult; it requires a great deal of understanding to come to this. It isn't a matter of your sentimentally agreeing or disagreeing. Do you know what is understanding, what understanding means? Surely, understanding is not intellectual, not saying, "I understand your words, the meaning of your words,"—that's not understanding, surely. Nor is it an emotional agreement, a sentimental affair. There is understanding of any problem, of any issue, when the mind is totally quiet, not induced quietness, not disciplined quietness, but the mind is completely still, then there is a understanding. This is what we do, actually this takes place when you have a problem of any kind. We have thought a great deal about it, investigated, examined back and forth, and there is no answer, and you more or less push it aside, and your mind becomes quiet with regard to that problem, and suddenly you have an answer. This happens to so many people ordinarily, this is nothing. So, understanding can only come, surely, when there is a direct perception, not a reasoned conclusion.

So, our question is then: how is a man, a human being—not American, not Englishman, nor a Chinese, and all the rest of—how is a human being to create not only a new society—and he can only create that when there is a total revolution in himself as a human being—and is that possible? So that he has no fear at all, because he understands the nature of fear, what is the structure of fear, the meaning of fear; comes directly into contact with it, not a thing to be avoided but to be understood. And, it means, is it possible for the whole of that structure of thought, which is always functioning round a centre; is it possible in understanding the whole machinery of thinking, which is the result of memory—and thought is the reaction of memory and hence the limitation of consciousness—is it possible to totally not think, to totally function without the memory as it now functions?

I hope I’m conveying something; if not, we will go into it. You see, this brings us to a point: what is the function of idea—idea being the prototype, the formula, the ideal, the concept—has it any function at all? For us idea is very important, and we function, we act on idea, on concepts, on formulas. A belief is a formula, and all our activity is from ideas, or based on ideas, and hence a contradiction between act and the idea, isn’t it? I have an idea, I have an ideal, a belief, and all the rest of it, and I act according to that, or approximate my action to that, and action can never be the idea. The idea is unreal, the action is real. The idea of a nation, the idea of a certain dogma, the dogma of belief in God, and all the rest of it, are purely ideological. And, is it possible to act without the idea?

Please, this requires a great deal of inquiry, because as long as there is conflict, there must be pain and sorrow—conflict in any form. And there must be conflict as long as there is contradiction, and the nature of contradiction is essentially the idea and the fact—the what is—surely. If there is no idea at all: belief, dogma, the tomorrow, which is always the ideal—tomorrow—then I can look at what is actually, not translate it in terms of tomorrow but see actually what is. And to understand what is one need not have ideas; all that one has to do is to observe. So, that brings us to a point, which is: what is observing, what is seeing? I wonder if we ever see, observe; or do we see with the word, with a conclusion, with a name, and therefore they become the barriers to seeing? If you say, "Well, he's an Indian from India with all his mystical ideas or romantic ideas, and so on and so on,” you're actually not seeing. So, it is only possible to see when thought doesn't function. If you are listening, expecting some—I don't know what—and the expectation is preventing you from listening; or the idea, the concept, the knowledge prevents you from observing. If you look at a flower, or a tree, or a cloud, or the bird, whatever it is, immediately your reaction is: you have given it a name; you like it or dislike it, you have categorized it, put it away as a memory, and you’ve stopped looking.

So, is it possible to look, to see, without all the mentation taking place? Mentation is always thought as an idea, as memory, and there is no direct perception. I do not know if you have not observed, if you have observed, your friend, or your wife, or your husband, looking—to look. You look at another, surely, with all the memories, misfortunes, insults, and all the rest of it, and you look, or you listen, you actually are not listening or seeing. And this process of non-observance is called relationship.

(Laughter in the audience)

No, please, don't laugh it away, because, as I said—or I’ve probably not said this time—all this is very serious; this isn't a philosophical lecture which you listen to, talk that you listen to, and then go home and carry on. It’s only to the very serious man there living, there is life. And one cannot, with all this appalling confusion, misery, just laugh it away, or go to a cinema and forget all about the beastly stuff. Therefore it requires extraordinary, earnest, attentive seriousness, and seriousness is not a reaction. All reactions are limitations, but when one observes, listens, looks, then one begins to understand whether it is at all possible for man to be totally free of his conditioning; because we are all conditioned: by the food, the clothes, the climate, the culture, the society we live in. And is it possible to be free of that conditioning, not in some distant future but on the instant? That's why I said whether it is at all possible to free the mind totally, empty it completely so that it is something new. If this does not take place, we are committed to sorrow; we are committed to everlasting fear.

So, how is it possible, and is at all possible, to free the mind of the past totally, empty it, though in certain fields knowledge is essential? If I didn’t know where I was going; all the technological knowledge which man has acquired through centuries—one can’t forget all that, put all that aside. But I’m talking about the psyche, which has accumulated so many concepts, ideas, experiences, and (is) caught within this consciousness with the observer as its centre.

Now, having put the question, what is the answer, and, who’s going to answer it? It is the right question, not an irrelevant question. When one puts the right question, there is the right answer; but it requires a great deal of integrity to put the right question. We have put the right question: is it possible for man, who has lived for so many centuries and a million years, who has pursued a path of violence, has accepted war as a way of life—in daily life as well as on the battlefield—who is seeking everlastingly peace and denying it; is it possible for man to transform himself completely, so that he lives totally differently?

Now, having put the question, who will answer it? Will you look to somebody to answer it, some guru, some priest, some psychologist, or are you waiting for the speaker to answer it? If you put the question rightly, the answer is in the question, but very few of us have put that question. We have accepted the norm of life; and to change that requires a great deal of energy, and we are committed to certain dogmas, certain beliefs, certain activities as the way of life—we are committed, and we are frightened to change it, not knowing what it’ll breed.

So, can we, realizing the implications of all this, can we honestly put that question? And how you put it matters also, surely: I can put it, ask myself intellectually, out of curiosity, out of a moment when I have . . . that I can spare from my daily routine, but that will not answer it. So, what will answer that question depends on the mind: how earnest it is, or how lazy it is, or how indifferent to the whole structure and the misery of existence.

Now, having put that question, we are going to find out. We are going to talk over together during these five more talks that are to come how to discover the answer for ourselves, therefore not depending on anybody. There is no authority, there is no guru, no priest that’ll answer this; and to come to that point when you are not dependent on anybody psychologically is the first, probably the last step. Then, when the mind has freed itself from all its diseases, then we can find out, then it can find out if there is a reality which is not put together by thought; if there is such thing as God, because man has searched, sought after, and hunted that being. And we have to answer that question, and also we have to answer the question of what death is. A society, a human being, that does not understand what death is, will not know what life is, nor will he know what love is.

And, merely to accept or deny something which is not of thought is rather immature, but if one would go into it, one must lay the foundation of virtue, which has nothing to do with social morality. One must understand the nature of pleasure, not deny pleasure or accept pleasure, but understand the nature of it, the structure of it. And obviously there must be freedom from fear, and hence a mind that is completely free from discontent and wanting more experience. Then only, it seems to me, is it possible to find out if there is something beyond the human fear which has created God.

Is there time to ask questions? Perhaps we’ll . . .

Questioner (Q): I like to ask the question: Would you please repeat that very important question?

Krishnamurti (K): You like to ask a question?

Q: That was it. Would you please repeat that question the way you asked?

K: Would I repeat the question which I asked. I'm afraid I couldn't do that, could I? (Laughter) That means going all over it again. I will perhaps another day. Yes sir?

Q2: What is the state of the mind, brain, and body which is energy, the state in which thought is not?

K: The gentleman asks: What is that state of mind, or that state of energy which is the outcome of the physical, mental, emotional, but is there an energy which is not? Is that it, sir?
Now may I . . . just a minute. Before you ask questions . . . it’s very easy to ask questions, but who is going to answer it? No, please, do take seriously what I'm saying: who is going to answer it? And to put the right question demands a great deal of intelligence—I'm not saying you're not intelligent—it requires a great deal of understanding. Either you ask a question to confirm your own ideas, which is really you're asking for confirmation, therefore, you're not asking a question, or you are asking the question to clarify one’s own confusion. Will you ask a question if you know you are confused? Because out of my confusion I may ask the question, and the reply I will listen to only according to my confusion, and therefore it's not an answer. Or I ask a question because I can't look, I can't understand, therefore I want somebody's help. And the moment you seek help from another psychologically, then you're lost, then you set up the whole structure of hierarchical thinking: the gurus, the priests, you know, these analysts, and all that.

So, to ask a right question is one of the most difficult things; and the moment you’ve asked the right question, there is the answer, you don't have to ask it even. (Laughter) No, please, this is really . . .

Q: Are you setting as the goal the contemplation of infinity and perfection?

K: What, sir?

Q: Are you setting as the goal of human experience the contemplation of infinity and perfection?

K: Am I setting the goal . . .

Q: . . . as a goal.

K: As a goal . . .

Q: . . . of human experience.

K: . . . of human experience.

Q: . . . the contemplation of infinity.

K: . . . the contemplation of infinity. I'm afraid I'm not, sir. (Laughter)

Q2: Mr. Krishnamurti, I’m asking you a question which is neither to confirm my ideas nor to destroy yours, but it’s a very important point, especially in history.

K: Yes sir.

Q2: You were talking about the mind being quiet, then the sense is not an induced quiet? . . . (Inaudible)

K: The questioner wants to know what we mean by . . . a mind that is quiet, silent, not induced. What do you mean by that, the questioner says. Sir, I can discipline the mind to be quiet, force it, discipline it, control it, because I have an idea that it must be quiet, because out of that quietness I hope to achieve something, or gain something, or realize something, or experience something. All that is induced quietness; therefore it's sterile. But quietness is something entirely different, which we can't go into now, because it requires a great deal of examination and understanding, and that silence comes naturally when there is understanding: there is no effort.

Q: What relation has the observer, let’s say ‘my observer’, to other observers, to the other people?

K: What is the relationship between the observer, ‘my observer’, and your observer? Is there any relationship? Now wait a minute: what do we mean by that word relationship? Are we ever related to anybody, or the relationship is between two images which we have created about each other, isn’t it? I have an image about you, and you have an image about me: I have an image about you as my wife or husband, or whatever it is, and you have an image about me also—the relationship is between these two images and nothing else. To have relationship with another is only possible when there is no image, when I can look at you and you can look at me without the image of memory, of insults, all the rest of it, then there is a relationship. But the very nature of the observer is the image, isn't it? And my image observes your image, if it is possible to observe it, and then this is called relationship—between two images, a relationship which is non-existent, because both are images. To be related means to be in contact, doesn’t it?—to be related. Contact must be something direct, not between two images. And it requires a great deal of attention, an awareness, to look at another without the image which I have about that person, the image being my memories of that person, how he has insulted me, pleased me, given me pleasure, this or that. Then only, when there are no images between the two is, then there is a relationship.
Sir?

Q: Could you comment on the present use of LSD for creating that state of imageless relationship?

Krishnamurti: Ah! (Laughter) Could you comment on . . .

Q: . . . the use of LSD.

K: . . . the use of LSD in bringing about this relationship.

Q: Imageless relationship, yes; in creating this state of imageless relationship.

K: In creating this state of relationship.

Q: Imageless relationship.

K: Beg your pardon, sir?

Q: Of imageless relationship.

K: Imageless relationship. You know, LSD is the newest drug to produce certain effects. In ancient India there existed another of these drugs called Soma. But it doesn’t matter, the name doesn't matter. Man has tried everything to bring about right relationship between man and man: drugs, escapes, monasteries—oh, I don’t know, dozens and dozens of ideals, which one hopes will unify man: the communist ideal, this ideal or that ideal. Now there is this drug. Can an outside agency bring about right relationship, which is imageless relationship? You know we have tried, not chemicals, but a belief as a drug: you believe in Christ, and the Indians believe, or the Buddhists, and so on; and they hope that would bring these people together—it has not. On the contrary, by their exclusive belief they have created more mischief. So, as far as I'm concerned, if I may put it, no outside agency as a drug can bring about right relationship. You cannot, through drugs, love another. If we could, then everything is solved. Why do we give much more importance to a drug than to a belief, to a dogma, than to the one Saviour who is going to bring right relationship? Why emphasize a drug or a belief? Both are detrimental to right relationship. What brings about right relationship is to be totally aware of all one's activities, one's thoughts, one's feelings, observes choicelessly what's going on in all relationships, then out of that comes a relationship which is not based on an idea.
Yes sir?

Q: Excuse me. When you define the relationship of one observer in relation to another observer, that would also hold true in yourself—the alienation of the observer to the rest of the psyche?

K: I don’t quite understand, sir.

Q: You spoke of the relationship of an observer of one human being to that of another, that they were images. This would hold true within the person himself. he has an image of himself.

K: Of course, surely.

Q2: You speak about a quiet mind . . .

Q3: Repeat that please.

K: I’ll repeat it, sir.

Q2: . . . a quiet mind is a natural state I believe you said; it comes naturally?

K: No. A quiet mind—it comes naturally, you haven’t to induce it—is a quiet mind a natural thing, does it come easily?—obviously not. (Laughter) Sir, we want little pills to achieve everything.

Q2: I wanted to ask, I thought I had understood you to say that it was a natural, a natural . . .

K: I said it is a natural outcome, when there is the right foundation.

Q2: Yes. This limitation—you spoke of it in relationship to a limited field of consciousness; consciousness being limited, a limitation, and I understood you to mean that this quite mind was maybe not limited.

K: No. I'm afraid this question of whether it is possible for a mind to be quiet, one has to go into it from different facets, different angles: whether it is at all possible for a mind to be quiet? Must it be everlastingly chattering? And to understand that, one has to go into the question of thought, and whether the mind, in which is contained the brain, whether the brain can be quiet, though it has its reactions. I'll go into all that later, not now, sir. I think we better stop, don’t you? Yes sir?

Q5: It's very hard to be honest, and I have the strange feeling that the only reason we're gathered here in this room is because you are here. I think that's rather sad. (Laughter) Before we come again, if we come again, I think we ought to be a little bit clearer about your role in confronting us, because we come with a motive, we didn't come here spontaneously.

K: Ah! Sir, the questioner says, we’ve come here with a motive. And he says we should be very clear of our relationship between the speaker and yourself. I wonder why we attend any meeting at all, go to any meeting, any gathering of this kind—is it out of curiosity; out of you've heard somebody's reputation, and you go and say, “Well, let's go,” or are you serious in wanting to find out? That of course depends on you; no one can answer that. Right, sir, I better stop because . . . yes sir, yes sir?

Q6: Let’s pause for a moment; I have a question of relationship. I only like to know if these people who go into Samadhi in India, or in America—isn't that the true aspect of the expression of the inner soul of a man, and therefore very important to his person and to his surroundings?

K: The gentleman wants to know what the Hindus mean by that word samadhi. I'm afraid you'll have to look it up in a book to find out. (Laughter) I’m not belittling the questioner because . . . sirs, what matters most, what is important?—to find out what samadhi is, a trance, or whatever it may mean, or to find out for oneself the misery in which one lives, the confusion, the endless conflict within oneself, and to find out whether it can be ended? Then, if it can be ended, then you’ll find out for yourself whatever that word may mean, and then it won't matter at all. See, we're always wandering off from the central issue. And the central issue is so colossal, so enormous, so confusing that we rather not face it. But unfortunately we have to see it, we have to look at it, and by looking at it very closely, without any image, then perhaps the mind can be free from this contagion of life with its misery.