Astrall
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If the teachings of the masters are perfect, then why are they distorted over time?
It is very important to understand this, because it has always happened and will always happen in the future. This will never change. Any teaching will inevitably be distorted; it is in the very nature of things. Just as every child will one day grow old and everyone born will one day die, every teaching, by necessity, will inevitably be distorted. This cannot be avoided. It is not that the great masters made no attempts; they did everything in their power, but it is impossible to go against the laws of nature. No one can go against the laws of nature. There are seven points that must be taken into account. The first is the experience of the master himself. When he experiences the truth, the mind is completely absent. This is a state of no-mind, or, as Dionysius calls it, a state of agnosia—absolute innocence. Not a single thought moves in the mind. Therefore, the memory system does not function; the mind remains in a state of complete standstill. It is frozen; it is absolutely motionless.
This is the moment when the teaching is perfect, but nothing has yet been transmitted to other people. The teaching has not yet become a teaching. Nothing has been said, nothing has been heard. In fact, even the master has not yet realized what happened. Something occurred, but he was so deeply lost in it that there is no possibility for him to realize it himself. Realization implies a division between the observer and the observed—the experience is split. When the experience happens, it is indivisible. There is neither knower nor known, neither subject nor object. All is silent. This is the most perfect teaching. The second stage is when the master realizes what happened, and distortion begins, moreover, within the master. He has not yet spoken a single word, but a vague awareness began to arise within him. The experience is no longer indivisible; it has ceased to be one, it has split in two. It has ceased to be the same; it has ceased to be whole. One part of it became the subject—the knower, the observer, the awareness—and the other part became the object—the known, the experienced. This is the first distortion, and it happens inside the master. Third: the master formulates his experience; he begins to make it clearer, more expressible. Now there are no longer two parts, but three. The One is divided into three: subject, object, and mind, because without the mind, nothing can be clearly formulated. The mind is the expert.
Language must be used; logic must be used. The mind must awaken from its deep sleep; it must be called upon for help. Just as the master once strove with all his might to bring his mind into a deeply frozen state, he now strives with all his might to thaw it, because without it, absolute clarity regarding what happened cannot be achieved. It needs to be conceptualized. However, the moment the ultimate experience becomes conceptualized, the strongest distortion occurs, as that which cannot be expressed in words is forcibly cast into words. And these words are small, while the experience is vast, like the sky—even the sky is not its limit. The limitless must be squeezed into limits.
Naturally, much will be lost. At first, it was the whole sky with all the stars, with all its infinity and eternity. Now it is only a small window in a frame—an artificially created frame. Now you look through the window: it is no longer the whole sky, but only a small piece of it. The fourth point that must be understood is the means of expression.
Out of immense compassion, out of love, the master wants to share what happened with others, because he sees that millions of people are groping in the dark just as he himself once groped. He sees that everyone is groping in the same darkness, experiencing the same confusion, suffering in the same way, while he himself is now in a state where he can help. At the very least, he can point the way; he can show something of the Transcendent. He can trigger some glimmer, he can start some process. The master must use the art of synchronization. He must sing a song so that your song, which remains in an embryonic state, comes into motion, comes alive, emerges from its slumbering state, begins to reach for the sky—so that your seed sprouts, so that your song also develops a strong aspiration. Your heart must be touched. The master speaks.
But as soon as he begins to speak, even more is lost, because it is one thing to create concepts within oneself and quite another to transmit them to someone else. Now he has to look at another person—what can they understand? Only that which can be expressed in words.
He must limit himself to the poorest means of expression, for only then will people be able to understand something. He must use a language that they can understand. Buddha cannot use a language that only other Buddhas can understand. He has reached the sun-drenched peak, but he must return; he must descend again into the darkness of the valley. He must use your language, your means of expression, your way of speaking. And, naturally, almost ninety-nine percent is lost; only one percent becomes expressed, and even this requires a very skilled master.
Many masters were unable to express even this one percent; they remained silent, understanding that they did not possess this skill. When I decided to become a university lecturer, some of my friends who knew what had happened to me asked: "What are you going to do?" I said: "It will be good if I can be a lecturer for a few years; it will help me a lot: it will give me the skill. Right now I have something to express, I have something to share, but I need the skill. The best teacher is the one who can help the very last person among those who hear him understand—the person with the lowest intelligence. Of course, the very best will understand with ease, but it is necessary to always remember those who are not so rational." And humanity, for the most part, is not rational at all. It lives very foolishly, very ordinarily. The consciousness of people is covered by such a thick layer of dust and rust that it has completely lost its ability to reflect like a mirror. It cannot reflect anything; it does not know how to respond to anything. Great art is required to express even
one percent of the experience. And the fifth point is the listener's perception of the experience. Now, once the master has spoken, he is no longer the master of what he said. Now the one who heard it becomes the master; now it is their property. Until now, distortion occurred within the master because he brought his experience up to the level of the mind. Now, when he has spoken, the spoken word enters a mind that is unfamiliar with the experience of the unknown, the Transcendent.
Right at the entrance, almost ninety percent of that one percent is lost. This happens inevitably because everyone understands everything in their own way, according to their conditioning, their past experience, their philosophy, their religion, their ideology. No one listens in a state of silence. If you listen in a state of silence, there is a possibility that you can catch this one percent, and that is enough for your transformation. If a small spark penetrates you, then soon the whole forest will be engulfed in fire. This one percent is enough—it is the genuine fire; it will ignite you.
Osho
It is very important to understand this, because it has always happened and will always happen in the future. This will never change. Any teaching will inevitably be distorted; it is in the very nature of things. Just as every child will one day grow old and everyone born will one day die, every teaching, by necessity, will inevitably be distorted. This cannot be avoided. It is not that the great masters made no attempts; they did everything in their power, but it is impossible to go against the laws of nature. No one can go against the laws of nature. There are seven points that must be taken into account. The first is the experience of the master himself. When he experiences the truth, the mind is completely absent. This is a state of no-mind, or, as Dionysius calls it, a state of agnosia—absolute innocence. Not a single thought moves in the mind. Therefore, the memory system does not function; the mind remains in a state of complete standstill. It is frozen; it is absolutely motionless.
This is the moment when the teaching is perfect, but nothing has yet been transmitted to other people. The teaching has not yet become a teaching. Nothing has been said, nothing has been heard. In fact, even the master has not yet realized what happened. Something occurred, but he was so deeply lost in it that there is no possibility for him to realize it himself. Realization implies a division between the observer and the observed—the experience is split. When the experience happens, it is indivisible. There is neither knower nor known, neither subject nor object. All is silent. This is the most perfect teaching. The second stage is when the master realizes what happened, and distortion begins, moreover, within the master. He has not yet spoken a single word, but a vague awareness began to arise within him. The experience is no longer indivisible; it has ceased to be one, it has split in two. It has ceased to be the same; it has ceased to be whole. One part of it became the subject—the knower, the observer, the awareness—and the other part became the object—the known, the experienced. This is the first distortion, and it happens inside the master. Third: the master formulates his experience; he begins to make it clearer, more expressible. Now there are no longer two parts, but three. The One is divided into three: subject, object, and mind, because without the mind, nothing can be clearly formulated. The mind is the expert.
Language must be used; logic must be used. The mind must awaken from its deep sleep; it must be called upon for help. Just as the master once strove with all his might to bring his mind into a deeply frozen state, he now strives with all his might to thaw it, because without it, absolute clarity regarding what happened cannot be achieved. It needs to be conceptualized. However, the moment the ultimate experience becomes conceptualized, the strongest distortion occurs, as that which cannot be expressed in words is forcibly cast into words. And these words are small, while the experience is vast, like the sky—even the sky is not its limit. The limitless must be squeezed into limits.
Naturally, much will be lost. At first, it was the whole sky with all the stars, with all its infinity and eternity. Now it is only a small window in a frame—an artificially created frame. Now you look through the window: it is no longer the whole sky, but only a small piece of it. The fourth point that must be understood is the means of expression.
Out of immense compassion, out of love, the master wants to share what happened with others, because he sees that millions of people are groping in the dark just as he himself once groped. He sees that everyone is groping in the same darkness, experiencing the same confusion, suffering in the same way, while he himself is now in a state where he can help. At the very least, he can point the way; he can show something of the Transcendent. He can trigger some glimmer, he can start some process. The master must use the art of synchronization. He must sing a song so that your song, which remains in an embryonic state, comes into motion, comes alive, emerges from its slumbering state, begins to reach for the sky—so that your seed sprouts, so that your song also develops a strong aspiration. Your heart must be touched. The master speaks.
But as soon as he begins to speak, even more is lost, because it is one thing to create concepts within oneself and quite another to transmit them to someone else. Now he has to look at another person—what can they understand? Only that which can be expressed in words.
He must limit himself to the poorest means of expression, for only then will people be able to understand something. He must use a language that they can understand. Buddha cannot use a language that only other Buddhas can understand. He has reached the sun-drenched peak, but he must return; he must descend again into the darkness of the valley. He must use your language, your means of expression, your way of speaking. And, naturally, almost ninety-nine percent is lost; only one percent becomes expressed, and even this requires a very skilled master.
Many masters were unable to express even this one percent; they remained silent, understanding that they did not possess this skill. When I decided to become a university lecturer, some of my friends who knew what had happened to me asked: "What are you going to do?" I said: "It will be good if I can be a lecturer for a few years; it will help me a lot: it will give me the skill. Right now I have something to express, I have something to share, but I need the skill. The best teacher is the one who can help the very last person among those who hear him understand—the person with the lowest intelligence. Of course, the very best will understand with ease, but it is necessary to always remember those who are not so rational." And humanity, for the most part, is not rational at all. It lives very foolishly, very ordinarily. The consciousness of people is covered by such a thick layer of dust and rust that it has completely lost its ability to reflect like a mirror. It cannot reflect anything; it does not know how to respond to anything. Great art is required to express even
one percent of the experience. And the fifth point is the listener's perception of the experience. Now, once the master has spoken, he is no longer the master of what he said. Now the one who heard it becomes the master; now it is their property. Until now, distortion occurred within the master because he brought his experience up to the level of the mind. Now, when he has spoken, the spoken word enters a mind that is unfamiliar with the experience of the unknown, the Transcendent.
Right at the entrance, almost ninety percent of that one percent is lost. This happens inevitably because everyone understands everything in their own way, according to their conditioning, their past experience, their philosophy, their religion, their ideology. No one listens in a state of silence. If you listen in a state of silence, there is a possibility that you can catch this one percent, and that is enough for your transformation. If a small spark penetrates you, then soon the whole forest will be engulfed in fire. This one percent is enough—it is the genuine fire; it will ignite you.
Osho
