Introduction

To build a human like machine has always been the aim of Artificial Intelligence, to which it has partially succeeded and claims that more perfection will be achieved in future. It is not questioned whether behaviorally or in performance, we can build a machine which can be human like. Problem comes when things like Intentionality/Feelings/Emotions/Understanding/Meaning come into picture. With the help of behavior one cannot identify whether a machine is feeling emotions, feelings or would understand the meaning of words/statements/symbols it is computing, independent of the fact behaviorally it is showing to do so.

Even if we want to talk about machines having feelings, emotions, understanding, and pain etc. there exist no formal definition of these things, phenomena. Ultimately it becomes difficult to talk about these things in relation to machines and computational models.

In this essay I will try to talk about “intentional” and “feeling related” aspects for machines. I will not pretend to be neutral. I will try to defend the view that at least a computational model based on computation over any kind of representation can never have or realize intentional phenomenon, qualia, feelings, pain etc. Thus not just in practice, in principle too it is impossible to build such machines.

In this paper, I will go further to explain various theories proposed in order to explain how intentional phenomena, subjective experiences, qualia and feeling related aspects are explained in case of human beings. Here I will refer to the “Hard” and “Easy” problems of Consciousness. I will talk about how various efforts of Strong and Weak AI are working to solve the “easy problem” of consciousness and “hard problems” are still untouched.

Computation and Pain

John Searle’s Chinese Room Argument

With the help of Chinese Room Argument it can be shown that computation over any kind of representation is insufficient to realize Intentionality/Feelings/Emotions/Pain etc. Computation over representation is considered to be a promising theory of mind and is sometimes also referred to as “Computational Theory of Mind”. In 1980, John Searle published “Minds, Brains and Programs” in the journal The Behavioral and Brain Sciences. In this article, Searle sets out the Chinese Room Argument.

The heart of the argument is an imagined human simulation of a computer, similar to Turing’s Paper Machine. The human in the Chinese Room follows instructions in English for manipulating Chinese symbols, where a computer “follows” a program written in a programming language. The human produces the appearance of understanding Chinese by following the symbol manipulating instructions, but does not thereby come to understand Chinese. Since a computer just does what the human does—manipulate symbols on the basis of their syntax alone—no computer, merely by following a program, comes to genuinely understand Chinese. If the argument with the phenomena of “Understanding” is tough to understand for some then they can take reference of “Pain”. There is no way, the above set-up, with a human being and rule book, to realize “Pain”. If it is not possible to realize subjective experience like “Pain” for the above set-up then it is not possible for any computational model which manipulates representation, to realize any subjective experience. Thus, strong AI is false.

Chinese Room Argument can be pictorially understood in following chart.

We might summarize the narrow argument as a reductio ad absurdum against Strong AI as follows. Let L be a natural language, and let us say that a “program for L” is a program for conversing fluently in L. A computing system is any system, human or otherwise, that can run a program.

• If Strong AI is true, then there is a program for Chinese such that if any computing system runs that program, that system thereby comes to understand Chinese.
• I could run a program for Chinese without thereby coming to understand Chinese.
• Therefore Strong AI is false.

The second premise is supported by the Chinese Room thought experiment. The conclusion of this narrow argument is that running a program cannot create understanding. The wider argument includes the claim that the thought experiment shows more generally that one cannot get semantics (meaning) from syntax (formal symbol manipulation).

Chinese Room Argument was mainly given to show that computation over any kind of representation will lack understanding. Same argument can also be used to show that while human in Chinese room is manipulating symbols, there is no possibility of him experiencing any kind of “Understanding” or “Pain” in the task of manipulating symbols or “there is nobody to feel pain” in the system, so there is no pain.

Simple Explanation of “Chinese Room Argument”

Chinese room argument primarily says that any computational model based on representation is “in principle” incapable of producing any human intentional phenomena or subjective first person experiences.

Searle argues to understand the nature of “computation”. He says that a computation is nothing more than a combination of a “Rule Book” and an “Agent” which is required to manipulate the input on the basis of the “Rule Book”. Pictorially, it can be represented as follows. A computation is nothing more than what is shown in following diagram.

After establishing this analogy of computation, Searle asks the question to the reader, where is the possibility of realization of any human intentional phenomena, subjective experiences like pain, qualia, emotions or any kind of sensation in above setup?

Since there is no possibility of realization of any human intentional phenomena or subjective experiences in above setup, Searle argues that computation over representation, cannot “in principle” realize any human intentional phenomena or subjective experiences.

Video Explanation of “Chinese Room Argument”

First Video.

Second Video

Third Video

Further readings on the same

At this point one may also like read one of my other posts on the same issue, for greater understanding.
Can a robot feel pain? — https://devanshmittal.wordpress.com/2010/02/09/can-a-robot-feel-pain/

One may also like to read the original paper published by John Searle on Chinese Room Argument. Chinese Room Argument. Minds, Brains and Programs by John Searle.

David Chalmers and Hard Problem of Consciousness

When you look at this page, there is a whir of processing: photons strike your retina, electrical signals are passed up your optic nerve and between different areas of your brain, and eventually you might respond with a smile, a perplexed frown or a remark. But there is also a subjective aspect. When you look at the page, you are conscious of it, directly experiencing the images and words as part of your private, mental life. You have vivid impressions of colored flowers and vibrant sky. At the same time, you may be feeling some emotions and forming some thoughts. Together such experiences make up consciousness: the subjective, inner life of the mind.

The Hard Problem

Researchers use the word “consciousness” in many different ways. To clarify the issues, we first have to separate the problems that are often clustered together under the name. For this purpose, I find it useful to distinguish between the “easy problems” and the “hard problem” of consciousness. The easy problems are by no means trivial – they are actually as challenging as most in psychology and biology – but it is with the hard problem that the central mystery lies.

The easy problems of consciousness include the following: How can a human subject discriminate sensory stimuli and react to them appropriately? How does the brain integrate information from many different sources and use this information to control behavior? How is it that subjects can verbalize their internal states? Although all these questions are associated with consciousness, they all concern the objective mechanisms of the cognitive system. Consequently, we have every reason to expect that continued work in cognitive psychology and neuroscience will answer them.

The hard problem, in contrast, is the question of how physical processes in the brain give rise to subjective experience. This puzzle involves the inner aspect of thought and perception: the way things feel for the subject. When we see, for example, we experience visual sensations, such as that of vivid blue. Or think of the ineffable sound of a distant oboe, the agony of an intense pain, the sparkle of happiness or the meditative quality of a moment lost in thought. All are part of what I am calling consciousness. It is these phenomena that pose the real mystery of the mind.

Knowledge Argument

To illustrate the distinction, consider a thought experiment called “The Knowledge Argument” devised by the Australian philosopher Frank Jackson.

According to the knowledge argument, there are facts about consciousness that are not deducible from physical facts. Someone could know all the physical facts, be a perfect reasoner, and still be unable to know all the facts about consciousness on that basis.

Frank Jackson’s canonical version of the argument provides a vivid illustration. On this version, Mary is a neuroscientist who knows everything there is to know about the physical processes relevant to color vision. But Mary has been brought up in a black-and-white room (on an alter-native version, she is colorblind) and has never experienced red. Despite all her knowledge, it seems that there is something very important about color vision that Mary does not know: she does not know what it is like to see red. Even complete physical knowledge and unrestricted powers of deduction do not enable her to know this. Later, if she comes to experience red for the first time, she will learn a new fact of which she was previously ignorant: she will learn what it is like to see red.

Let me try to explain the argument again in different words.

Suppose that Mary, a neuroscientist in the 23rd century, is the world’s leading expert on the brain processes responsible for color vision. But Mary has lived her whole life in a black-and-white room and has never seen any other colors. She knows everything there is to know about physical processes in the brain – its biology, structure and function. This understanding enables her to grasp everything there is to know about the easy problems: how the brain discriminates stimuli, integrates information and produces verbal reports. From her knowledge of color vision, she knows the way color names correspond with wavelengths on the light spectrum. But there is still something crucial about color vision that Mary does not know: what it is like to experience a color such as red. It follows that there are facts about conscious experience that cannot be deduced from physical facts about the functioning of the brain.

There are following very important implications of “Knowledge Argument”:

1. Human Subjective Experiences as Phenomena are Not some illusionary phenomena. They are as real as anything else.
2. Human Subjective Experiences “In Principle” cannot be captured in the Structural, Functional, Procedural, Material Information, even if the information is in the highest possible detail.
3. Human Subjective Experiences “In Principle” can NOT be reduced in the Structural, Functional, Procedural, Material Information, even if the information is in the highest possible detail. This also implies that all the reductionist explanations of Consciousness are False!

One should definitely watch following TED Talk by David Chalmers in order to understand the Hard Problem of Consciousness.

And in order to research further on the topic, following resource by David J Chalmers is a MUST Read. It shows various issues in Mind Problem and concludes how “Hard Problem of Consciousness” is still unsolved and points towards the possibility that probably “Consciousness” may be an ontologically distinct entity.

Consciousness and Its Place in Nature — David J Chalmers

Conclusion

So we see there are certain problems with computational theory of mind, which are,

1. Problem of Meanings/Semantics: Syntax cannot have Semantics. Chinese Room Argument proves it.
2. Problem of Intentionality: How can the syntax be ”about” something. Again reference of Chinese Room Argument can be taken in this also.
3. Problem of Consciousness: As Chalmers says what we can solve from Computational Theory of Mind is the Easy Problem and the Hard Problem still persists.
4. Human Subjective Experiences as Phenomena are Not some illusionary phenomena. They are as real as anything else.
5. Human Subjective Experiences “In Principle” cannot be captured in the Structural, Functional, Procedural, Material Information, even if the information is in the highest possible detail.
6. Human Subjective Experiences “In Principle” can NOT be reduced in the Structural, Functional, Procedural, Material Information, even if the information is in the highest possible detail. This also implies that all the reductionist explanations of Consciousness are False!

At least in the case of a computational model based on computation being performed over a representation, one can see that Intentional and Feeling related aspects are not possible. Chinese Room and other similar arguments show that Intentionality, Qualia, Feeling related aspects are not realizable in a computational model.

After showing the limitation of computational model I talked about various researches which have happened till now in relation to explaining how intentional and feeling related aspects are explained in a human being. I talked about the “easy” and “hard” problems of consciousness. Most efforts in AI (both weak and strong) are trying to solve the “easy problem” of consciousness and “hard problem” as I showed is still untouched or unexplained.

In conclusion I would like to say that, till now there have not been any strong enough researches, arguments, proofs which can prove/show the existence of intentional phenomena or “feeling related” aspects like “pain” in case of machines. Arguments of “computation over representation” have already lost the game; arguments of “structure” (like principle of organizational invariance) are far from being accepted.

References

• http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/turing-test/
• Chinese Room Argument. Minds, Brains and Programs by John Searle.
• http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/chinese-room/
• Consciousness and its place in Nature – David J Chalmers
• Absent Qualia, Fading Qualia, Dancing Qualia – David J Chalmers http://consc.net/papers/qualia.html
• Puzzle of Conscious Experience, David Chalmers.
• Minds, Brains and Sciences — John Searle.
• Can a robot feel pain? — Devansh Mittal
  https://devanshmittal.wordpress.com/2010/02/09/can-a-robot-feel-pain/

This story is from Katha Upanishad (Kathopanishad).

It is well known that Uddalaka, the son of Vajashrava, desiring to possess the fruits of vishvajit yagna, the fire ritual for world conquest, gave all his riches away to the brahmins. He had a son named Nachiketa.

When Uddalaka’s cows were being taken to be given to the brahmins as gifts, Nachiketa could see that they were very old. Their bodies were worn out, they had eaten their last, they had drunk their last water and given their last milk. Nachiketa was filled with trust and sincerity – he started thinking that to donate such useless cows was not right: “The person who donates these nearly dead cows will surely go to hell, the lower dimensions of existence, where there is no possibility for happiness or joy.” He thought, “I must discourage my father from doing such a thing.”

Nachiketa then asked his father, “And to whom will you give me as a gift?” Uddalaka remained silent.

When asked the same question a second and a third time, his father became angry and said, “I give you to death!”

Hearing this, Nachiketa started thinking within himself, “About most things, I have followed the highest conduct. About some things I may be a little remiss, but I have never fallen to any bad behavior. So why does my father say that he gives me to death? What could be the work of Yama, the Lord of Death, that my father wants to accomplish through me?”

Nachiketa said to his father, “Consider how your forefathers behaved and how other wise people now behave, then decide what is the right thing for you to do.

“Like the crops, mortal man ripens, withers and then is born again. So in this transitory life, man should not waver from goodness and engage in wrong actions. Do not be sad, father. Honor your word now and allow me to go to Yama, the Lord of Death.”

When he heard these words from his son, Uddalaka became very sad; but feeling Nachiketa’s dedication to truth, he allowed him to go to Yama.

When Nachiketa reached the abode of Yama he found that Yama was not at home, so he waited for him for three days without food or water.

When Yama returned home his wife said to him, “When a brahmin comes to a home as a guest, know that a divine being has come – so it is our duty to prepare for his rest, to give him our hospitality. The son of a brahmin has been sitting here; he has not eaten for three days. Go and receive him with reverence.”

Yama went to Nachiketa and said, “Oh brahmin! You are an honored athiti, an honored guest. You have stayed at my house for three days without food. Therefore, you can ask three wishes from me, one for each night.”

Nachiketa said, “Oh Yama! As the first of the three wishes, I ask that my father, Uddalaka, may become peaceful, joyous and free from sorrow and anger. And when I am sent back to him by you, may he receive me lovingly as his son.”

Yama replied, “Seeing you returning from the mouth of death your father, Uddalaka, inspired by me, will receive you and recognize you as his son. He will be freed from anger and grief and will spend the rest of the days and nights of his life in peace and joy.”

Having had his first wish granted, Nachiketa said, “Oh Lord, in heaven there is no fear. Even you, Death, are not there. There, none are afraid of old age. Those living in heaven are beyond hunger and thirst. Free from all suffering, they are in bliss.”

“Oh, Lord of Death, you know the inner fire which is the path to heaven. So tell me, a sincere seeker, the science of the inner fire, the science by which those who are in heaven attain to the deathless. This is my second wish.”

Yama said, “Oh, Nachiketa, I know the science of the inner fire which bestows heaven. I will tell it to you so that you may understand it completely. Know that this science will give boundless heavenly joy. This fire is hidden in the innermost sanctum of your heart.”

Yama then explained the science of the inner fire to Nachiketa, the science which bestows heaven. He explained in detail all the processes involved. Having understood it Nachiketa repeated the details back to Yama, and Yama was satisfied.

Seeing Nachiketa’s extraordinary intelligence, Yama was well pleased. He said, “Now I will grant you an additional honor – that the science of the inner fire be known by your name, the Naachiket-Fire. Please also accept this beautiful necklace of jewels.”

Yama then said, “One who ignites this inner fire three times and desirelessly practices the fire ritual, practices sharing and practices austerity in accordance with the three Vedas, will become free from birth and death. By knowing this sacred fire and by choosing it with sincerity, he will attain to eternal peace, the peace which I know.”

Yama continued, “One who ignites and attains to this inner fire will cut the snares of death while still in the body. He will go beyond sorrow. He will experience the joys of heaven.”

“Oh Nachiketa, this is the science of the inner fire that will lead to heaven. You have asked this as your second wish. From now onwards this fire will be known by your name.”

“Now, what is your third wish?”

The philosophers, logicians and doctors of law were drawn up at court to examine Mulla Nasrudin. This was a serious case, because he had admitted going from village to village saying: ”The so-called wise men are ignorant, irresolute and confused.” He was charged with undermining the security of the state.

”You may speak first,” said the King.
”Have paper and pens brought,” said the Mulla.

Paper and pens were brought.

”Give some to each of the first seven savants.”

They were distributed.

”Have them write separately an answer to this question:
’What is bread?’”

This was done. The papers were handed to the King, who read them out:

The first said: ”Bread is a food.”
The second: ”It is flour and water.”
The third: ”A gift of God.”
The fourth: ”Baked dough.”
The fifth: ”Changeable, according to how you mean ’bread’.”
The sixth: ”A nutritious substance.”
The seventh: ”Nobody really knows.”

”When they decide what bread is,” said Nasruddin, ”It will be possible for them to decide other things.

For example, whether I am right or wrong. Can you entrust matters of assessment and judgement to people like this? Is it or is it not strange that they cannot agree about something which they eat each day, and yet are unanimous that I am a heretic?”

Yes, that is the situation of your so-called philosophers, theologians, doctors of law: the learned people. They are parrots. They have not even known themselves yet – what else can they know? They are not even acquainted with themselves – how can they be acquainted with others? They have not unraveled the mystery that they are.

A beautiful story is told about a disciple of Gautam Buddha. He was a young monk, very healthy, very beautiful, very cultured. He had come – just like Gautam Buddha – from a royal family, renouncing the kingdom.

In the West, just as Cleopatra is thought to be the most beautiful woman in the whole past of humanity, in the East, a parallel woman to Cleopatra is Amrapali. She was a contemporary of Gautam Buddha. She was so beautiful that there were always golden chariots standing at the gate of her palace. Even great kings had to wait to meet her. She was only a prostitute, but she had become so rich she could purchase kingdoms. But deep down, she suffered. In that beautiful body there was also a beautiful soul which hankered for love.

When a man comes to buy the body of a woman, she may pretend great love for him because he has paid for it, but deep down she hates him because he is using her as a thing, as an object – purchasable; he is not respecting her as a human being. And the greatest hurt and wound that can happen to anybody is when you are treated as a dead thing and your integrity, your individuality, is humiliated.

This young monk went into the city to beg. Not knowing, he passed by so many chariots of gold and beautiful horses he was amazed: “Who lives in this palace?” As he looked upward, Amrapali was looking from the window, and for the first time love arose in her heart – for the simple reason that the moment the young monk saw Amrapali, he bowed down to her with deep respect. Such beauty has to be respected, not to be used. It is a great gift of existence to be appreciated – but not to be humiliated.

At the moment this young, beautiful monk bowed down, suddenly a great upsurge of energy happened in Amrapali. For the first time somebody had looked at her with eyes of respect, somebody had given her the dignity of being a human being. She ran down, touched the feet of the monk and said, “Don’t go anywhere else; today be my guest.”

He said, “I am a bhikkhu, a beggar. In your great palace, where so many kings are waiting in a queue to meet you, it won’t look good.”

She said, “Forget all about those kings – I hate them! But don’t say no to my invitation, because for the first time I have given an invitation. I have been invited thousands of times by kings and emperors, but I have never invited anybody. Don’t hurt me, this is my very first invitation. Have your food with me.” The monk agreed.

Other monks were coming behind him, because Buddha used to move with ten thousand monks wherever he went. They could not believe their eyes, that the young monk was going into the house of the prostitute. With great jealousy, anger, they returned to Gautam Buddha. With one voice they said, “This man has to be expelled from the commune! He has broken all your discipline. Not only did he bow down to a prostitute, he has even accepted her invitation to go into her palace and have his food there.”

Buddha said, “Let him come back.”

For the first time Amrapali herself served food into the bowl of the monk. With tears of joy she said, “Can I ask a favor?”

The young monk said, “I don’t have anything, except myself. If it is in my capacity, I will do anything you want me to do.”

She said, “Nothing has to be done. The season of rains is going to start within two, three days…” And it was the rule of Buddhist monks that in the rainy season they stayed in one place for four months; for eight months of the year they were continually moving from one place to another, but for the four months of the rains it was absolutely necessary for them to stay somewhere where they could get a shelter.

Amrapali said, “In the coming four months, this palace should be your shelter. I don’t ask anything. I will not disturb you in any way. I will make everything as comfortable as possible for you, but don’t go for these four months.”

The monk said, “I have to ask my master. If he allows me, I will stay. If he does not allow me, you will have to forgive me: it is not in my hands, it is my master who decides where one has to stay.”

He came back. Everybody was angry, jealous, and they were all waiting to see if Gautam Buddha was going to punish him. Buddha asked, “Tell me the whole thing. What happened?”

He told Buddha everything. He also said that Amrapali… He did not use the word prostitute – that is a judgment. You have already condemned a woman by the very word, condemned her that she sells her body, that she sells her love, that her love is a commodity, if you have money you can purchase it.

He said, “Amrapali has invited me for the coming rainy season, and I have told her that if my master allows me, I will stay in her palace. It does not matter…”

There was great silence among the ten thousand monks. Nobody had thought that Gautam Buddha would say, “You are allowed to stay with Amrapali.” They could not believe their own ears; what were they hearing? A monk who has renounced the world is going to stay for four months in the house of a prostitute?

An old monk stood up and said, “This is not right! This man is hiding a fact. He says a woman, Amrapali, has invited him. She is not a woman, she is a prostitute!”

Gautam Buddha said, “I know, and because he has not used the word prostitute I am allowing him to stay there. He has respect – no judgment, no condemnation. He himself does not want to stay, that is why he has come here to ask his master. If you asked me to stay there, I would not allow you.”

Another monk said, “It is a strange decision. We will lose our monk! That woman is not an ordinary woman but an enchantress. This man, in four months, will be completely lost to the virtuous life, the good life, the life of a saint. After four months he will come as a sinner.”

Gautam Buddha said, “After four months you will be here, I will be here; let us see what happens, because I trust in his meditations and I trust in his insight. Preventing him will be distrusting him. He trusts me; otherwise there was no need to come. He could have thrown away the begging bowl and remained there. I understand him, and I know his consciousness. This is a good opportunity, a fire test, to see what happens. Just wait for four months.”

Those four months, for the monks, were very long. Each day was going so slowly, and they were imagining what must be happening, they were dreaming in the night about what must be happening. And after four months, the monk came back with a beautiful woman following him. He said to Buddha, “She is Amrapali. She wants to be initiated into the commune. I recommend her – she is a unique woman. Not only is she beautiful, she has a soul as pure as you can conceive.”

She fell at Gautam Buddha’s feet. This was even a bigger shock to those ten thousand people! And Buddha said to them, “I know these four months have been very long and you have suffered much. Day in and day out your mind was thinking only about what was happening between the monk and Amrapali, that he must have fallen in love with the woman and gone down the drain; four months will pass, the rains will stop, but he will not return – with what face?

“But you see, when a man of consciousness enters the house of a prostitute, it is the prostitute that changes – not the man of consciousness. It is always the lower that goes through transformation when it comes in contact with the higher. The higher cannot be dragged down.”

Her name, Amrapali, means… She had the biggest mango grove, perhaps one hundred square miles, and she presented it to Gautam Buddha – it was the most beautiful place. And she presented her palace, all her immense resources, for the spread of the message of Buddha.

Buddha said to his sangha, to his commune, “If you are afraid to be in the company of a prostitute, that fear has nothing to do with the prostitute; that fear is coming from your own unconscious because you have repressed your sexuality. If you are clean, then all judgment disappears.”

So the awakened has no judgments of what is good and what is bad, and the child has no judgment because he cannot make the distinction – he has no experience. In this sense it is true that every awakened person becomes a child again – not ignorant, but innocent. But every old person is not an awakened being. It should be so; if life has been lived rightly – with alertness, with joy, with silence, with understanding – you not only grow old, you also grow up. And these are two different processes. Everybody grows old, but not everybody grows up.

—

From Osho, Reflections on Khalil Gibran’s The Prophet, Chapter 33

In a certain town a very beautiful young lady suddenly arrived out of the blue. Nobody knew from where she came; her whereabouts were completely unknown. But she was so beautiful, so enchantingly beautiful, that nobody even thought about where she had come from. People gathered together, the whole town gathered – and all the young men almost three hundred young men, wanted to get married to the woman.

The woman said, “Look, I am one and you are three hundred. I can be married only to one, so you do one thing. I will come again tomorrow; I give you twenty-four hours. If one of you can repeat Buddha’s Lotus Sutra, I will marry him.

All the young men rushed to their homes; they didn’t eat, they didn’t sleep, they recited the sutra the whole night, they tried to cram it in. Ten succeeded. The next morning the woman came and those ten people offered to recite. The woman listened. They had succeeded.

She said, “Right, but I am one. How can I marry ten? I will give you twenty-four hours again. The one who can also explain the meaning of the Lotus Sutra I will marry. So you try to understand – because reciting is a simple thing, you are mechanically repeating something and you don’t understand its meaning.”

There was no time at all – only one night – and the Lotus Sutra is a long sutra. But when you are infatuated you can do anything. They rushed back, they tried hard. The next day three persons appeared. They had understood the meaning.

And the woman said, “Again the trouble remains. The number is reduced, but the trouble remains. From three hundred to three is a great improvement, but again I cannot marry three persons, I can marry only one. So, twenty-four hours more. The one who has not only understood it but tasted it too, that person I will marry. So in twenty-four hours try to taste the meaning of it. You are explaining, but this explanation is intellectual. Good, better than yesterday’s, you have some comprehension, but the comprehension is intellectual. I would like to see some meditative taste, some fragrance. I would like to see that the lotus has entered into your presence, that you have become something of the lotus. I would like to smell the fragrance of it. So tomorrow I come again.”

Only one person came, and certainly he had achieved. The woman took him to her house outside the town. The man had never seen the house; it was very beautiful, almost a dreamland. And the parents of the woman were standing at the gate. They received the young man and said, “We are very happy.”

The woman went in and he chitchatted a little with the parents. Then the parents said, “You go. She must be waiting for you. This is her room.” They showed him. He went, he opened the door, but there was nobody there. It was an empty room. But there was a door entering into the garden. So he looked – maybe she has gone into the garden. Yes, she must have gone because on the path there were footprints. So he followed the footprints. He walked almost a mile. The garden ended and now he was standing on the bank of a beautiful river – but the woman was not there. The footprints also disappeared. There were only two shoes, golden shoes, belonging to the woman.

Now he was puzzled. What has happened? He looked back – there was no garden, no house, no parents, nothing. All had disappeared. He looked again. The shoes were gone, the river was gone. All that there was emptiness – and a great laughter.

And he laughed too. He got married.

This is a beautiful Buddhist story. He got married to emptiness, got married to nothingness. This is the marriage for which all the great saints have been searching. This is the moment when you become a bride of Christ or a gopi of Krishna.

But everything disappears – the path, the garden, the house, the woman, even the footprints. Everything disappears. There is just a laughter, a laughter that arises from the very belly of the universe.

But when it happens for the first time, if you have not been led slowly, slowly, you will go mad.

This Buddhist story says that he was led slowly, slowly. The woman was the master. The woman is symbolic of the master. She led him slowly, slowly. First, recite the sutra; second, understand intellectually; third, give a sign that you have lived it. These are the three stages. Then she led him into nothingness.

The master leads you slowly, slowly; makes you by and by ready.

—

From Osho, Tao: The Pathless Path, Vol. 2, Chapter 9

In a small village school, the teacher was teaching the story of Rama. Almost all the children were dozing. This occurrence was not unusual at the recitation of the Ramayana; even grownups nap at such times. The story has been told and retold so many times it has lost its significance; the novelty is gone.

The teacher recited mechanically, not even glancing at the open book before him, and even an outsider could have seen that he was dozing too. He knew it by heart and was narrating the episodes like a parrot. He was not at all aware of what he was saying. One who has memorized something never knows the meaning of what he is saying.

Suddenly there was a sensation in the class: the inspector had come in. The pupils became attentive, and the teacher became alert as well. The teacher continued the lesson.

The inspector said, ”I am happy to see you are teaching the Ramayana. I will ask the children something about Rama.” Assuming that children easily remember tales of broken things or of battles, he asked a simple question: ”Tell me, children, who broke the bow of Shankara?”

One boy raised his hand, stood up and said, ”Excuse me, sir. I didn’t break it. I was away for fifteen days. And I don’t know who broke it either. I want to clear this up right now, because whenever anything happens in this school I am the first to be blamed for it.”

This hit the inspector like a bolt from the blue. He turned to the teacher, who was about to lift his cane, and heard the teacher say, ”This rascal is surely the culprit. He is the worst one of all.” He roared at the boy, ”If you didn’t do it then why did you get up and say that you didn’t do it?” He said to the inspector, ”Do not be misled by this boy’s sweet talk!”

The inspector thought it better not to say anything, so he simply turned and left the class. But he was furious, and went straight to the headmaster’s office to narrate the incident in full. He demanded to know what the headmaster intended to do about it.

The headmaster urged the inspector not to pursue the matter any further. He explained that it was a precarious thing these days to say anything to the students. ”No matter who might have broken it,” he said, ”let the matter drop. There has only been peace in the school for the last two months. Before that, the students broke and burned much furniture. It is better to keep still. Saying anything to them these days will only invite grave trouble. There could be a strike, a dharna, a fast unto death at any time!”

The inspector was flabbergasted; he was completely stunned. He went to the chairman of the school committee and told him all about what had happened – that the Ramayana was being taught in a class, that a boy had said he hadn’t broken Shankara’s bow, that the teacher had said that the boy must be the culprit, that the headmaster had begged that the matter be dropped no matter who was responsible, saying that it was unwise to pursue this, that there was constant fear of a strike, etcetera, etcetera. The inspector asked the chairman for his view.

The chairman said he felt the headmaster had been wise in his policy. ”Furthermore,” he added, ”don’t bother about the culprit. No matter who broke the bow, the committee will get it repaired. It is better to get it repaired than to dig into the cause.”

The inspector, who had been totally disgusted by the situation, related his experience to me. I told him there was nothing basically new in his tale. It is a common human weakness to boast of things about which we know nothing at all.

Nobody remembered the part in Ramayana about the breaking of Shankara’s bow. Wouldn’t it have been better for them to have asked, ”Which Shankara?” But nobody was prepared to acknowledge his own ignorance. No man is that bold. This has been the biggest pitfall in the history of mankind. This weakness has proved suicidal. We act as if we know everything and confuse our lives as a result. All our answers to all our problems are like those given by the boy, by the teacher, by the headmaster and by the chairman. Attempting to answer without understanding the question makes a man a fool. This is sheer self-deception.

In addition to this, there is the attitude of indifference. The indifferent man would ask, ”Now, really, is all hell going to break loose if we don’t know who broke Shankara’s bow?”

In contrast to the problems of this silly tale, there are more profound enigmas in life, and on their proper solution depends whether life can be decent or not, whether life can be harmonious or not, whether our present direction is the right one for progress or not, and so on. We think we know the answers, but the consequences show how inaccurate our perception of life really is. The life of each one of us shows that we do not know anything about life at all. Otherwise, how come there is so much despair, so much misery, so much anxiety?

A king used to go every night into the city for a round to see how things are going – of course, in disguise. He was very much puzzled about one man, a young, very beautiful man, who was always standing under a tree by the side of the street, the same tree every night.

Finally, the curiosity took over, and the king stopped his horse and asked the man, “Why don’t you go to sleep?”

And the man said, “People go to sleep because they have nothing to guard, and I have such treasures that I cannot go to sleep, I have to guard them.”

The king said, “Strange, I don’t see any treasures here.”

The man said, “Those treasures are inside me, you cannot see them.”

It became a routine thing for the king to stop every day, because the man was beautiful, and whatever he said made the king think over it for hours. The king became so much attached and interested in the man that he started feeling that he was really a saint, because awareness and love and peace and silence and meditation and enlightenment, these are his treasures which he is guarding; he cannot sleep, he cannot afford sleep. Only beggars can afford….

The story had started just by curiosity, but slowly, slowly the king started respecting and honoring the man, almost as a spiritual guide. One day he said to him, “I know you will not come with me to the palace, but I think of you, day in, day out. You come to my mind so many times, I would love it if you can become a guest in my palace.”

The king was thinking that he will not agree – he had the old idea that saints renounce the world – but the young man said, “If you are missing me so much, why you did not say it before? So bring another horse, and I am coming with you.”

The king became suspicious, “What kind of saint is he? – so easily ready. But now it was too late, he had invited him. He gave him his best room in the palace which was preserved only for rare guests, other emperors. And he was thinking the man would refuse, that he would say, “I am a saint, I cannot live in this luxury.” But he did not say anything like this. He said, “Very good.”

The king could not sleep the whole night, and he thought, “It seems this fellow has deceived me; he is not a saint or anything.”  Two, three times he went to look from the window – the saint was asleep. And he had never been asleep, he was always standing under the tree. Now he was not guarding.

The king thought, “I have been conned. This is a real con man.”

The second day he ate with the king – all delicious foods, no austerity – and he enjoyed the food.

The king offered him new clothes, worthy of an emperor, and he loved those clothes. And the king thought, “Now, how to get rid of this fellow?” Just in seven days he was tired, thinking, “This is a complete charlatan, he has cheated me.”

On the seventh day he said to this strange fellow, “I want to ask a question.” And the stranger said, “I know your question. You wanted to ask it seven days before, but just out of courtesy, manners, you kept it repressed – I was watching. But I will not answer you here. You can ask the question, and then we will go for a long morning ride on the horses, and I will choose the right place to answer it.”

The king said, “Okay. My question is, now what is the difference between me and you? You are living like an emperor, but you used to be a saint. Now you are no longer a saint.”

The man said, “Get the horses ready!” They went out, and the king many times reminded him, “How far are we going? You can answer.”

Finally they reached to the river which was the boundary line of his empire. The king said, “Now we have come to my boundary. The other side is somebody else’s kingdom. This is a good place to answer.” He said, “Yes, I am going. You can take both the horses, or if you like, you can come with me.”

The king said, “Where are you going?” He said, “My treasure is with me. Wherever I go, my treasure will be with me. Are you coming with me or not?”

The king said, “How can I come with you? My kingdom, my palace, my whole life’s work is behind me.”

The stranger laughed and he said, “Now, do you see the difference? I can stand naked under a tree, or I can live in a palace like an emperor because my treasure is within me. Whether the tree is there or the palace is there makes no difference. So you can go back; I am going into the other kingdom. Now your kingdom is not worth remaining in.”

The king felt repentance. He touched the feet of the stranger and said, “Forgive me. I was thinking wrong thoughts about you. You are really a great saint. Just don’t go, and leave me like this; otherwise this wound will hurt me my whole life.”

The stranger said, “There is no difficulty for me; I can come back with you. But I want you to be alert.

The moment we reach the palace, the question will again arise in your mind. So it is better – let me go. I can give you some time to think. I can come back.

“To me it makes no difference. But to you it is better that I should leave the kingdom; it is better. In this way at least you will think of me as a saint. Back in the palace you will again start doubting, ‘This is a con man.’ But if you insist, I am ready. I can leave again after seven days when the question becomes too heavy on you.”

I have heard that there was once an ancient and majestic tree, with branches spreading out towards the sky. When it was in a flowering mood, butterflies of all shapes, colors and sizes danced around it. When it grew blossoms and bore fruit, birds from far lands came and sang in it. The branches, like outstretched hands, blessed all who came and sat in their shade. A small boy used to come and play under it, and the big tree developed an affection for the small boy.

Love between big and small is possible, if the big is not aware that it is big. The tree did not know it was big; only man has that kind of knowledge. The big always has the ego as its prime concern, but for love, nobody is big or small. Love embraces whomsoever comes near.

So the tree developed a love for this small boy who used to come to play near it. Its branches were high, but it bent and bowed them down so that he might pluck its flowers and pick its fruit. Love is ever ready to bow; the ego is never ready to bend. If you approach the ego, its branches will stretch upwards even more; it will stiffen so you cannot reach it.

The playful child came, and the tree bowed its branches. The tree was very pleased when the child plucked some flowers; its entire being was filled with the joy of love. Love is always happy when it can give something; the ego is always happy when it can take. The boy grew. Sometimes he slept on the tree’s lap, sometimes he ate its fruit, and sometimes he wore a crown of the tree’s flowers and acted like a jungle king. One becomes like a king when the flowers of love are there, but one becomes poor and miserable when the thorns of the ego are present. To see the boy wearing a crown of flowers and dancing about filled the tree with joy. It nodded in love; it sang in the breeze. The boy grew even more. He began to climb the tree to swing on its branches. The tree felt very happy when the boy rested on its branches. Love is happy when it gives comfort to someone; the ego is only happy when it gives discomfort.

With the passage of time the burden of other duties came to the boy. Ambition grew; he had exams to pass; he had friends to chat with and to wander about with, so he did not come often. But the tree waited anxiously for him to come. It called from its soul, ”Come. Come. I am waiting for you.” Love waits day and night. And the tree waited. The tree felt sad when the boy did not come. Love is sad when it cannot share; love is sad when it cannot give. Love is grateful when it can share. When it can surrender, totally, love is the happiest.

As he grew, the boy came less and less to the tree. The man who becomes big, whose ambitions grow, finds less and less time for love. The boy was now engrossed in worldly affairs.

One day, while he was passing by, the tree said to him, ”I wait for you but you do not come. I expect you daily.”

The boy said, ”What do you have? Why should I come to you? Have you any money? I am looking for money.” The ego is always motivated. Only if there is some purpose to be served will the ego come. But love is motiveless. Love is its own reward.

The startled tree said, ”You will come only if I give something?” That which withholds is not love. The ego amasses, but love gives unconditionally. ”We don’t have that sickness, and we are joyful,” the tree said. ”Flowers bloom on us. Many fruits grow on us. We give soothing shade. We dance in the breeze, and sing songs. Innocent birds hop on our branches and chirp even though we don’t have any money. The day we get involved with money, we will have to go to the temples like you weak men do, to learn how to obtain peace, to learn how to find love. No, we do not have any need for money.”

The boy said, ”Then why should I come to you? I will go where there is money. I need money.” The ego asks for money because it needs power.

The tree thought for a while and said, ”Don’t go anywhere else, my dear. Pick my fruit and sell it. You will get money that way.”

The boy brightened immediately. He climbed up and picked all the tree’s fruit; even the unripe ones were shaken down. The tree felt happy, even though some twigs and branches were broken, even though some of its leaves had fallen to the ground. Getting broken also makes love happy, but even after getting, the ego is not happy. The ego always desires more. The tree didn’t notice that the boy hadn’t even once looked back to thank him. It had had its thanks when the boy accepted the offer to pick and sell its fruit.

The boy did not come back for a long time. Now he had money and he was busy making more money from that money. He had forgotten all about the tree. Years passed. The tree was sad. It yearned for the boy’s return – like a mother whose breasts are filled with milk but whose son is lost. Her whole being craves for her son; she searches madly for her son so he can come to lighten her. Such was the inner cry of that tree. Its entire being was in agony.

After many years, now an adult, the boy came to the tree.

The tree said, ”Come, my boy. Come embrace me.”

The man said, ”Stop that sentimentality. That was a childhood thing. I am not a child any more.” The ego sees love as madness, as a childish fantasy.

But the tree invited him: ”Come, swing on my branches. Come dance. Come play with me.”

The man said, ”Stop all this useless talk! I need to build a house. Can you give me a house?”

The tree exclaimed: ”A house! I am without a house.” Only men live in houses. Nobody else lives in a house but man. And do you notice his condition after his confinement among four walls? The bigger his buildings, the smaller man becomes. ”We do not stay in houses, but you can cut and take away my branches – and then you may be able to build a house.”

Without wasting any time, the man brought an axe and severed all the branches of the tree. Now the tree was just a bare trunk. But love cares not for such things – even if its limbs are severed for the loved one. Love is giving; love is ever ready to give.

The man didn’t even bother to thank the tree. He built his house. And the days flew into years. The trunk waited and waited. It wanted to call for him, but it had neither branches nor leaves to give it strength. The wind blew by, but it couldn’t even manage to give the wind a message. And still its soul resounded with one prayer only: ”Come. Come, my dear. Come.” But nothing happened.

Time passed and the man had now become old. Once he was passing by and he came and stood by the tree.

The tree asked, ”What else can I do for you? You have come after a very, very long time.”

The old man said, ”What else can you do for me? I want to go to distant lands to earn more money. I need a boat, to travel.”

Cheerfully, the tree said, ”But that’s no problem, my love. Cut my trunk, and make a boat from it. I would be so very happy if I could help you go to faraway lands to earn money. But, please remember, I will always be awaiting your return.”

The man brought a saw, cut down the trunk, made a boat and sailed away.

Now the tree is a small stump. And it waits for its loved one to return. It waits and it waits and it waits. The man will never return; the ego only goes where there is something to gain and now the tree has nothing, absolutely nothing to offer. The ego does not go where there is nothing to gain. The ego is an eternal beggar, in a continuous state of demand, and love is charity. Love is a king, an emperor! Is there any greater king than love?

I was resting near that stump one night. It whispered to me, ”That friend of mine has not come back yet. I am very worried in case he might have drowned, or in case he might be lost. He may be lost in one of those faraway countries. He might not even be alive any more. How I wish for news of him! As I near the end of my life, I would be satisfied with some news of him at least. Then I could die happily. But he would not come even if I could call him. I have nothing left to give and he only understands the language of taking.”

The ego only understands the language of taking; the language of giving is love.

I cannot say anything more than that. Moreover, there is nothing more to be said than this: if life can become like that tree, spreading its branches far and wide so that one and all can take shelter in its shade, then we will understand what love is. There are no scriptures, no charts, no dictionaries for love. There is no set of principles for love.

I AM A MAN who belongs to another world than this, one that may seem very strange. For I claim that I am moved by love, that I feel it all the time. I do not deal in opinions, but only in thought, in which there can be give and take. Thought is not walled in or tied down, it can be shared with people of goodwill; we can take their ideas and offer them ours, and in this way thought grows and spreads. This has always been my experience and therefore I do not accept any kind of label for myself. It is open to anyone whatever to explain his ideas to me and convince me, and anyone is free to make my ideas his own in the same way.

There is nothing so powerful as love and thought–no institution, no government, no ism, no scripture, and no weapon. I hold that these – love and thought, are the only sources of power. You should nor expect me therefore to have any fixed opinions, only ideas. I am a man who changes every moment. Anyone can make me his slave by putting his ideas vigorously before me and convincing me that they are right. But no one, however hard he tries, can get me to accept his authority without first convincing me of the soundness of his thought.

I am just one individual; I wear no label, I am not a member of any institution, I have nothing to do with political parties. I do however keep in affectionate contact with the organizations for constructive work. I was born a Brahmin, but I cut myself off from my caste when I cut off my shikha.’ Some people call me a Hindu, but I have made such a repeated study of the Koran and the Bible that my Hinduism has been washed off. People like what I say because my work is rooted in compassion, love and thought. I have ideas, but no permanently settled views. In fact I am so unreliable that I do not hesitate to express one view today and another tomorrow. I am not the same today as I was yesterday. I think differently every moment and go on changing all the time.

All are my kinsfolk and I theirs. It is not in my heart to love some more and others less. In the Life of the Prophet Muhammad it is related how once, speaking about Abu Bakr, he said: ‘I could love him more than anyone, if it were not forbidden to love one more than another.’ That is to say, God forbids us to love one more than another. The same is true for me. I cannot make any differences between individuals.

I once saw a portrait of Louis Pasteur, and below it these words: ‘I do not want to know your religion or your views, but only what your troubles are. I want to help you to get rid of them.’ Those who do that are discharging their duty as human beings, and that is what I am trying to do.

I don’t take any step without going deeply into the matter and getting at the root of it. I have spent thirty years of my life in solitary thought, while at the same time giving what service I could. I wished to make my life one of service, but it has been one of reflection-reflection about the changes which must come in society, and how the roots of those changes must be purified. I am quite clear now about my basic thought, and I am not afraid of any problem. No matter what it is, no matter how big, it seems small to me, for I am bigger than the problem. However big it may be it is after all a human problem, and it can be solved by human intelligence.

During the course of my work, both in Ashrams and outside them, I have aimed at finding out how difficulties of every kind in the life of a society, and in the life of the individual, may he overcome by non-violence. That is my chief task; that is why I went to Telangana, If I had avoided that work I should have broken my pledge to strive for non-violence and Shanti Sena.

The things that happened in this country immediately after we got independence had dimmed the hope of non-violence. Forces of violence showed themselves in India in great strength. After Gandhiji passed away I was therefore trying to discover how a non-violent social order might be built.

By nature I am inclined to use the methods of Lord Mahavira, but what I actually did was more on the lines of Lord Buddha. The two are not opposed. It was not Mahavira’s way to take up a practical problem or propagate an idea. Wherever he went he would talk to individuals, understand the outlook of whoever was before him, and show each one how to find satisfaction in Life. If someone believed in a particular scripture he would use that as the basis of his teaching; if another had no faith in any book, he would make suggestions without reference to a book. In this way he shared his thought from a middle ground. The Lord Buddha on the other hand took up social problems and actively spread the idea of non-violence.

Another question is whether one should have recourse to outward forms in order to propagate an idea. There is always a danger that the outward forms may usurp the foremost place, and that the inward spiritual thing, the idea for whose sake the forms are used, may be overshadowed and become secondary. On the other hand, without such outward embodiment thought is not focused. Goodwill spreads invisibly, but ideas need to take concrete shape, otherwise ordinary people are not attracted. So there is a risk both in using the outward framework and in not using it; there is also good to be had in both ways.

I certainly used the problem of land as my framework, but my basic aim is to teach and commend the idea ~of unity and com- passion. In choosing this framework I used my intelligence, but my thinking always went beyond the framework, and I longed many times to keep to my own real nature. Still, I did not give up the outward form, so I have been working on a synthesis of the way of Lord Mahavira and that of Lord Buddha.

In whatever has seemed to me to be worth doing in life, I have received the greatest help (apart from the scriptures) from three people–Shankara, Jnanadeva and Gandhi. As for Gandhiji, I not only studied his ideas and writings, I lived in his company, and spent my whole time, in my youth, in the various forms of service which he started. His presence, his ideas, and the opportunity to put them into practice–I had the benefit of all three. In other words I lived under the wing of a great man, and he gave me a very great gift for which I am grateful. So did the first Shankaracharya. He helped me chiefly in overcoming the philosophical doubts which naturally arise in any reasoning mind, and I shall always remain in his debt in the world of thought. As for the gift I have received from Saint Jnanadeva, I have no words to describe it. He has shaped my thought, entered my heart, guided my action; besides all this, as I believe, he has touched my body also. His influence has been great and many-sided. I am by nature wry harsh, a lump of rough shapeless rock. Shankaracharya made the rock strong, Gandhiji chiselled it and gave it a form, but the mighty task of piercing the rock and releasing the springs of water below, and so endowing my life and heart with sweetness–that was the work of Saint Jnanadeva.

When I think of myself, of who I am, and of the good fortune that has come my way, I recall a lot of favourable outward circumstances. I certainly had very special parents, as people recognize. My brothers too have a quality of their own. I have had a guide on my way who by universal acclaim is a Mahatma. I have had dear friends, and all of them without exception have won the affection of the people. I have had students of whom I myself have become enamoured. What a great heap of good fortune. In addition, because I know a number of languages, I have had and still have opportunity to taste the nectar of thought of many saints and men of religion. That too, so one may reflect, is a piece of great good fortune. Yet all this pales into insignificance beside the greatest good fortune of all, which is mine and yours and everyone’s-that we are all members, portions, limbs of God, waves in that Ocean. Our greatest good fortune is that we abide within God; once we feel that, we are free.

—

Vinoba Bhave (Ahimsa Ki Talaash)