Chapter 5: No Meaning and No Goal
Truth - the very word looks dead, a logical conclusion. Beauty is not a conclusion, it is a sudden revelation. When you see a rose it is not that you go through a logical solipsism, “This is a rose, and roses are beautiful, so this must be beautiful.” The moment you see it, the head stops spinning thoughts. On the contrary, your heart starts beating faster. It is something totally different from the idea of truth.
Truth is argumentative. Whenever somebody proves a truth, all that he proves is that he is more logically proficient than his opponent. So, in the whole history of philosophy, every philosopher has been contradicted: five thousand years of philosophy, and not a single truth on which all the philosophers agree.
Beauty is a totally different phenomenon. It is not a question of proving it. If you see a woman as beautiful, nobody is going to ask why. The question why is irrelevant about beauty. You need not prove it, nor can you. In fact, if the other person is idiotic enough and continues to say, “You have to prove why this woman is beautiful,” you will be at a loss. You cannot prove it, because it is something of the heart, and proofs are something of the head.
What I am saying in that statement is that the experience of religion is just like the experience of beauty, love. It is of the heart. It is not a theology, it is not a philosophy; it is more like a poetry, a painting, a sculpture.
It happened that Picasso was painting on a beach, and a man was watching him for almost two hours. He looked at the painting from every angle, and finally he could not contain his curiosity. He approached Picasso and said, “Forgive me. I don’t want to intrude into your work. For two hours I have been watching, but I cannot figure out the meaning of this painting.”
Picasso looked at the man and said, “Have you ever asked the meaning of all the stars in the sky? Have you stopped in a garden, and asked the meaning of all the flowers? What is the meaning of the songs of the birds? And if nobody is answerable for the beautiful sky, and the gardens, and the birds, why should you torture a poor painter? I don’t know the meaning. I know that what I am doing is tremendously satisfying to me.”
But you don’t know the meaning, the goal, of what.
There is no meaning, and no goal. A life is in itself sufficient. A goal is needed only when something is not intrinsically valuable. The train has a goal, the machine has a goal; without the goal the machine is useless.
But love has no goal, it is enough unto itself. And if anybody’s love has a goal, remember, there is no love in it. Perhaps the man loves the woman because she is rich and old, and going to die soon. If there is a motive, any end, it destroys the very phenomenon of love. Love has to be unmotivated, without any goal and without any meaning. When you hug a friend, have you ever asked, “What is the meaning of hugging?” You will not find a meaning - and if you can find a meaning, then it is not hugging, it is just unnecessarily pressing each other’s bones!