You must have heard the ancient Indian parable that five blind men went to see an elephant. They touched the elephant from all sides. Somebody touched his legs and thought that the elephant is like a pillar, obviously, and so on, so forth; and they all started quarreling. Everybody was proposing a philosophy about the elephant and nobody had seen the elephant. They were all blind, but a part of the elephant had been touched by each. But the part is not the whole, and if you start calling the part the whole you are falling into one of the greatest lies possible. It is the greatest lie because it contains a little portion of truth in it. It is a half-truth, a partial truth, and a partial truth is more dangerous than a total lie because it can deceive people. You can be deceived through it, and you can deceive others, because it contains a little ingredient of truth.
They all started fighting and quarreling. That’s what philosophers have been doing; this is the story about philosophers.
And each philosopher has touched a part – because the totality is not conceivable through the intellect. The totality is conceivable only when you dissolve your ego, your intellect, your heart, everything into it – when you disappear into the ocean like a dewdrop falling into the ocean. Then you know the whole of it, then you see, then you experience. Otherwise everybody comes to touch a small portion of this infinite universe, and then he starts claiming, “This is the truth.” That’s how systems of philosophy arise.
This man must have been a philosopher. He was trying out, figuring out what this reality is, who has created it, why he has created it, what is the purpose of existence, what is the goal, what is the source. And those are all puzzles, and insoluble puzzles; they cannot be solved. Only stupid people become interested in them, but these stupid people think they are religious.
Seeing this man’s utter stupidity, the master had given him another puzzle, because that’s what he was interested in.
I will not give you IHMN unless I see that a donkey has arrived. Donkeys keep far away from me – they know that they will be exposed here. They never come close to me. It needs courage to come close to me because the closer you come, the more you will be exposed; the closer you come, the more naked you will be standing under the sun; the closer you come, the more your image about yourself will be shattered into pieces; the closer you come, the more you will see that whatsoever you have been doing up to now has been utterly absurd.
It needs guts to come close to me. It always needs guts to come close to a master.
The man had come just out of curiosity: maybe he can get another puzzle. His interest was not truth, his interest was puzzles. He wanted some puzzle so he could take a challenge and start working out the way to solve it. He was not interested in truth.
Truth is not a puzzle at all. Let me repeat it: truth is not a puzzle. Truth is not a problem, not at all. Truth is very simple, utterly simple. And truth is not a problem, but a mystery – just as love is a mystery, not a problem. You cannot solve it through logic, mathematics. You can move into love, you can be madly in love, you can have the taste of it, it can transform you, but it is not a problem to be solved but a mystery to be lived.