The SECRET About Life, Art, and Beauty That Changes Everything
Questioner: Hello, Achara Ji. Uh, good evening. Are you able to hear me?
Acharya Prashant: Yes.
Questioner: Acharya Ji, I wrote down my question on a notepad so that I'm not going here and there. Uh, what I understood in general from all your videos and all your discourses so far is that, um, the purpose of life is simply liberation. There's nothing else to it—just get liberated and just be free. So, if that is the, um... if that is the end goal or end attempt, then what about all the human progress that we have made so far in terms of art, music, poetry, the Egyptian pyramids, the Taj Mahal, etc.?
Are these simply non-essential byproducts of human attempts to liberate himself and nothing else but just Maya? So, we would have been the same even without these? It would have made no difference in our attempt to liberate ourselves?
Acharya Prashant: To the extent these products of human endeavor and consciousness aid in your liberation, they are useful, valuable; otherwise, they don't mean anything. You see, we look at things from our own center, our own anthropomorphic center. So, you look at a particular geometry, a particular structure, and you say, "Wow!" because there is something in that structure that corresponds with your internal chemistry. You start saying, "Wow" to a lot of things, but that "Wow" must actually be reserved only for those poems, palaces, or whatever that aid in your understanding. Otherwise, there is nothing in it.
Have you seen an ant hill? Have you seen an ant hill? Now, an ant hill—for an ant—is Taj Mahal. And what is your Taj Mahal for an ant? Nothing. A heap of white rubbish. Think of what pigeons and crows do to the Eiffel Tower, for example. But we look at it, as I said, from the human ego point of view—an anthropomorphic view. We say, "Wow!" We don't appreciate an ant hill. Now, tell me, why don't you appreciate an ant hill? An ant would appreciate an ant hill; we don't appreciate it.
So, most of that which we appreciate is nothing but an expression, an extension of our own limited center, nothing else. The Taj Mahal, for example, was made in the memory of a beautiful woman. She was fair in color, so the structure has to be white. She was curvaceous, so the structure has to have great curves. So, you appreciate it because that's a form of the human female. The ant won't appreciate it because that's not the way an ant looks.
Am I saying all structures and everything made or composed by man are useless, futile? Not really! Look at the Bhagavad Gita. Look at several other pieces of art—music, literature, poetry, architecture. If you look at them and they take you to a point beyond yourself, then you must accord them respect. But if they just represent your own fancies, your own biases, your own likes and dislikes, then there is actually nothing great about them. They are just ant hills. They are just ant hills.
Look at the trail left behind by a snake on the sand. There are desert snakes, right? When they move, they leave behind a trail—a serpentine trail. Why not call that a work of art? In a snake's world, that would be a work of art. And in fact, there are such works of art that we do appreciate. The bowerbird, for example. We keep saying, "Wow! Look at the nest it makes—such an intricate example of good architecture!" But we appreciate it because, to some extent, it vibes with our human consciousness.
So, our definitions of beauty and greatness are all egoistic. Something is beautiful if it corresponds with our likes and with our taste—then we call it beautiful. Whereas the real definition of beauty is that which silences you, that which does not leave you even in a position to utter a "Wow!" That's beauty. That which takes you beyond yourself—that's beauty.
Questioner: And then, Achara Ji, my follow-up question would be that... then these crutches are not needed at all? Like, for example, if I have a newborn in my family—which I have, I have a niece—and she's trying to learn the piano, she's trying to go to art class, she's trying to learn Taekwondo, whatever... like whatever her parents fancy that she should be doing.
Acharya Prashant: Yes.
Questioner: So, will she not be any worse off?
Acharya Prashant: Wonderful, lovely question. I asked the same question once, looking at a kid going to a dance class. I said, "All that you are teaching her is repetition of a particular physical pattern. Maybe along with that, she will learn some discipline, coordination, and teamwork—that's fine. But mostly, what you're calling a dance is just repetition of a pattern. What will she gain by imitating that? Nothing. Nothing."
Most of what we call performing art or even music is just coordinated and disciplined interpretation of patterns. And then you have to continuously rehearse, rehearse, and practice, practice, so that you become adept at repeating those patterns flawlessly. There's nothing in it. Nothing in it.
Questioner: So, in that case, Achara Ji, if I were to just sit her down and say that all these things are useless, if she just understands at the age of five that—
Acharya Prashant: No, no, no! Not, not, not, not that everything is useless! No, no, no, no, no! Not that all these..., we said, there are indeed. Things in art and in culture—we said literature, — that are indeed useful. So, that distinction has to be made. That which you are sending your girl to—will it raise her consciousness? Or will it make her more tight-bound, more straight-jacketed, more liable to follow patterns like a machine and somehow, to the unconscious human eye, repetition of patterns looks beautiful. Can you tell why?
Because that's what life is all about. That's what human life is—mostly unconscious, right? We are unconscious, and we just keep repeating patterns. So, when in dance, etc., you find patterns being repeated flawlessly, it looks beautiful. It is not beautiful; it is actually ugly.
And now tell me, why does a group dance look even more beautiful? Because there, you find an entire crowd repeating the same pattern, and that's what is actually happening in life. Otherwise, it's extremely stupid—20 men, 20 women, repeating the same steps endlessly and doing this for 500 years. Think of it. What's there in it? But we find it beautiful. Our very definition of beauty is botched up.
And the more rule-bound and hierarchical a society is, the more you find power distances and herd mentality, the more you will find this affinity towards group performances. For Indian movies, for example, you have the hero and the lady; they are dancing, and they are at the focus of the camera. Behind them, there are 50 other unfortunate pairs. Nobody is even looking at them, but they are present because that's how our society is. And that's why it looks beautiful—because that's what we are endlessly doing anyway.
Those 50 pairs are not even being noticed. They're not even being paid, but they form the background, and we like it. Ever thought why? That's the entire field of self-knowledge—asking why am I liking this dance sequence? What's behind my like? Where is my like coming from? Why don't we have so many of these sequences in the West, for example? You have group performances and choirs there as well, but not as abundantly as you have here in India.
Here, everything is a group thing because you're supposed to follow. Everybody is supposed to follow rules, and when everybody is shown as following rules, that aggregation may look like a dance. He's also moving this way. She's also moving this way. Then he's also moving this way. She's also moving this way. Is this dance?
Same with music. Robots can dance perfectly because all of our dance is totally programmable. They can also sing flawlessly—better than any human being ever—because it is just a movement of the human vocal cords. It can be very well replicated, and all human body parts have certain flaws. They can be improved upon and perfected in a machine. Soon, you will have machines singing like no man or woman ever has—even classical.
Have you seen how we like geometries that proceed vertically? Why? Because we are one of the few species, excluding trees, etc., that grow vertically. Yeah, erectus bipeds. So we like stuff that attains height because compared to others in our family—we have attained height. By family, I mean the entire biological family.
Be cautious when something appears beautiful to you, ask: what exactly is beautiful in it? What is meant by beauty? And these are very essential questions. You see, this is beautiful. You know, everybody is right in his or her own place. We keep uttering these things without asking—if these are the fundamentals my life rests on, have I inquired into them?
Love, love, love—you know, such an important part of everybody's life. Love. What is love? And if you don't know what love is, and yet it is an important part of your life, what the hell are you living for?
Familiarity comes disguised as certainty. Just because you're familiar with something, you feel certain that you understand it. No, you don't understand anything. You don't understand anything at all. You have just become accustomed, familiar.
Tell me, what is love? And love is such a huge thing in everybody's life. Define life itself first of all. "I am alive." What's life? We don't know what life is, yet we keep claiming we are alive. Where's that claim coming from then?
Money, career, responsibility—a huge word, especially in India. Respons... what? Responsibility? What's this word? Explain. God. God. What's God? But just because you find this little word being used endlessly, you feel as if you know, and everybody else knows. Nobody knows! And not because God is unknowable, but because we are foolish. You have never even tried to ask—if there is a word, there ought to be any definition. And if there is a word sans a definition, then it's an absurdity.
Birth, birth, birth. You don't know what birth is, and yet you celebrate. Death! You don't know what death is, and yet you resist and mourn it. What is birth? Define birth. Today, it took me like 40–45 minutes just to convey a very sketchy understanding of birth. And that kind of useless job is mine. But 45 minutes, what was being done? What is birth, let's come to a definition. And even that is a transgression. What is "is"? What do you mean by "is"? Forget about what is birth. What is "is"? Explain "isness." How do we say something "is," and something else "is not"? We never go into these things, right? That's why you go to the dance classes.
And that's where sports are different compared to these various so-called art forms. You have boundaries. You have rules. But within those rules, at least you can do things that are unpredictable. And a great art form will always allow you that unpredictability—like a painter's canvas. There is obviously a boundary, but there is freedom within that boundary. At least limited freedom must be there. Else, why are we even calling it as art? A true dance form, too, will give freedom to the dancer, not just regulation and discipline.
