Destructiveness
Poetry is always born when the poet is just instrumental. Painting is born when the painter is not painting his ideas, but is possessed by God. Remember it: I would like my sannyasins to be creative, because I don't know of any other way to come close to God.
These uncreative religions and uncreative religious people have done nothing but harm -- quarrelling, argumentative, killing each other. And with the problem about the transcendental, one thing is very complex: you cannot prove anything. The experience is transcendental. Christians cannot prove they are right. Hindus cannot prove they are right. No, no decision can be decisive, so they go on fighting and quarrelling. The whole energy that should become creative becomes destructive.
This also has to be noted down: If you don’t use your energy in a creative way, if it doesn’t become a dance and a laughter and a delight, then the same energy will become harmful and poisonous. It will be destructive.
It is said that Adolf Hitler wanted to become a painter, but he was refused admission. Just think: the whole world would have been totally different if he had been accepted in the academy. There would have been no Second World War. The whole humanity would have been totally different. But this man could not be creative. He wanted to be creative, he had the energy; certainly he had tremendous energy: he dragged the whole world towards destruction as no other man has ever been able to do. But it was the same energy; it could have become creative, but became uncreative.
I have heard....
The father lectured his son on the evils of fisticuffs as a way of settling disputes. “Don’t you know that when you grow up you can’t use your fists to settle an argument?” the father began. “You must begin to use peaceful and amicable means of arriving at a decision. Try to reason things out, try to discover by logic and evidence which is right and abide by the right. Remember that might does not make right. Though the strong may win over the weak, that still does not prove that the weak is wrong.”
“I know, Dad, ”said the boy, kicking at the grass.“But this was different.”
“Different? What different? How different? What were you and Johnny arguing about that you had to fight over it?”
“Well, he said he could whip me and I couldn’t whip him, and there was only one way to find out which of us was right.”
-Osho, "The Beloved, Vol 2, #9"