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    Siddhartha (Dual-Language)
    Siddhartha (Dual-Language)
    Siddhartha (Dual-Language)
    Ebook380 pages9 hours

    Siddhartha (Dual-Language)

    By Hermann Hesse

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    About this ebook

    Nobel prize-winning author Hermann Hesse imagined life in India during the lifetime of the Buddha to create this memorable tale about a restless seeker of enlightenment. First published in 1922, Siddhartha employs powerful symbolism to impart its timeless teachings.
    The story concerns a young Brahman who quits his comfortable home to join a roving group of holy men in striving to empty their hearts of passion and desire through self-denial and meditation. Discouraged by his failure to find Nirvana after three years of the strictest asceticism, the young seeker turns to the fleshly world, where he becomes a wealthy merchant and partakes of sensual pleasures with a sophisticated courtesan. Years of materialistic self-indulgence numb Siddhartha's soul, but at his moment of greatest despondency, he begins to experience his long-sought spiritual awakening. True enlightenment, he realizes, cannot be received from the lessons of others; it must be attained through individual struggle.
    This handy dual-language edition — with its excellent line-for-line English translation on pages facing the original German text — offers students an outstanding opportunity to hone their German-language skills while discovering a literary classic.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDover Publications
    Release dateSep 5, 2013
    ISBN9780486117690
    Siddhartha (Dual-Language)
    Author

    Hermann Hesse

    Hermann Hesse (1877-1962) was a German poet and novelist. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1962. He was the author of numerous works including Siddhartha, Steppenwolf, and Demian.

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    Reviews for Siddhartha (Dual-Language)

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    • 4/5
      Having only read one novel by Hesse before ("The Glass Bead Game,") this slim little volume wasn't what I expected when I requested "Siddhartha" from the library. Although this is a rather simple story, I found it to be a pretty enjoyable read.Siddhartha is a young Brahmin who goes through a number of phases in his lifetime, which contribute to his ultimate understanding of the universe. Hesse's simple style in this novel works well for the story, which was a fun read.
    • 4/5
      SiddharthaBy: Hermann HesseNarrated by: Christopher PreeceThis is an audible book I requested and the review is voluntary. This is the first time I actually understand this book. I have read this book before a few times but it is a difficult book to read. For me, it is hard to stay focused and follow what is going on at times. With this audible book, with this narrator, I finally got the flow of the book! That's a big plus. Once I understood the basics of what was going on, I understood more. Do I understand all? No, but I get it a lot more. The narrator was wonderful with a clear, soothing voice that was perfect!
    • 5/5
      Very good book. Gives everything apart from actual enlightenment.
    • 4/5
      This review is specifically for the audio version read by Geoffrey Giuliano. This is a pretty suitable book for audio. It is only about five hours long and the story is straightforward. The narrator does a good job, but whoever records the intro and outro sections sounds like a maniac. I almost stopped listening after a few seconds.As for the book, it is one I've had on my shelf for decades but never read. I read Hesse's Steppenwolf, when I was a teen or maybe in my early twenties; I remember liking it but don't remember anything else about it. I thought Siddhartha was about the Buddha, but in fact, it is about someone who meets the Buddha but, while appreciating his teachings, realizes that you cannot achieve nirvana through teachings. One line I particularly remember is that knowledge can be taught, but wisdom cannot. During the course of the story, Siddhartha tries out many lifestyles and can be said to succeed in all of them, but he is still finding. Which relates to another great quote, which is that those who seek cannot find, because they are too focused on what they are seeking. Meaning they miss out on all the other things around them. By the end of the book, Siddhartha seems to have found what he needs to find. Whether or not you as a reader can embrace his ultimate philosophy is up to you. The contradictory nature of the book is that Siddhartha would probably tell you not to--you have to find your own.
    • 5/5
      A well-to-do Brahman by birth, as a young man Siddhartha leaves home to pursue a spiritual satisfaction he hasn’t found in his father’s traditional teachings and practices. Throughout his life he follows his inner voice, learning from forest-dwelling ascetics, a brief stay with Gautama Buddha, friendships he forms with a courtesan and a wealthy businessman, and, finally, from an old ferryman, with whom he lives his own elder years. Slowly Siddhartha finds his own path to holiness, which he reaches only when he finally leaves teachings behind and simply recognizes the unity of all existence. What a beautiful tale this is, and one I’ll be revisiting again and again.
    • 5/5
      A great, spiritual read. Tells the tale of Siddhartha, a young man with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, till he finally hears the answer from a river.
    • 5/5
      A classic covering a man's journey in his discovery of the purpose of life. Easy to read and a most agreeable conclusion.
    • 5/5
      An all-time classic. A moving fictionalized account of the Buddha's awakening. A quick yet moving and unforgettable tale.
    • 4/5
      A book everyone should read about a man's spiritual journey.
    • 4/5
      Read it when you're a teenager or if you're searching.
    • 4/5
      Beautiful story about one man's spiritual journey. I think everyone should have a copy.
    • 5/5
      Much has been written from a spiritual and literary view about this famous 1922 book by Nobel Prize winner Hermann Hesse. I will look at it from a historical context perspective. Hesse was born in 1877 into the generation immediately after the German victory of the Franco-Prussian War. Think of the generation in America born after WWII, or in England after the Napoleonic Wars. It was a generation full of bright futures and expectations, Germany would at long last fulfill its destiny on a global stage. As it turned out it was this same generation that lead Germany into the misery and defeat of WWI (1914-17) and the dream and future died in the slaughter of the trenches. So it was in the aftermath in 1922 Hesse the philosopher became popular with Germans with his introspection and inward looking examination of what life really meant, what is really important. The outer world had defeated Germany and it would find strength and solace by looking inward. Perhaps it is not surprising that another generation resonated with this same message of rejecting the outer world and embracing inner vision, the counter-culture of America in the 1960s, when Hesse's book first became widely read and known in English speaking countries.
    • 4/5
      Nonsensical ideologies and philosophies aside, I really enjoyed this book. From a literary perspective, the author (and translator) did a masterful job of sucking me into the life and mind of Siddhartha. I felt like I was on a roller coaster of emotions and story lines and the protagonist journeyed through a life of seeking.
    • 2/5
      Such a slog.
    • 4/5
      Fantastic book.
    • 4/5
      Prachtige parabel, zij het soms iets te pathetisch. Ook Bildungsroman: alle stadia en ervaringen van het menselijke leven komen aan bod. Centrale boodschap aan ons westerlingen: "Zoeken is niet vinden".
    • 3/5
      I wonder if this book felt like more of a revelation when most readers didn't know much about the Buddha. It was charming and engaging in places, but I found it a little slight.
    • 5/5
      The quintessential epiphany for anyone on a spiritual journey just might be found in this novella because the protagonist is the only journeyer smart enough to realize that since enlightenment comes from within, clinging to a teacher/guru/sponsor/mentor or to traditional religion (or converting to any new one of the above) will always be a stumbling block to true spiritual progress, because no one can ever hammer out his own answers to life’s seemingly impervious questions and thereby secure his own release from virtually interminable reincarnations by studying and following the answers of someone else. During part of his journey, Siddhartha scored extra points when he laughed in the face of the world of commerce because he intuitively knew that it was a ridiculous game. Yet he dabbled in this counterproductive and materialistic realm for a season because he needed to learn some lessons for having done so. Siddhartha is a valuable read because it’s a picture of the life of a man who took life’s lessons seriously. It also shows how everything can come together and make sense in the end if we work for it.
    • 5/5
      This is quite possibly the most beautiful book I have ever read. It touched me emotionally, philosophically, spiritually, etc. Hesse really knocked this one out of the park about a man in search of truth and self-identity.
    • 3/5
      This is quite low down on my TBR's but I wanted a quick read as I'm going on holiday soon and have a whole set of books to take with me but wanted to start them whilst I was away!I liked this book. It was very easy to get into, and I lost myself within it. I enjoyed the rather simple language, what it was about, the characters and the feel of the book in general.
    • 4/5
      The journey to enlightenment travelled by Siddhartha as demonstrated through living his life rather than learning about enlightenment.
    • 3/5
      Considered a classic, but very repetitive in English. Perhaps it is better in the original German. It touches on the paradoxes of life and is difficult to truly understand, which I guess is the point.
    • 2/5
      I seem to remember writing a book report for this in junior high or high school, but I don't recall that I ever actually read it. I wonder what the then me, being naive and impressionable, would have thought if I had read it. I know that I couldn't then, as now, read into a book and pull out what the author was thinking - or at least make up some nonsense about what I think the author was thinking. Regardless, the current me found this to be rather simple and preachy...with yet another, "oh, please" ending.
    • 4/5
      I liked this much more than I expected to. As a young man the Brahmin Siddhartha leaves his father to be a samana, a monk of sorts, searching for truth and enlightenment. He then begins to follow one man known as a Buddha. After much time with him, he decides he is ready for something else, knowing nothing of women or the ways of the world. He becomes a successful businessman and a lover--and years later realizes how much of his wisdom and skill has been lost (how to wait, how to fast...). He leaves his lover and business and becomes a ferryman, with the man who ferried him years before. There he gains happiness and wisdom, and knowledge of the cycle and sameness of all life and time.
    • 4/5
      A man starts his journey to find the meaning and the goal of the life really a great one from herman.
    • 5/5
      A spiritual journey, told with immense poetry. A guide to buddhism. Hesse is a marvelous writer.
    • 5/5
      This one goes on the pile of to be again and again books. What a marvelous book about finding the meaning of life. I immediately thought of at least two friends who need to have this in their libraries.
    • 3/5
      Siddhartha is a deliberately simply written novella that were it not written by an author of such stature as Hesse would probably have been dismissed as an example of empty Eastern mumbo jumbo and Orientalism.I found the book's prose quite delightful in its simplicity and its message is quite uplifting too. I don't think there's any particularly deep mystery or insight provided in this book but that doesn't mean it's not a good read. It's a sort of old fashioned fable / parable and if you start the book expecting something like that I doubt you'll be disappointed. It's only if you go into the book expecting to find the meaning of life or an intricately plotted epic that you'll come out at the end disappointed.
    • 4/5
      The most important prolegomena to reading this story of a soul searching is that it's not intended to be historical. When the protagonist, Siddhartha, meets Gotama Buddha at the start of the book, I was pretty damn confused. Once I got past that this was a great book.Siddhartha is a young man on a quest. His expected caste life as a priest offering sacrifices does not satisfy him. He leaves his family to become a wandering ascetic, making his life revolve around the skills of fasting, waiting, and thinking. He wanders through many walks of life, always needing to find his own truth rather than learn from another. Through all these different walks of life, he finds the Self, the Siddhartha behind the holy man, behind the businessman, behind the lover. The extended climax of this non-plot-oriented novel is Siddhartha's realization that he has found what he was searching for.This book, like the last one I read by Paulo Coelho, has very little plot or action, and is told more like a fable or even a parable. Its specific teaching is an indeterminate or vaguely hatched discovery of the character's own arrogance, the dead end of purely cognitive understanding, and the acceptance of his inability to grasp onto current realities and break outside th larger saga of human life. The overtones even feel more Hindu than Buddhist. But the journey of discovery is more important to this reader than the results. Recommended for people who like this sort of story, but also not as good as the other Hesse I read, [Narcissus and Goldmund].Quotes:"Siddhartha now also realized why he had struggled in vain with this Self when he was a Brahmin and an ascetic. Too much knowledge has hindered him; too many holy verses, too many sacrificial rites, too much mortificiation of the flesh, too much doing and striving." (77)"He felt that he had now completely learned the art of listening. He had often heard all this before, all these numerous voices in the river, but today they sounded different. He could no longer distinguish the different voices - the merry voice from the weeping voice, the childish voice from the manly voice. They all belonged to each other: the lament of those who yearn, the laughter of the wise, the cry of indignation and groan of the dying. They were all interwoven and interlocked, entwined in a thousand ways." (105)
    • 5/5
      My first experience with Hermann Hesse came in the fall of 2005 when I took Anthropology of Religion in my senior year at Texas A&M. We read an excerpt from The Glass Bead Game and I was deeply moved by the beauty of Hesse's writing, as were many people, thus earning him the Nobel Prize in 1946.I don't remember when or where I purchased Siddhartha, but the appeal of the story of a spiritual journey and my desire to read more of Hesse's works were too tempting to deny. That being said, I don't know why I've held onto the book for so long without reading it, especially since it is not a very long novel.Siddhartha is beautifully written and mirrors my own spiritual journey. I am of a different faith than the characters in the book, but that is irrelevant to my appreciation of the story. There is much wisdom in the story, and "Wisdom," Siddhartha says, "is not communicable." A wise statement, yes, which then makes it foolish.Wisdom is communicable, but not always through pedagogical language. It is communicated through the sound of a river, a life lived, or a story. This book is a book of wisdom and it must be read carefully and reflectively to be received.

    Book preview

    Siddhartha (Dual-Language) - Hermann Hesse

    ERSTER TEIL

    DER SOHN DES BRAHMANEN

    Im Schatten des Hauses, in der Sonne des Flußufers bei den Booten, im Schatten des Salwaldes, im Schatten des Feigenbaumes wuchs Siddhartha auf, der schöne Sohn des Brahmanen, der junge Falke, zusammen mit Govinda, seinem Freunde, dem Brahmanensohn. Sonne bräunte seine lichten Schultern am Flußufer, beim Bade, bei den heiligen Waschungen, bei den heiligen Opfern. Schatten floß in seine schwarzen Augen im Mangohain, bei den Knabenspielen, beim Gesang der Mutter, bei den heiligen Opfern, bei den Lehren seines Vaters, des Gelehrten, beim Gespräch der Weisen. Lange schon nahm Siddhartha am Gespräch der Weisen teil, übte sich mit Govinda im Redekampf, übte sich mit Govinda in der Kunst der Betrachtung, im Dienst der Versenkung. Schon verstand er, lautlos das Om zu sprechen, das Wort der Worte, es lautlos in sich hinein zu sprechen mit dem Einhauch, es lautlos aus sich heraus zu sprechen mit dem Aushauch, mit gesammelter Seele, die Stirn umgeben vom Glanz des klardenkenden Geistes. Schon verstand er, im Innern seines Wesens Atman zu wissen, unzerstörbar, eins mit dem Weltall.

    Freude sprang in seines Vaters Herzen über den Sohn, den Gelehrigen, den Wissensdurstigen, einen großen Weisen und Priester sah er in ihm heranwachsen, einen Fürsten unter den Brahmanen.

    Wonne sprang in seiner Mutter Brust, wenn sie ihn sah, wenn sie ihn schreiten, wenn sie ihn niedersitzen und aufstehen sah,

    PART ONE

    THE SON OF THE BRAHMAN

    In the shadow of the house, in the sunshine of the riverbank by the boats, in the shadow of the sal-tree forest,¹ in the shadow of the fig tree, Siddhartha² grew up, the handsome son of the Brahman,² the young falcon, together with Govinda his friend, the Brahmans son. Sunshine tanned his fair shoulders at the riverbank, when he bathed, during the holy ablutions, during the holy sacrifices. Shadow flowed into his dark eyes in the mango grove, during his boyish games, while his mother sang, during the holy sacrifices, when he was taught by his father, the learned man, when he conversed with the sages. For some time now, Siddhartha had taken part in the conversations of the sages, had practiced oratorical contests with Govinda, had practiced with Govinda the art of contemplation, the duty of total concentration. He already understood how to utter the om silently, that word of words, how to utter it silently into himself as he inhaled, how to utter it silently forth from himself as he exhaled, his psychic powers concentrated, his brow encircled with the glow of the clear-thinking mind. He already understood how to recognize Atman within his being, indestructible, at one with the universe.

    Joy leapt in his father’s heart at that son, so quick to learn, so eager for knowledge; he saw a great sage and priest developing in him, a prince among the Brahmans.

    Bliss leapt in his mother’s bosom whenever she saw him, when she saw him walking, sitting down, and standing up, Siddhartha the

    ¹ A timber tree (Shorea robusta) with wood nearly as hard as teak. Buddha was born while his mother clutched a sal tree.

    ² Siddhartha; Brahman: see the Glossary for all proper names and Indian terms. The English translation basically uses the linguistic versions chosen by Hesse; diacritical marks appear only in the Glossary (see explanations there).

    Siddhartha, den Starken, den Schönen, den auf schlanken Beinen Schreitenden, den mit vollkommenem Anstand sie Begrüßenden.

    Liebe rührte sich in den Herzen der jungen Brahmanentöchter, wenn Siddhartha durch die Gassen der Stadt ging, mit der leuchtenden Stirn, mit dem Königsauge, mit den schmalen Hüften.

    Mehr als sie alle aber liebte ihn Govinda, sein Freund, der Brahmanensohn. Er liebte Siddharthas Auge und holde Stimme, er liebte seinen Gang und den vollkommenen Anstand seiner Bewegungen, er liebte alles, was Siddhartha tat und sagte, und am meisten liebte er seinen Geist, seine hohen, feurigen Gedanken, seinen glühenden Willen, seine hohe Berufung. Govinda wußte: dieser wird kein gemeiner Brahmane werden, kein fauler Opferbeamter, kein habgieriger Händler mit Zaubersprüchen, kein eitler, leerer Redner, kein böser, hinterlistiger Priester, und auch kein gutes, dummes Schaf in der Herde der Vielen. Nein, und auch er, Govinda, wollte kein solcher werden, kein Brahmane, wie es zehntausend gibt. Er wollte Siddhartha folgen, dem Geliebten, dem Herrlichen. Und wenn Siddhartha einstmals ein Gott würde, wenn er einstmals eingehen würde zu den Strahlenden, dann wollte Govinda ihm folgen, als sein Freund, als sein Begleiter, als sein Diener, als sein Speerträger, sein Schatten.

    So liebten den Siddhartha alle. Allen schuf er Freude, allen war er zur Lust.

    Er aber, Siddhartha, schuf sich nicht Freude, er war sich nicht zur Lust. Wandelnd auf den rosigen Wegen des Feigengartens, sitzend im bläulichen Schatten des Hains der Betrachtung, waschend seine Glieder im täglichen Sühnebad, opfernd im tiefschattigen Mangowald, von vollkommenem Anstand der Gebärden, von allen geliebt, aller Freude, trug er doch keine Freude im Herzen. Träume kamen ihm und rastlose Gedanken aus dem Wasser des Flusses geflossen, aus den Sternen der Nacht gefunkelt, aus den Strahlen der Sonne geschmolzen, Träume kamen ihm und Ruhelosigkeit der Seele, aus den Opfern geraucht, aus den Versen der Rig-Veda gehaucht, aus den Lehren der alten Brahmanen geträufelt.

    Siddhartha hatte begonnen, Unzufriedenheit in sich zu nähren. Er hatte begonnen zu fühlen, daß die Liebe seines Vaters, und die Liebe seiner Mutter, und auch die Liebe seines Freundes, Govindas, nicht immer und für alle Zeiten ihn beglücken, ihn stillen, ihn sättigen, ihm genügen werde. Er hatte begonnen zu ahnen, daß sein

    strong, the handsome, walking on slender legs, greeting her with perfect propriety.

    Love stirred in the hearts of the young Brahman daughters whenever Siddhartha passed through the lanes of the town, with his gleaming brow, with his kingly eyes, with his narrow hips.

    But, more than by all of these, he was loved by Govinda his friend, the Brahman’s son. He loved Siddhartha’s eyes and pleasant voice, he loved his gait and the perfect propriety of his movements, he loved everything Siddhartha did and said; and, above all, he loved his intelligence, his lofty and fiery thoughts, his burning will, his high vocation. Govinda knew: this man will not become any ordinary Brahman, no lazy functionary at sacrifices, no avaricious merchant of magic charms, no vain, empty speechmaker, no malicious, crafty priest, but also no kindly, stupid sheep in the flock of the multitude. No, and he, too, Govinda, did not wish to become one of those, a Brahman like ten thousand others. He wanted to follow Siddhartha, the loved one, the splendid one. And if Siddhartha should ever become a god,³ if he should ever enter the company of the Radiant Ones, then Govinda wished to follow him, as his friend, as his companion, as his servant, as his spear bearer, his shadow.

    Thus did everyone love Siddhartha. He gave joy to all, he was a pleasure to all.

    But he, Siddhartha, did not give himself joy, he was no pleasure to himself. Strolling on the pinkish walks of the fig orchard, sitting in the bluish shade of the grove of contemplation, washing his limbs in the daily expiatory bath, sacrificing in the deep shade of the mango forest, with gestures of perfect propriety, loved by all, the joy of all, nevertheless he bore no joy in his heart. Dreams came to him, and uneasy thoughts, flowing to him from the water of the river, sparkling from the night stars, molten in the rays of the sun; dreams came to him, and restlessness of the soul, smoking to him out of the sacrifices, uttered from the verses of the Rig Veda, trickling from the teachings of the old Brahmans.

    Siddhartha had begun to nurture dissatisfaction within himself. He had begun to feel that his father’s love, and his mother’s love, and also the love of his friend Govinda, would not always and for all time make him happy, content him, sate him, suffice him. He had begun to foresee that his venerable father and his other teachers, that the Brahman

    ³ Presumably, in a future reincarnation, as a reward for his exemplary mortal life.

    ehrwürdiger Vater und seine anderen Lehrer, daß die weisen Brahmanen ihm von ihrer Weisheit das meiste und beste schon mitgeteilt, daß sie ihre Fülle schon in sein wartendes Gefäß gegossen hätten, und das Gefäß war nicht voll, der Geist war nicht begnügt, die Seele war nicht ruhig, das Herz nicht gestillt. Die Waschungen waren gut, aber sie waren Wasser, sie wuschen nicht Sünde ab, sie heilten nicht Geistesdurst, sie lösten nicht Herzensangst. Vortrefflich waren die Opfer und die Anrufung der Götter – aber war dies alles? Gaben die Opfer Glück? Und wie war das mit den Göttern? War es wirklich Prajapati, der die Welt erschaffen hat? War es nicht der Atman, Er, der Einzige, der All-Eine? Waren nicht die Götter Gestaltungen, erschaffen wie ich und du, der Zeit untertan, vergänglich? War es also gut, war es richtig, war es ein sinnvolles und höchstes Tun, den Göttern zu opfern? Wem anders war zu opfern, wem anders war Verehrung darzubringen als Ihm, dem Einzigen, dem Atman? Und wo war Atman zu finden, wo wohnte Er, wo schlug Sein ewiges Herz, wo anders als im eigenen Ich, im Innersten, im Unzerstörbaren, das ein jeder in sich trug? Aber wo, wo war dies Ich, dies Innerste, dies Letzte? Es war nicht Fleisch und Bein, es war nicht Denken noch Bewußtsein, so lehrten die Weisesten. Wo, wo also war es? Dorthin zu dringen, zum Ich, zu mir, zum Atman, – gab es einen andern Weg, den zu suchen sich lohnte? Ach, und niemand zeigte diesen Weg, niemand wußte ihn, nicht der Vater, nicht die Lehrer und Weisen, nicht die heihgen Opfergesänge! Alles wußten sie, die Brahmanen und ihre heiligen Bücher, alles wußten sie, um alles hatten sie sich gekümmert und um mehr als alles, die Erschaffung der Welt, das Entstehen der Rede, der Speise, des Einatmens, des Ausatmens, die Ordnungen der Sinne, die Taten der Götter – unendlich vieles wußten sie – aber war es wertvoll, dies alles zu wissen, wenn man das Eine und Einzige nicht wußte, das Wichtigste, das allein Wichtige?

    Gewiß, viele Verse der heiligen Bücher, zumal in den Upanishaden des Samaveda, sprachen von diesem Innersten und Letzten, herrliche Verse. »Deine Seele ist die ganze Welt«, stand da geschrieben, und geschrieben stand, daß der Mensch im Schlafe, im Tiefschlaf, zu seinem Innersten eingehe und im Atman wohne. Wunderbare Weisheit stand in diesen Versen, alles Wissen der Weisesten stand

    sages, had already imparted to him the greatest part and the best part of their wisdom, that they had already poured their abundance into his expectant vessel; and the vessel was not full, his mind was not satisfied, his soul was not at ease, his heart was not contented. The ablutions were good, but they were water, they did not wash away sin, they did not heal the mind’s thirst, they did not dispel the heart’s anguish. Excellent were the sacrifices and the invocation of the gods—but was that everything? Did the sacrifices offer happiness? And what was all that talk about the gods? Was it really Prajapati who had created the world? Was it not the Atman, He, the Only One, the All-One?⁴ Were not the gods beings that had been formed, created just as you and I, subject to time, mortal? And so, was it good, was it correct, was it a meaningful and supreme activity, to sacrifice to the gods? To whom else should one sacrifice, to whom else was reverence to be offered, but to Him, the Only One, the Atman? And where was Atman to be found, where did He dwell, where did His eternal heart beat, where else but in one’s own self, deep within oneself, in that indestructible something that each man bore inside him? But where, where was this self, this innermost thing, this ultimate thing? It was not flesh and bone, it was not thought or consciousness: thus the sages taught. Where, where then was it? To reach that far, to attain the ego, the self, the Atman—was there another path that was profitably to be sought? Ah! But no one pointed out that path, no one knew it, not his father, not his teachers or the sages, not the holy sacrificial chants! They knew everything, the Brahmans and their sacred books; they knew everything, they had troubled their minds over everything, and more than everything: the creation of the world, the origin of speech, of food, of inhalation, of exhalation, the categories of the senses, the exploits of the gods—they knew an infinite amount—but was it of any value to know all this when they did not know the one and only thing, the most important thing, the only important thing?

    To be sure, many verses of the sacred books, especially in the Upanishads of the Sama Veda, spoke of this innermost, ultimate thing—splendid verses. Your soul is the whole world was written there, and it was written there that in sleep, in deep sleep, men entered their innermost being and dwelt in the Atman. Marvelous wisdom was contained in those verses, all the knowledge of the

    ⁴ An untranslatable word play on all (everything, universe), ein (one), and allein (alone, unique).

    hier in magischen Worten gesammelt, rein wie von Bienen gesammelter Honig. Nein, nicht gering zu achten war das Ungeheure an Erkenntnis, das hier von unzählbaren Geschlechterfolgen weiser Brahmanen gesammelt und bewahrt lag. – Aber wo waren die Brahmanen, wo die Priester, wo die Weisen oder Büßer, denen es gelungen war, dieses tiefste Wissen nicht bloß zu wissen, sondern zu leben? Wo war der Kundige, der das Daheimsein im Atman aus dem Schlafe herüberzauberte ins Wachsein, in das Leben, in Schritt und Tritt, in Wort und Tat? Viele ehrwürdige Brahmanen kannte Siddhartha, seinen Vater vor allen, den Reinen, den Gelehrten, den höchst Ehrwürdigen. Zu bewundern war sein Vater, still und edel war sein Gehaben, rein sein Leben, weise sein Wort, feine und adlige Gedanken wohnten in seiner Stirn – aber auch er, der so viel Wissende, lebte er denn in Seligkeit, hatte er Frieden, war er nicht auch nur ein Suchender, ein Dürstender? Mußte er nicht immer und immer wieder an heiligen Quellen, ein Durstender, trinken, am Opfer, an den Büchern, an der Wechselrede der Brahmanen? Warum mußte er, der Untadelige, jeden Tag Sünde abwaschen, jeden Tag sich um Reinigung mühen, jeden Tag von neuem? War denn nicht Atman in ihm, floß denn nicht in seinem eigenen Herzen der Urquell? Ihn mußte man finden, den Urquell im eigenen Ich, ihn mußte man zu eigen haben! Alles andre war Suchen, war Umweg, war Verirrung.

    So waren Siddharthas Gedanken, dies war sein Durst, dies sein Leiden.

    Oft sprach er aus einem Chandogya-Upanishad sich die Worte vor: »Fürwahr, der Name des Brahman ist Satyam – wahrlich, wer solches weiß, der geht täglich ein in die himmlische Welt.« Oft schien sie nahe, die himmlische Welt, aber niemals hatte er sie ganz erreicht, nie den letzten Durst gelöscht. Und von allen Weisen und Weisesten, die er kannte und deren Belehrung er genoß, von ihnen allen war keiner, der sie ganz erreicht hatte, die himmlische Welt, der ihn ganz gelöscht hatte, den ewigen Durst.

    »Govinda«, sprach Siddhartha zu seinem Freunde, »Govinda, Lieber, komm mit mir unter den Banyanenbaum, wir wollen der Versenkung pflegen.«

    Sie gingen zum Banyanenbaum, sie setzten sich nieder, hier Siddhartha, zwanzig Schritte weiter Govinda. Indem er sich niedersetzte, bereit, das Om zu sprechen, wiederholte Siddhartha murmelnd den Vers:

    greatest sages was gathered together there in magical words, pure as honey gathered by bees. No, one should not hold lightly the immense store of knowledge that had been gathered and preserved there by countless generations of Brahman sages.—But where were those Brahmans, where were those priests, where were those sages or penitents, who had succeeded not merely in knowing this most profound knowledge, but in living it? Where was the expert who could magically transfer his sojourn in the Atman from the sleeping to the waking state, to real life, to every step he took, to words and deeds? Siddhartha knew many venerable Brahmans, his father especially: a pure man, a learned man, a man most highly to be revered. His father was admirable; his demeanor was calm and noble, his life pure, his words wise; subtle and noble thoughts resided in his brow—but even he, who knew so much, did he, then, live in bliss, was he at peace, was not he, too, merely a seeker, a man athirst? Was it not necessary for him, a long-parched man, to drink again and again at sacred springs, at the sacrifice, at the books, at the dialogues of the Brahmans? Why was it necessary for him, the faultless one, to wash away his sins every day, to strive for purification every day, all over again every day? Was Atman not in him, then? Did the wellspring not flow, then, in his own heart? It had to be found, the wellspring in one’s own self, it had to be securely possessed! All else was a mere quest, a detour, an

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