Beyond East and West: Herman Hesse's Siddhartha (essay)
By Luke Labern
Siddhartha now also realised why he had struggled in vain with this Self when he was a Brahmin and an ascetic. Too much knowledge had hindered him; too many holy verses, too many sacrificial rites, too much mortification of the flesh, too much doing and striving. He had been full of arrogance; he had always been the cleverest, the most eager – always a step ahead of the others, always the learned and intellectual one, always the priest or the sage. … He realised that the inward voice had been right, that no teacher could have brought him salvation.
— Herman Hesse, SiddharthaHerman Hesse’s Siddhartha can be seen as the anti-bildungsroman. If we take the bildungsroman to mean not just ‘the growth of the protagonist’, but instead read that genre within the context of the Western principle of constant progress—both for society and the individual—then Siddhartha’s journey and its eventual climax contradict the traditional growth expected of a protagonist. Whilst Siddhartha does indeed maintain a strong individual authenticity and develops a profound autonomy, the text forces the reader to abandon their traditional lens and follow the Eastern path Siddhartha takes.
Inspired by Hesse’s study of Buddhism, the text itself is best read when understood in that context—though it transcends that, too. Upon first encountering the text I assumed that ‘Siddhartha’ would be the Buddha himself; instead, this is a different young man who meets Gotama (the Buddha) but rejects his teaching. Siddhartha’s ‘arrogance’ is at once his genius: he realises early in his journey, and continually reaffirms, his belief that ‘no teacher could have brought him salvation’. If there is one approach to enlightenment that Hesse straightforwardly celebrates, it is that each individual is responsible for their life, their actions and their well-being. This is in accordance with the existentialist point of view, and is indeed the place that Buddhist thinking most clearly aligns with Western thinking. Yet unlike existentialism, with its focus on reason, Siddhartha concludes that ‘[t]oo much knowledge hindered him’.
Whether Siddhartha does actually reach salvation, or nirvana, is not made clear. There are numerous moments in the text when Siddhartha undergoes moments of transcendence. As a reader—well conditioned from the study of other bildungsroman—one assumes each moment to be the turning point of the protagonist’s life. Throughout Siddhartha, it appears as though the denouement has been reached and that the remainder of the text will illustrate how the protagonist’s education has bettered their life. Yet Hesse constantly deflates these apparent moments of revelation. This series of teased epiphanies forms the spine of the text, and creates an experience quite unlike any other novel I have ever read.
Siddhartha originally begins by freeing himself from his father’s authority, throwing himself into an ascetic life. After meeting the Buddha, he becomes disillusioned with the idea that knowledge can cure the longing in him. In what must be considered a surprising move, Siddhartha throws himself into the traditional (Western) sources of meaning: the pursuit of romance and of financial success.
Aside from its lyrical prose, enchanting rhythm and perfect length, the true genius of Siddhartha is its utterly innovative treatment of familiar themes. Juxtaposing the text against Dickens’ David Copperfield, for example, highlights the point. Whereas Copperfield’s education, or growth, reaches its apex with his success as a novelist and husband (both financially and existentially), Siddhartha’s romantic and financial success, whilst temporarily satisfying, lead only to a great emptiness—even a deep nihilism. Siddhartha leaves the woman he has been courting after many years without warning. A single thought expresses his utter rejection of the Western ideal of meaning and success:
Was it necessary, was it right, was it not a foolish thing that he should possess a mango tree and a garden?
With this simple rhetorical question, Hesse undermines the fundamental beliefs of Western capitalism: that private property and accumulation are inherently good or meaningful things—the goal of life. Yet this point, like the novel as a whole, is not political. It is deeper than that: it is philosophical.
The central theme of Siddhartha, which is sometimes referenced and sometimes merely induced in the reader by the text’s apparent simplicity, is: what is growth? What does it mean to grow? Must we do it? Can we do it? How effective are the traditional—or prescribed—methods handed down by the generations before us? The reason this text is so effective is not only that it bravely and openly addresses this essential component of the human condition (often at the expense of traditional characterisation and drama, which I think is much to its credit), but that it constantly undermines the Western answers that most novels, and especially the bildungsroman, offer.
The tension between certain dualisms colour both the contents and the existence of the text itself. There are a number of layers to this issue, almost all of which reward a re-reading of the text. On the most immediate level, one has to consider the very nature of the text: a Western book, by a Western author, treating of Eastern approaches to universal questions. Within the text, Siddhartha’s material surroundings are Eastern: those around him wear robes, speak plainly and are dominated by the caste system. What is a Western reader to conclude about the meaning of a text that—with its enigmatically simplistic style and repeated frustrations of the nirvana we expect to form the centrepiece of the text—it refuses to yield without effort?
In short, the text mirrors reality. It does not give any answers away. Just as Siddhartha himself realises that ‘no teacher could have brought him salvation’, Hesse forces the reader to conclude the same thing. It is up to the reader to be inspired by the book and direct their meditative attention towards their own existence. There are no simplistic endings, no moralistic edicts and no easy answers. Hesse’s bravery in conceiving and executing such a work can only be commended.
Reading Siddhartha is a profound and uplifting experience, and yet Siddhartha’s journey is often a frustrating one. This fact is exemplified perfectly when Siddhartha, who throughout his life has been assured of his intelligence, superiority and originality, realises that his own son seeks to escape his father’s plan for him in the same way Siddhartha rejected his father’s guidance at the beginning of the text. Far from affirming either pole of an apparently dualistic conclusion—does Siddhartha find nirvana, or not?—we are forced to realise that life is circular: the same experiences repeat indefinitely throughout successive generations. Just as Siddhartha was born into ignorance and sought authenticity, tasting and becoming sick of all that life had to offer him, so too will his son, and his son’s son. The experience that he and his descendants accrue cannot truly be passed on. The same stages of life, with their questions, mistakes and discoveries, must be repeatedly endlessly—until the end of time.
The same reality applies to the reader. Though Hesse has written a profound book, he cannot transmit his life—with its suffering, ecstasy and wisdom—to us. All he can do is provide us with an inspiration and point us in the right direction. It is the individual’s responsibility to experience, understand and make the most of life, rather than merely absorb the thought and conclusions of others. In contrast to much of Western literature and thought in general, it is this point that Siddhartha makes most powerfully. By transcending the dualistic opposition of East and West, and presenting a truly original take on a universal theme, Hesse’s Siddhartha is a truly human text, beyond label, genre or description. Like life, it must simply be experienced.
Novel,
Published 01 December 2014
Published 01 December 2014