Author: Cab Van Elk
It is quite comforting to know that no matter what angle of wisdom we seek to attain, we can always turn to the river.
There is also a beautiful parallel set of facets that runs its course with the river, when it comes to reading. What I mean, dear reader, is that just like the act of reading and consuming the contents of a good book, the river gives and the river takes away.
While a great book -such as Siddhartha by German-born author Herman Hesse- has the ability to take away hours of your life during its consumption, it also gives you a valuable experience that sometimes vastly outweighs the cost of time on your part. This is the goal of reading, surely: Enlightenment.
Such as is embedded in the deeply-settled sedimentary cultural references in the meaning of the word “Siddhartha”, which also refers to “one who has attained all of his goals”.
Which is ironic, if we consider where one of our young protagonists in the story, Siddhartha, starts out. At the outset of the story, Siddhartha finds himself in a position that many would consider fortunate. Born into privilege as a young Brahmin in ancient India, he possesses the gift of a privileged upbringing, an excellent education, and the promise of a respected future in the spiritual and scholarly realms. His family’s high status offers him access to knowledge, comfort, and a life of relative ease. Siddhartha is, by all outward appearances, living a life that others might envy.
However, sometimes the river can seem as if all is flowing naturally but underneath the current, deeper troubles stir.
Despite his fortunate circumstances, Siddhartha is consumed by a deep sense of dissatisfaction and restlessness, like a fish trying to swim upstream. The world he inhabits, with its rituals and expectations, fails to provide the answers he seeks about the true nature of existence and the meaning of life. He senses a profound emptiness within himself, a longing that transcends the material comforts surrounding him.
“…He had begun to sense that his venerable father and his other teachers, that the wise Brahmins had already revealed to him the most and best of their wisdom, that they had already filled his expecting vessel with their richness, and the vessel was not full, the spirit was not content, the soul was not calm, the heart was not satisfied…“
History has surely shown us the unbelievable power of the dissatisfied heart, dear readers. If not in Herman Hesse’s own mental strife as a result from The Great War, which he had only just survived as a solemn survivor in tumultuous Germany, then in the mighty river of generations of artists who both preceded and superseded him.
We can imagine that the sight of the beautiful cerulean Danube River might’ve been some form of weak reprieve for the artistic and empathic soul during these tumultuous times in Germany. Much like the sight of the beautiful river Seine might have inspired heart-felt emotions of pastoral longings to the Symbolist-minded poet gazing woefully upon the urbanizing landscape some centuries ago.
But yet, just as the river develops new streams across seemingly impossible terrains, so too does the human spirit. And as even the most artistic scribes in philosophy and prose will attest – words carry the least weight in their nominal value.
“…Words do not express thoughts very well. They always become a little different immediately after they are expressed, a little distorted, a little foolish…“
Terence McKenna, a writer, philosopher, and advocate of psychedelic experiences, was known for his unique perspective on language and its limitations. He often spoke about how words (which he referred to as essentially “short mouth noises”), fall short in capturing the full depth and richness of human experience and the complexities of the psychedelic subconscious realm. He believed that language could only approximate the profound insights and ineffable experiences often encountered during altered states of consciousness.
In the novel, Siddhartha embarks on a spiritual journey in search of enlightenment. Along the way, he encounters various teachers and philosophers who impart wisdom through words and doctrines. However, Siddhartha realizes that the wisdom he seeks cannot be fully conveyed through language alone. He recognizes that words are limited in their ability to capture the true essence of spiritual insight and self-discovery. This realization leads him to explore alternative paths to enlightenment beyond the confines of conventional teachings.
An inherent misunderstanding of enlightenment, especially one that comes from reading the correct words written down on paper, is precisely what Gutenberg first faced during the early stages of our modern Renaissance. Yet, even as philosophy and spirituality have been historically linked to symbolism, the chosen medium for most philosophers has always been the written word. The endearing place a novel such as Siddhartha has in the hearts of many creatives even today, attests to the sheer power of a tabulated script, when consumed subjectively, in the correct order.
And just as the river is guided by an unyielding flow of circumstances of cause and effect, just as the mighty Yangtze River in China or the Danube in Europe or the Seine in Northern France have been carved through centuries of guided erosions, so too does subjectivity function when it concerns the consumption of words. This is perhaps why symbolism has remained so strong and inherent in our cultures, philosophies and religions since time immemorial. It is perhaps why the River Styx or the River Lethe from Greek mythology seem as real to us in concept as the River Ganges seems to the residents of India.
The opening scene of Herman Hesse’s “Siddhartha” sets the stage for the novel’s exploration of the protagonist’s spiritual journey. It takes place in a serene and picturesque setting by the river Ganges in ancient India.
In this scene, Siddhartha, the novel’s main character, is described as a young Brahmin, a member of the highest caste in the Indian social hierarchy. He is deeply dissatisfied with his life, despite being well-educated and having a promising future in the religious and scholarly pursuits expected of someone of his caste. Siddhartha is accompanied by his close friend Govinda, and together they sit under a large fig tree, contemplating the world and their place in it.
The river Ganges is depicted as a central element of the scene, flowing peacefully and symbolizing the timeless and ever-changing nature of existence. The tree also holds significance as a symbol of enlightenment and wisdom.
“Wisdom cannot be imparted. Wisdom that a wise man attempts to impart always sounds like foolishness to someone else.”
One thing the river shows us, dear readers, is the silent ignorance of perspectives. When it comes to the question of wisdom, Siddhartha teaches us that if the river symbolizes consciousness – as it has so many times throughout human history – you and I are both looking at the same thing, even if we are standing on different shores. We might describe it differently (to me the tree might be bending left but to you it might be bending the other way completely), however in essence it is the same river that we are both describing. And a great part of enlightenment is realizing that, as Herman Hesse shows us in this story.
As a writer he was heavily inspired by the Symbolist movement, to which the likes of 19th Century poets, philosophers and writers such as Charles Baudelaire and Arthur Rimbaud ascribed. Rimbaud himself penned countless letters in which he sought to push the boundaries of expression in words. This symbolic and existential tug-of-war was, ironically, a natural reaction to another popular movement of the day to which the likes of Flaubert and de Balzac were proponents. Symbolists and Naturalists were merely standing on different shores, trying to describe the same “river” to each other. While Naturalism embraced the post-Renaissance attitudes founded in scientific revolutions and experiments, Symbolism danced to the opposite tune and sought romantic and more ephemeral explanations among the scientific determinism of the stark Zeitgeist of Darwinism in 19th century society.
Yet, as mentioned dear reader, even Symbolists could not help but enact a scientific action by reacting to their environment. As much as the most romantic-minded Victorian would find symbolic grace in the detailed and artful illustration of John James Audobon’s depiction of an American Bald Eagle, one would find in the foundations of evolution as set out by Charles Darwin himself, the very same thing – a reaction. That’s because all art, in some way, is a reaction.
If we consider that without the ground to guide it, the river is just lost water awaiting evaporation, and without the water to fill the ground, there would be no river, we come to see something which Siddhartha learns during his quest for enlightenment in this book. We come to see that the reaction is consciousness itself. So if the path towards enlightenment is the course for the eradication of reaction, a very distressing observation comes to our distraction:
What makes enlightenment, in that case, different from depression?
If we look at our hero in this story at the wellspring of events in Siddhartha, we see a boy who is not reacting to, or engaging with the pleasures surrounding him. Additionally, we see a character such as Govinda who seems to be on the correct path towards what most would consider to be an enlightened life. Throughout the novel, Govinda remains a devout and obedient follower of various spiritual teachers and gurus. He seeks enlightenment through strict adherence to religious practices, rituals, and the guidance of his teachers. Govinda is characterized by his unwavering faith in the teachings and traditions of his upbringing.
Despite his earnest efforts, Govinda continually struggles to attain true enlightenment and remains dissatisfied with his spiritual progress. He is portrayed as a character who is trapped in the cycle of seeking knowledge and wisdom through external means, such as following different teachers and doctrines, without experiencing the profound inner transformation that Siddhartha undergoes. Govinda, under a certain inspection, could be seen as going through a kind of “spiritual depression”.
In the end, while Govinda does not achieve the same level of enlightenment as Siddhartha, his journey is a reflection of the different paths individuals may take in their quest for meaning and self-realization. His character is less a differing shore trying to depict the same river, and more a branching river itself. Even if we find a river with many branches and differing brooks and levels, the water connects it all and keeps it under the classification of being the same river.
Much like in the case where we can find a glacial paradise at the wellspring of the river Ganges in India, and at another end we can find a nest of diverging “snakes” that lead away from one other – only to return again at the “Serpent’s Egg”. A striking image of this natural occurrence can be seen on the cover of the album of the same name, by a band called Dead Can Dance. While serpentine symbolism is almost as ubiquitous and ancient as that of the flowing river, both are evoked in divine presence and audibility through usage of various traditional instruments on this album.
One traditional instrument that has somewhat ancient origins and is still ubiquitous in today’s music soundscape is the violin – quite often used in the audible depiction of a slithering snake. It does not baffle the mind that our ears, eyes and mind are so attuned to this reptile’s existence, as we have been living in fear and awe of it for centuries. Much like early man came to fear nature’s wrath through bodies of water such as the oceans waves and the river’s courses, we also came to fear and respect the grass-bound serpents who share this planet with us. This has occurred to such a degree in many cultures, that the symbol of the snake has been historically linked to themes of consciousness just as much as the flow of the river’s tide has been named.
So once again, dear reader, it comes down to which shore you are standing on – the one looking at the snake or the one looking at the river. And, once again, both turn out to be the exact same thing, because enlightenment shows us that it is all connected anyway.
Consciousness and the human mystery surrounding it was a great topic of fascination for a writer such as Herman Hesse, who often delved into its various themes – perhaps never more so, than in his most well-known work The Glass Bead Game. Hesse, like many writers, must have found equal solace in a beautiful melody as much as what he found in the visage of a picturesque river scene. Although the romantic-hearted Symbolists such as Charles Baudelaire and his ilk may have perished around the exact year that Johan Strauss II composed “The Blue Danube” in the 1860’s, subsequent generations found a beautiful stream of consciousness within the music and followed the flow into subsequent generations.
Showing us that the human consciousness is an ever-flowing river of a ceaseless nature, no matter how you look at it.
That river surely inspired the likes of Arthur Rimbaud, who in turn, inspired another famous artist who would evoke the true power of the spoken word and the symbolist movement nearly a century after Strauss composed his masterful piece about the European river. Bob Dylan never really sang about Lord Shiva, but they beat the same drum of existence and influence to a degree. As the folk revival of the 1960’s opened more psychedelic western minds, we saw the influx of traditional instruments into popular music in all genres across the globe. From the sitar of virtuoso’s such as Ravi Shankar, to the spiritually-significant likes of the bensuri or sarangi, which were also all used in the recording of the Dead Can Dance album “The Serpent’s Egg”.
Returning to that magnificent soundscape, which bears the picture of the river Ganges once more, we come across a piece of music titled “Orbis de Ignis”, which translates into “Circle Of Fire”. It is perhaps no surprise that as much as the beautiful melancholy of the bowed and plucked sarangi represents a rich cultural history in music for one nation, the acoustic finger twanging of country guitar became an enlightened form of musical enlightenment for the United States of the 1960’s and 70’s. The age in which psychedelic consciousness -thanks to the likes of Terrence McKenna and Timothy Leary- expanded into other avenues and caused more musical minds to access the throwback acoustics of bygone eras from the likes of Marty Robbins and Woody Guthrie, while accessing something completely “new” and unshackled from prior norms.
This is why the iconic lyricist and guitarist, the one who wrote such modern country hits as “Big River”, “A Boy Named Sue ” and “Ring Of Fire” – Johnny Cash- was a proud symbolist. A man who, in his lowest and most existentially-depressed state, delved into the likes of Rimbaud and Hesse as much as what he chose less savoury forms of reprieve. Cash would’ve identified himself as a proud symbolist despite his genre of naturalist-minded music, because within the culture of mind expansion which was so ubiquitous on many levels at that time, a change of the flow within society was occurring.
You can practically throw a dart in the air and anywhere it lands in the 1960’s you will find some sort of societal upheaval and development, to which many actions and reactions occur – one of the main reasons we have some of the most inspiring and valuable works of poetry, literature, art, music and film from this time.
For rivers of progression to flow and to come to fruition, there needs to be turmoil of some kind either just beneath or amongst the waters. These are some of the extremely valuable insights which we gain alongside Siddartha in his journey through this book. It’s what caused Cash to have the guts to be able to play Folsom Prison and turn every prisoner in the audience into an iconic piece of recorded history, emancipating them from an existence without meaning. It’s what caused the character Gatsby in symbolist writer F. Scott Fitzgerald’s famous book to abandon the shackles of responsibility within an increasingly capitalist world, giving us one of the most enigmatic and memorable characters in fictional history.
Many films and diverging adaptations have been made from The Great Gatsby, but none really of Siddartha by Herman Hesse. This might be because some messages are best experienced in the flow of through, as you read them on the page.
Take some time and go and sit by the river and listen, while taking a copy of this book along for some conscious connection. There is a flowing river of enlightened minds who are ready to revel along with you in the inspiration of a book like this that can manage spring forth.