But one thing this doctrine, so clear, so venerable, does not contain: it does not contain the secret of what the Sublime One himself experienced, he alone among the hundreds of thousands. –Hermann Hesse
Hermann Hesse (1877–1962) was a German-Swiss novelist and poet whose introspective, philosophical romances have inspired generations of young people. His parents were devoted to Pietism (a mystical strain of Protestantism influential in Germany and Scandinavia, but largely unknown elsewhere), and were often involved in missionary work in India. As a result, Hesse had both the opportunity to learn about, and the background to appreciate, the rich spiritual tradition of the sub-continent—and to relate something of it to a Western audience that was beginning to suspect, after the cataclysm of the First World War, that it had something to learn from the rest of the world.
In one of his best-loved works, Siddhartha (1922), Hesse told the story of the eponymous hero’s quest for liberation from pain and suffering: enlightenment. Siddhartha was the son of a Brahman, marked from an early age by his intelligence, good looks, and piety—seemingly destined for greatness. His father had high hopes that his son would one day follow in his own footsteps and become a famous Brahman in his own right, while his best friend Govinda looks up to him with reverence. Although Siddhartha learned all the Vedic scriptures, practiced the sacred syllable Om assiduously, and meditated and purified himself daily, as he entered young adulthood he became dissatisfied. This formulaic piety did not contain the secret to enlightenment, he felt. It was good, but it was not enough.
When a band of wandering ascetics passed through his hometown, Siddhartha was impressed by their ardor for the spiritual life, and made up his mind to become one of them. His father was horrified, and did everything he could think of to dissuade him. But when Siddhartha showed his determination by refusing to move from a single spot until he had permission to leave, his father realized that it was no use trying to keep him – he had already left in spirit. Sadly and reluctantly, he gave his blessing, asking only that if his son obtained enlightenment, he should return and teach him; but if disappointment, that he should also return, and resume the worship of the gods.
Siddhartha and Govinda followed the ascetics for years. They endured homelessness, long fasts, and sleepless vigils; in return they mastered self-control, patience, concentration, and gained great spiritual insight. Siddhartha also became contemptuous of everyday people, how they were lost in the illusion of the senses and the passions, how they could not discipline themselves or direct their efforts. Eventually, however, he began to suspect that he had learned what the ascetics had to teach. One day he said to Govinda, “He [the leader of the ascetics] has become sixty years old, and has never attained nirvana. He will become seventy and eighty, and you and I shall become just as old, and shall do exercises, and shall fast, and shall meditate. But we shall never attain nirvana, not he, not we.”
A rumor had reached them, however, of a person called the Buddha, Gotama, who was supposed to have achieved enlightenment. Some believed the rumors, others did not, but Siddhartha made up his mind to see him and find out for himself. It was not so much to hear Gotama’s teaching—Siddhartha had already realized that all teaching fell short of the mark, that the secret could not be told with words—but he wanted to see this saint for himself, to know whether he really had attained the goal. Finding him, he was impressed as he had never been by another person. Truly, Gotama had reached the goal. Govinda was impressed as well, and made up his mind to become one of his disciples. At this the two friends parted, each to his separate way, for Siddhartha had decided to leave the ascetic life behind, and to re-enter the world of everyday affairs.
But I don’t want to give away any more of this beautiful story. All I can say is that this book moved me profoundly as a young man, as it has many other people. Reading it side by side with the gospels, and at the same time discovering the contemplative tradition of Western spirituality, I became convinced that philosophy could be more, much more, than the accumulation of facts, the analysis of arguments, criticism of contemporary society, or any of the other tasks for which people turn to it. These tasks are good and worthy, often necessary, but I agree with Hesse that there is a profound secret, a secret of secrets, hidden in the neglected and often-ridiculed spirituality of our ancestors. Buddhism was for Hesse and the wandervogel of his time, as it was for the American counterculture kids of the ’60s, and as it is for many spiritually inclined people today; a safe alternative to the Abrahamic faiths, the spiritual heritage of the West. They see in it a way to have their spirituality, or at least to respect that of other people, without seeming to carry theological and political baggage for people they detest.
I can certainly respect a Buddhist who means business—as, indeed, I believe all people who earnestly pursue growth and knowledge in their spiritual tradition should be respected. They are arrows of longing shot toward a distant shore, to paraphrase Nietzsche. But it is one of Hesse’s main points, which was certainly not original to him, that although there are many doctrines, many practices, many paths, underneath them all there is one Path, one Way, that it can never be put into words, and that those who are on it pursue it ardently, not simply with meaningless gestures. I believe that these people, whether Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Taoist, or anything else, at whatever time or place they live, and wherever their separate paths have taken them, constitute a genuine community, if a hidden one. It is a lesson well worth remembering in our troubled times, as every spiritual pursuit is increasingly attacked by the cheap cynicism of our hedonistic culture on the one hand, and the false promises of political ideologies and their warring, murderous hatreds on the other. These things are quite incompatible with an authentic spiritual life, of whatever tradition, and there are people to be found within all of them who will say so. The real secret is not at the shopping mall, and it is not on the other side of the revolution, but within. “Whoever has ears, let them hear.”
Daniel Halverson is a graduate student studying the History of Science and Technology of nineteenth-century Germany. He is also a regular contributor to the PEL Facebook page.