Much of Siddhartha takes place on the banks of a river whose flowing waters seem to laugh; as the river becomes a symbol of life itself, its frequent personification reveals the playful, joyful nature of enlightenment and makes the water seem like an integral character in the story. In Chapter 11, just before Siddhartha goes in search of his son, he hears the river laughing:
The river flowed softly and gently, it was the dry season of the year, but the river’s voice sounded strange. It was laughing! It was clearly laughing. The river was laughing, it laughed, clear and bright, at the old ferryman. Siddhartha halted, he leaned over the water the better to hear, and in the silently flowing water he saw his own face reflected, and in this reflected face there was something that reminded him, something forgotten, and by pondering it, he found it.
The "clear and bright" laughter beckons Siddhartha to the edge of the river. He looks down and sees a reflection of his face, which resembles that of his father. A brief reverie leads him to question whether he will suffer the same fate. But suddenly, "The river laughed. Yes, it was so. Everything not fully suffered [...] the same sorrows were suffered over and over." The river seems to laugh at Siddhartha, breaking him out of his grief. It conveys a sense of lightness and graceful acceptance. It reminds him of the continuous cycle of life, that everybody suffers, and that he is no more special than the next person.
Beyond laughter, the river also seems to speak with a clarity that reflects the clarity of the enlightened mind. Upon meeting Siddhartha, Vasudeva insists that he show respect to the river and "hear better" in order to gain valuable knowledge from it as if it were a teacher. Fittingly, the river "speaks" as a sort of godhead of wisdom in Chapter 12:
He noticed that the river’s voice spoke to him; he learned from its voice, it raised him and taught him. The river seemed like a god to him. For many years he did not know that every wind, every cloud, every bird, every bug is just as godly and knows and can teach just as much as the venerated river.
The river "raised him" and "taught him" as if it were his own parent or teacher. The narrator also says it "seemed like a god" to Siddhartha, a rhetorical move that might also be called deification, because Siddhartha identifies the river with holy qualities of omniscient knowledge and power. Siddhartha develops such a close relationship with the river that it seems to take on the depth and quality of a human, or godlike, character. Personification conveys the significance of Siddhartha's connection to the river and evokes its role as a figurative friend, teacher, and god.
Much of Siddhartha takes place on the banks of a river whose flowing waters seem to laugh; as the river becomes a symbol of life itself, its frequent personification reveals the playful, joyful nature of enlightenment and makes the water seem like an integral character in the story. In Chapter 11, just before Siddhartha goes in search of his son, he hears the river laughing:
The river flowed softly and gently, it was the dry season of the year, but the river’s voice sounded strange. It was laughing! It was clearly laughing. The river was laughing, it laughed, clear and bright, at the old ferryman. Siddhartha halted, he leaned over the water the better to hear, and in the silently flowing water he saw his own face reflected, and in this reflected face there was something that reminded him, something forgotten, and by pondering it, he found it.
The "clear and bright" laughter beckons Siddhartha to the edge of the river. He looks down and sees a reflection of his face, which resembles that of his father. A brief reverie leads him to question whether he will suffer the same fate. But suddenly, "The river laughed. Yes, it was so. Everything not fully suffered [...] the same sorrows were suffered over and over." The river seems to laugh at Siddhartha, breaking him out of his grief. It conveys a sense of lightness and graceful acceptance. It reminds him of the continuous cycle of life, that everybody suffers, and that he is no more special than the next person.
Beyond laughter, the river also seems to speak with a clarity that reflects the clarity of the enlightened mind. Upon meeting Siddhartha, Vasudeva insists that he show respect to the river and "hear better" in order to gain valuable knowledge from it as if it were a teacher. Fittingly, the river "speaks" as a sort of godhead of wisdom in Chapter 12:
He noticed that the river’s voice spoke to him; he learned from its voice, it raised him and taught him. The river seemed like a god to him. For many years he did not know that every wind, every cloud, every bird, every bug is just as godly and knows and can teach just as much as the venerated river.
The river "raised him" and "taught him" as if it were his own parent or teacher. The narrator also says it "seemed like a god" to Siddhartha, a rhetorical move that might also be called deification, because Siddhartha identifies the river with holy qualities of omniscient knowledge and power. Siddhartha develops such a close relationship with the river that it seems to take on the depth and quality of a human, or godlike, character. Personification conveys the significance of Siddhartha's connection to the river and evokes its role as a figurative friend, teacher, and god.
