Spiritual immaturity—the opposite of enlightenment—emerges as a motif in the first half of Siddhartha. It takes two forms: numbness and passivity. At the very beginning of the story, Siddhartha often feels the need to become wise; however, he is never quite satisfied with his spiritual progress. In Chapter 2, he joins the ascetic Samanas in an effort to develop his body and mind, but he feels only "numbness":
But in my exercises and meditations [as an ascetic], I have found only brief numbing and I am still as far from wisdom, from redemption as when I was a baby in my mother’s womb—
As Siddhartha observes, bodily deprivation results only in "brief numbing" of the senses. He compares his experience to that of an ox-driver who gets drunk on rice wine. Like the ox driver, Siddhartha has learned to escape from life and "linger in the nonself." But this state, he decides, is as far from wisdom as that of a "baby in [his] mother's womb." This simile, which compares Siddhartha to an infant, reminds the reader that he remains in his own spiritual infancy. He feels frustrated that despite becoming a man, he cannot seem to find satisfaction in his pursuits. The sensual "numbing" of asceticism provides no solution or satisfaction. On the contrary, it drives him to experiment at the opposite extremity of existence: indulgent materialism.
Passivity is the second form of spiritual immaturity. For example, Siddhartha wonders about the wisdom of knowing versus the wisdom of living in Chapter 1:
Wonderful wisdom was in these verses, all the wisdom of the wisest was gathered here in magical words[...]
But where were the Brahmins, where the priests, where the sages or penitents who had succeeded in not only knowing this deepest knowledge but also living it?
Young Siddhartha knows that holy texts like the Rigveda and Upanishads contain great wisdom. But where, he muses, are the wise men who not only know the words but rather live by them? The distinction between words and life prevails throughout the novel, and Siddhartha finally discovers that the true wisdom of life can only be found through active experience. One cannot become enlightened merely by reading, by depriving oneself, or by indulging in senseless pleasures. One cannot live passively in the shadow of another person, as Govinda does, or merely accept the teachings of a book. Passivity complements numbness, as both are states of non-being; passivity is non-action and numbness is non-feeling. By contrast, Siddhartha's own enlightenment requires action and inspires a great depth of feeling. The motif of spiritual immaturity in the first part of the novel creates a contrast with Siddhartha's eventual maturity in enlightenment and enhances the text's emotional arc.
Spiritual immaturity—the opposite of enlightenment—emerges as a motif in the first half of Siddhartha. It takes two forms: numbness and passivity. At the very beginning of the story, Siddhartha often feels the need to become wise; however, he is never quite satisfied with his spiritual progress. In Chapter 2, he joins the ascetic Samanas in an effort to develop his body and mind, but he feels only "numbness":
But in my exercises and meditations [as an ascetic], I have found only brief numbing and I am still as far from wisdom, from redemption as when I was a baby in my mother’s womb—
As Siddhartha observes, bodily deprivation results only in "brief numbing" of the senses. He compares his experience to that of an ox-driver who gets drunk on rice wine. Like the ox driver, Siddhartha has learned to escape from life and "linger in the nonself." But this state, he decides, is as far from wisdom as that of a "baby in [his] mother's womb." This simile, which compares Siddhartha to an infant, reminds the reader that he remains in his own spiritual infancy. He feels frustrated that despite becoming a man, he cannot seem to find satisfaction in his pursuits. The sensual "numbing" of asceticism provides no solution or satisfaction. On the contrary, it drives him to experiment at the opposite extremity of existence: indulgent materialism.
Passivity is the second form of spiritual immaturity. For example, Siddhartha wonders about the wisdom of knowing versus the wisdom of living in Chapter 1:
Wonderful wisdom was in these verses, all the wisdom of the wisest was gathered here in magical words[...]
But where were the Brahmins, where the priests, where the sages or penitents who had succeeded in not only knowing this deepest knowledge but also living it?
Young Siddhartha knows that holy texts like the Rigveda and Upanishads contain great wisdom. But where, he muses, are the wise men who not only know the words but rather live by them? The distinction between words and life prevails throughout the novel, and Siddhartha finally discovers that the true wisdom of life can only be found through active experience. One cannot become enlightened merely by reading, by depriving oneself, or by indulging in senseless pleasures. One cannot live passively in the shadow of another person, as Govinda does, or merely accept the teachings of a book. Passivity complements numbness, as both are states of non-being; passivity is non-action and numbness is non-feeling. By contrast, Siddhartha's own enlightenment requires action and inspires a great depth of feeling. The motif of spiritual immaturity in the first part of the novel creates a contrast with Siddhartha's eventual maturity in enlightenment and enhances the text's emotional arc.
Leaves and stars appear in many similes throughout Siddhartha that contrast the idea of the restless, immature, unenlightened souls to fixed, mature, enlightened souls. The former souls resemble leaves, while the latter kind resemble stars. In Chapter 4, the narrator compares Siddhartha to a star:
But he, Siddhartha—where did he belong? Whose life would he share? Whose tongue would he speak? From that moment, when the world melted away all around him, when he was alone like a star in the sky, from that moment of coldness and despondence, Siddhartha surfaced, more ego than before, more concentrated.
Siddhartha feels alone like a "star in the sky." In this passage, the star represents loneliness and isolation. He stands apart from other people because he desires spiritual knowledge more deeply than anything else in life. When he realizes the star-like quality of his soul, he becomes "more ego than before" because he becomes a more concentrated version of himself. At the end of the story, he learns to be ego-less, but this ego-formation is an essential step in the process because he must differentiate himself from others and consciously accept his isolation.
The narrator also directly contrasts stars and leaves. In Chapter 6, Siddhartha tells Kamala:
Most people, Kamala, are like a falling leaf, that wafts and drifts through the air, and twists and tumbles to the ground. Others, however, few, are like stars: they have a fixed course, no wind reaches them, they have their law and their course inside them.
Here is a more positive use of the star simile: Siddhartha has realized the value of independence. Stars might be isolated or even lonely, but they have a "fixed course" and abide by their own laws. The fact that Siddhartha can express this means that he has greatly matured during his time as an ascetic and a materialist. His conversation with Kamala marks a turning point in the story. First, Hesse establishes the significance of the star simile in the key passage where Siddhartha ponders how he is so different from other people. Then, Siddhartha shares this knowledge with Kamala, adding that most people resemble leaves in their wavering, inconsistent approach to life.
The recurring comparison between stars, leaves, and people underscores the essential connection between nature and humanity while reminding the reader how Siddhartha is a special character. His fixed will, and his willingness to be isolated from other people in pursuit of spiritual satisfaction, are expressed in particular through similes that compare him to a fixed, self-governing star.
Serpents appear in a handful of similes that signify two major themes: first, spiritual progress, and second, the potential pitfalls of an independent journey toward enlightenment. As Siddhartha makes spiritual progress, he "sheds" versions of his former self. In Chapter 4, Siddhartha ponders his developing identity:
Slowly walking away, Siddhartha pondered. He realized he was no longer a youth, he had become a man. He realized that one thing had left him like the old skin that leaves the serpent, that one thing was no longer within him, a thing that had accompanied him throughout his youth and had belonged to him: the wish to have teachers and hear teachings.
Here Siddhartha realizes that an essential part of his identity "had left him like the old skin that leaves the serpent." What essential part? The part that once wished to have a teacher, but no longer wishes to have one. When he becomes a man, he realizes that he must seek answers from within his own soul. This aspect of transitioning from youth to adulthood does not have much of an emotional effect on Siddhartha; he ponders it calmly, which demonstrates his maturity. The simile that comes to his mind reflects his opinion that the shedding of his youthful wish for guidance is as natural, and necessary, as a serpent shedding his skin.
Serpent similes also highlight the potential pitfalls of spiritual journeys. In the same chapter, another one appears:
But now, only in this moment, when he halted as if a serpent were lying in his path, he also awoke to this insight: “I am no longer who I was, I am no longer an ascetic, I am no longer a priest, I am no longer a Brahmin. What am I to do at home, in my father’s house? Study? Sacrifice? Cultivate meditation? All that is gone now; none of that lies on my path now.
The simile here is "as if a serpent were lying in his path," which seems to have a negative connotation. However, if one examines this passage more closely, one clearly sees that Siddhartha does not react negatively. He halts rather abruptly, but not out of fear or self-loathing. This figurative serpent reveals that he is surprised. Siddhartha does not know what lies in his path—it could be good, or it could be bad, dangerous, or tempting (like a serpent). He is as shocked to make this self-discovery as he would be to find a serpent in his path and realizes that he must think carefully about his next (literal and figurative) steps.
This passage contrasts sharply with the one about a serpent shedding his skin, because it addresses the future, not the past, and reveals that Siddhartha is capable of insights that might surprise or disturb him. Because he must continue moving forward, he must analyze not only the past but also the future. Though they differ slightly in nature, both serpent similes reveal some sort of revelation about spiritual progress or the potential pitfalls of Siddhartha's journey to enlightenment.
Leaves and stars appear in many similes throughout Siddhartha that contrast the idea of the restless, immature, unenlightened souls to fixed, mature, enlightened souls. The former souls resemble leaves, while the latter kind resemble stars. In Chapter 4, the narrator compares Siddhartha to a star:
But he, Siddhartha—where did he belong? Whose life would he share? Whose tongue would he speak? From that moment, when the world melted away all around him, when he was alone like a star in the sky, from that moment of coldness and despondence, Siddhartha surfaced, more ego than before, more concentrated.
Siddhartha feels alone like a "star in the sky." In this passage, the star represents loneliness and isolation. He stands apart from other people because he desires spiritual knowledge more deeply than anything else in life. When he realizes the star-like quality of his soul, he becomes "more ego than before" because he becomes a more concentrated version of himself. At the end of the story, he learns to be ego-less, but this ego-formation is an essential step in the process because he must differentiate himself from others and consciously accept his isolation.
The narrator also directly contrasts stars and leaves. In Chapter 6, Siddhartha tells Kamala:
Most people, Kamala, are like a falling leaf, that wafts and drifts through the air, and twists and tumbles to the ground. Others, however, few, are like stars: they have a fixed course, no wind reaches them, they have their law and their course inside them.
Here is a more positive use of the star simile: Siddhartha has realized the value of independence. Stars might be isolated or even lonely, but they have a "fixed course" and abide by their own laws. The fact that Siddhartha can express this means that he has greatly matured during his time as an ascetic and a materialist. His conversation with Kamala marks a turning point in the story. First, Hesse establishes the significance of the star simile in the key passage where Siddhartha ponders how he is so different from other people. Then, Siddhartha shares this knowledge with Kamala, adding that most people resemble leaves in their wavering, inconsistent approach to life.
The recurring comparison between stars, leaves, and people underscores the essential connection between nature and humanity while reminding the reader how Siddhartha is a special character. His fixed will, and his willingness to be isolated from other people in pursuit of spiritual satisfaction, are expressed in particular through similes that compare him to a fixed, self-governing star.
